by Nate Allen
picture of sadness. She sniffles once and then a second time.
“There is a reason for this. God has a plan.”
“Don’t start.” her arms push at me before I ever reach her side. She wants distance. I back away. I try not to get angry. I want to yell at her. I want to curse. The Lord helps me hold my tongue.
“We have Marcy, sweetheart.” I say softly. “She wants her mommy back. And you are the best mommy she could have.”
I’ve always been able to fish a smile out of Janet, even at her saddest. This morning is no exception.
John Doe
The tingle of Teddy fills me. The first child is walking toward the school. He is a fat boy, fat like I used to be. I hate him. He reminds me of myself. He reminds me of the day daddy stuck his piece in me.
My eyes close. I can feel the anger building. I search for the image of daddy dead on the stairway. It doesn’t come. All that I can feel is his piece against me; all I can see is the dark shed where it happened. I don’t want to be here. Take me away, Teddy. Please, take me away!
Matthew Mills
I helped Marcy with her hair while cooking breakfast. I haven’t always been a multi-tasker. But, when you live with women, you learn quickly. She wanted her pigtails unbraided this morning. I tied them with her favorite blue bows, and now she is sitting across from me, chewing on a piece of bacon.
“Thanks for the breakfast, daddy.”
“Did you thank Jesus?” I ask.
“I forgot,” she puts down her piece of bacon, folds her hands, and we say one together: Dear Jesus, thank you for this day. Thank you for this food. I love you, Jesus. Amen. I grew up saying that one.
Marcy looks at me with a smile, and then at her mom. Janet smiles back at her. Little hints of light still sit in her eyes. Meet her where she’s at Lord. Only You can.
Anoint her; this is my second reminder from the Lord. He has been quiet otherwise.
I say yes quietly and stand up. The lights are on, but they don’t need to be. Sun breaks through our living room windows in strips; in the dining room it is a glorious pouring, that lights both my girls’ faces. Janet looks alive again. But, the sadness still sits with her, like a weight she wears. I can fish out the smiles. They can even look very joyous. But, the smile is a deceiver; the eyes are the truth-keeper. My mom used to tell me that. I have passed it on to Marcy. She likes the rhyme of it, as do I.
Walking back down the hall, I can’t help but think about the blood I saw last night. Not just on my Marcy, but the flashes of it. I can’t help but wonder why. Since early last night I have felt unease in my spirit. Something dark is trying to come against me—against my family.
Anoint her, Matthew! The quiet of the Lord’s command has become loud, as if He is right behind me. I feel urgency. I feel fear creeping into my house, and waiting at the entryway. And for some reason, I feel like 2nd Timothy 1:7 will only keep it out for so long.
Darkness is coming. Or maybe it has already arrived. There is a reason that I have been up late the last several nights. During that time I have grieved the son I won’t see until I die, but mostly I have been deep in scripture. Deep to a point where sometimes hours pass, and my highlighter has run over verses I don’t even remember lining.
I’ve arrived at my bedroom. I’m cold, but I don’t know why.
Death is not the end, daddy, Marcy’s voice is as loud as the Lord’s was. I turn. No one is there. I can somewhat hear Marcy going over the highlights of the last week with Janet in the dining room. Though, it’s fading.
I open the door. It feels like eyes are watching me from everywhere. I say 2nd Timothy 1:7, once, twice, three times. They fade, but don’t disappear. I flick the switch. The lights don’t come on. I feel like the scared boy I used to be. My hands are shaking again. And my comfort in the Lord is back by my girls. I feel completely alone, walking into darkness without a light. It is only my bedroom. Why does it feel like a dungeon?
Don’t be afraid. I am with you. The warmth of the Lord’s words let me walk into the middle of my room. I feel sick. The breakfast in my stomach feels ready to come back up. I feel dizzy, too. My dresser is still a few feet away, by the bedroom window. The heavy black sheets Janet has hung won’t let even a hint of light in. It might as well be night time. It’s far too dark for day. Janet has been letting the flavors of her sadness soak into this room, and now it feels heavy.
My hands grasp hold of the dresser drawer. I pull it open. The tingle of fear trickles down me, and stabs into my feet. I can’t move.
Take control! The Lord commands. I do, and the fear weighing me down begins to disappear. I grab the small bottle from under my folded white t-shirts and walk back toward the hall. Knocking is coming from all around me. Something wants in. It immediately makes me think of the thing that called my Marcy.
“Jesus has not given me a spirit of fear, but one of power, love, and a sound mind. I rebuke you, Satan, in the name of Jesus.” I say as I walk past my bed. The light of the hall is brighter than I remember; the dark of the room is blacker.
I slip back out to the hall, and close the door behind me. I hear the same knocking. This time it’s louder. This time there’s distant laughing. But, I am warm. The Lord is my Shepherd. The color of this oil is almost like my cologne: bronze. I look at it, and then back. My door is open. I closed it.
“Leave,” I whisper, trying not to alarm my girls. The door slams closed. It causes a flash of images to splash on me. I see Marcy blood soaked; I see shadows of dark things growing around her.
I run out to the dining room, and begin to pray over her. She doesn’t ask why. Maybe she feels something is here, too.
John Doe
Teddy saved me from daddy. As soon as I saw him walking toward me, he let my eyes open. The fat boy is gone. Three more children have followed behind and are now somewhere in the school. Cars have lined up on both sides of the street. They drop the kids and go. It is a few minutes after seven thirty in the morning. I haven’t seen little M yet.
Other eyes have looked into mine. This is not just an empty and idling Buick to outside eyes anymore. The covering I have been under for the last twenty six years has been cut into. They now see the man with no identity. After Teddy wiped the cops clean of their memories, I became non-existent. I became a ghost that appeared when the time was right, when Teddy told me to.
Under Teddy’s covering, the children have been easy to lure. I give each one of them a teddy bear. I paint the color of their eyes on the bear’s. It never fails. Teddy is right about that. They are gullible. Just like me, when daddy told me that he needed help in the shed. He told me it was just between me and him. A little project, he said. I came. His project was me. But, Teddy saw an end to that. Teddy saved me. He continues to save me. But, like any good master, he keeps me in line.
I grab Teddy from the seat next to me, and look into the red of his eyes. They used to scare me. Now I find comfort in them. The red moves in swirls. Teddy is alive. He has been alive since I was twelve. I’m now thirty eight, but I look much older. Fifty. Maybe higher. The bags beneath my coal colored eyes don’t go away. I sleep enough to function. But, it’s never sound.
“Teddy,” I ask.
The red swirling reminds me of the way water moves when a finger sticks the surface and spins around. But, there is no answer.
“Why can they see me, Teddy?” my voice is hoarse. I ask it twice. This time, it’s louder than the last.
I can’t hear him in my head. I can’t feel the tingle of him. I look back into his eyes. Where are your red swirls, Teddy?
Matthew Mills
I’m taking Marcy to school. Usually she walks, since you can actually see the school from our house. But, the stirring has only gotten stronger. When I close my eyes, I see red swirls. I hear her haunting voice from last night; I hear the devil’s growl.
My hand is clasping Marcy’s. We are walking, both bundled up. It is cold for November, but I have seen much colder.
; Before I left, I anointed Janet, too. She didn’t receive it nearly as well. She called my sensitivity in the spirit crazy. That’s what she calls it now. That’s what she calls me. I rubbed the oil on her forehead and prayed in tongues. She looked at me like I was crazy. Almost laughing at me, she closed herself back in our bedroom, after I told her to avoid it. I don’t like this Janet. She isn’t my wife.
But, Marcy is my daughter. And I love her so much. I see all of the wonderful of Janet in her; I see my nose, eyes, and ears. She is beautiful, much like her mother. Though, I don’t want to think about Janet right now. It makes me angry. It makes me wonder if she can handle this second miscarriage.
You’ll find her dead. Better hurry home! The devil’s words are striking all the weak spots. I am stretched thin this morning. My strength in the Lord feels weak. I imagine Janet dead on our bedroom floor, both with my eyes open and closed. I look at Marcy. I see flashes of her from the haunting state she was in last night.
“These are not my thoughts. I send them to the captivity of Jesus Christ in the name of Jesus Christ.” I whisper.
The images don’t fade, but disappear completely. I take a deep breath, and then a second. I feel relief. I feel peace. Marcy and I are standing outside of her school. I give her a big hug. I have to kneel down. Her little arms wrap around me. A soft and sweet, I love you, daddy
