What the f… where am I?

Unit 6, Hennepin Ave SE, Minneapolis. 10 a.m.

Take a breath. Calm down. I’m in my closet. I’m naked. I’m naked in my closet and my mouth tastes like a rat died under my tongue. This is not normal. I’ve been sleeping naked in my closet with a dead rat tasting mouth.

How did I get home? I… I was driving. Did I drive home? I drove home. I must have, I came up here and… and maybe I took my clothes off. I passed out. I passed out in my closet? I must have passed… holy shit that guy, that guy in the park. He stabbed me!! Wait where did he, no, no, not there, not there… wait here!?! It’s not even open. It looks like a cat scratch. He stabbed me, stabbed me in the gut! And he lifted me up with one hand. By my throat. No one is that strong.

So hungry… need food. He kicked the shit out of me. Felt like he broke a rib. He stabbed me- I know he stabbed me at least once. I should be dead. But no bruises, not even sore. Need to eat something. What’s that noise?

TV: “…still no word from officials close to the investigation…”

I must’ve turned it on last night. Do I have anything to eat? Who was that guy… how was he so strong. Why am I not dead? Nothing to eat… want bacon. Bacon would be awesome. Bacon and syrup. Feel odd, feel… really good. Need to eat something, starving… I feel, feel… I feel…

TV: “…authorities refuse to speculate whether this may be a case of foul play. For more we go live to Arn Arnteson…”

Jesus Christ I don’t have any cravings. I’m not craving. I don’t need a fix, I…

“What the FUCK IS GOING ON???”

*****

I had some flakes and a couple Camels for breakfast. My head is clearer. Time to think this through rationally.

This guy was different. He was in control, knew what he was doing- from setting up the meeting to being ready for me. I attack. He shrugs it off. Gives me a kick that felt like it broke a couple ribs- knifes me in the gut. I think he stuck me there. I bite him. I think I – his blood tasted funny. He falls down, lets me go. Then I black out. Somehow drive home, wind up naked in my closet with the TV on. Now I’m here. No cravings, no real injuries, feeling better than I’ve felt since I don’t know when. Who was he? How was he that strong?

And now it’s 10:30 and I’m late for work. Damn!

*****

11:00 a.m. BEEP

“Hey Bill, it’s Tom down at the store. Just wonderin’ if you’ll be in to work today.”

The following day
10:43 a.m.

BEEP

“Bill, Tom again. This is the fourth time I’ve tried calling…

3 days later
11:00 a.m.

BEEP

“Well shoot Bill, if you’re not gonna come in or call well, I guess you shouldn’t bother coming back at all. I’ll have Gloria mail your final check.”

*****

St. Paul’s Cathedral, St. Paul Minnesota. Back Row. 5 days later.

“Little early for whiskey isn’t it Bill? “

“No, uh I haven’t...”

“Don’t—I can smell it.”

“Sorry.”

“Have you gone to a group like I asked?”

“No Father.”

“Are you still having those headaches?”

“Father, do you believe it’s possible to see evil?”

“Um…well of course. You don’t have to look very hard in this world to see evil.”

“No I mean ‘see’ it. See evil- a manifestation, a spirit. Actually see the evil in a person.”

“Umm… I, I think it’s easier to see what we need to in others. Especially when we don’t want to look towards ourselves.”

“No… But… I’ve been touched. I can see, I can SEE evil like I’m seeing you right now.”

“Okay… so you’ve been touched, so you can see- but why you and for what purpose?”

“I…”

“Are you thinking about hurting someone?”

*****

1550 AM WCCX Radio- The Uncovered America Show hosted by Alan Vicious

“It’s ten after one am on the west coast and we’re back with author Davis Ike, talking about his book The Spectre of Dread And let’s get back to the phones. We have Bill calling in from the twin Cities. You’re on with Dr. Ike.”

“Hello I have a question about the ‘shadow people’ you’ve been discussing.”

“Yes the common reference is ‘shadow people’ but I prefer to use the term Thoughtform Demons in my book. I think it’s more accurate.”

“Yes of course Doctor. Bill what is your question?”

“These uh, thought demons…”

“Thoughtform Demons.”

“Yeah can they disguise themselves as normal looking people. Walk around with almost no one noticing?”

“Well my years of research have shown they are predominantly disembodied and seldom remain in one spatial plan long enough to trick a reasonable person. Why do you ask Bill? Do you think you see these Thoughtform Demons disguised as bank tellers and waitresses? That would be rather silly.”

“It’s my neighbor and I do see him. He radiates evil.”

“Are they evil Dr.?”

“Certainly everyone I’ve interviewed who has encountered them experiences intense dread. So I think we can reasonably deduce they have sinister intentions.”

“I want to destroy them.”

“Okay Bill thanks for the call. James in Denver you’re on next on Uncovered America… “

*****

I don’t know why that encounter in the park was different, but it’s made me anew. I’ve been given vision. Vision to see the true evil in people. To know the righteous from the wicked. I’ve prayed on it and I think the fact that I came so close to death is what caused the Lord to intervene and touch me once again.

In the past I’ve always tried to kill only those who deserved it. Pimps, perverts, the scum who infect our morality. A few innocents slipped through in my younger, weaker moments. It was awful and I repented as best I could. Thank the Lord I don’t have to guess now. Praise him.

The gift began to reveal to me the morning after. It took me several days to understand its full scope. I was terrified at first, then curious, then angry. Finally, once what had happened was made apparent to me, I felt joy, elation. It is one thing to know that God is with you, but to feel his hand directly- it’s beyond my ability to describe it.

*****

I was late for work and running out the front door of the building to my truck. On the street I saw a neighbor scraping the ice of his car. He lives in the two level across from my apartment. Seen him many times- never formally introduced. Thin, bad mustache, only person I ever saw wearing earmuffs instead of a hat.

But this time, this time his features; face, clothes, the earmuffs, they were thin and translucent, like a reflection in the window. Behind them was a twisting, pulsating, black form with burning eyes. It was oily and sickening and it sent waves of raw ice through my veins.

I just stood there, staring for what seemed forever while it chipped away at the windshield, oblivious to me. As quickly as I could pull myself together I sprinted into my apartment. I grabbed my pistol and watched him from my window. He worked on the ice for a few more minutes. He got in his car, drove off, and I slumped down beneath the sill where I stayed until the sun went down.

I tried to get my head around what just happened. Was I hallucinating? I’ve taken enough in the past to know what that felt like. This was not that. I briefly considered that I may still be lying in that park, dying from the stab wounds, but that did not feel right. Something special had happened.

I prayed on it all day, fasting silently under the window, asking for God to grant me the wisdom to understand this strangeness. When I finally stood up and looked out, night had fallen. His car was already parked in the small driveway next to the house.

I did not sleep that night, or much the following day. By the third, when I decided to start following him I was a wreck. My hands were shaking so bad I couldn’t light a smoke. A couple times I dozed off in my truck waiting outside his office.

He worked at a suburban add agency, single, no friends or family far as I could tell. I watched him run through the normal business of life; work, groceries, shoveling snow, running errands- but always that presence, that vile entity, swollen and hovering behind his facade. It never saw me, certainly not enough to recognize me or pay me any mind. I have gotten pretty good at following people over the years. And the couple times I deliberately put myself in his line of sight, he did not react to me. So he cannot see me like I see him.

I have noticed other changes in myself- not just this new sight. The stab wounds from the park are completely gone- no pain and no scars. I feel stronger, things seem lighter when I pick them up. Faster as well. I can see more muscle definition in my arms and chest. But most importantly, the cravings were completely gone… for a time.

They slowly crept in around the corners of my nerves. After about 8 days they were back, demanding as ever. I suppose it was foolish to think they would have been cured. Without them I am not as effective a tool of the Lord. It took me another couple days but then after more prayer and fasting I realized what had happened. For whatever reason, God had touched the blood of that man in the park- had blessed it. When I drank it, I was given the ability to see a person’s soul. To see the evil in them. Praise his name, I no longer must hunt blindly. I can clearly see now to whom the Lord wants me to direct his vengeance. I have been made a more perfect instrument.

*****

He checked the clip 3 times and racked the slide mechanism. He was not giving his neighbor the chance to strike back. Normally he would knock a victim unconscious before feeding- kept the heart pumping, moved the blood easier. But his last attack in the park made him leery. Better to take him down permanently than risk another savage beat down, or worse. He tucked the Glock into the waistband and pulled the hooded sweatshirt over it. He left out the front door.

Light could be seen through the curtains at the house front. The street was dark and cold. Nothing moved in the frigid temperature. Every living thing had bedded in for the night. The only sounds were the rustling of cars on a distant freeway and the loud crunch of frozen snow crushed under foot. The night was dead.

He hopped the piled snow against the curb, and nearly fell as his foot sank into the thick blanket covering the yard. He steadied himself, looking to see if anyone had heard the noise. The few backlit windows in eyesight showed no life. He pulled the stocking cap over his face as he circled around the house, having to hop with each step to navigate the snow. I’m making too much noise, he thought.

The back door was several feet off the ground. Three steps led up to a small porch that clearly had not been shoveled since winter began. He bound over the steps, his legs numb and wet. He pressed himself against the wall and leaned to peer through the open window on the door. He could see through the darkened kitchen and down a long hallway to the living room, which was dimly lit only by the flickering television.

He grabbed the knob and tugged gently at the door. Locked, but he could feel there was no dead bolt. He twisted the knob as hard as he possible, still surprised by the strength he had gained. There was a loud crack and the knob turned freely. He hugged the wall, hand moving to the pistol grip at the small of his back. He waited, listening for movement from inside, trying not to breath and let the white exhale float in front of the window. After several heartbeats no lights inside or the porch light overhead came on. He pulled the door, but it only moved several inches before the hard snow on the deck stopped it. He had to slide in sideways, his back scrapping against the door jam, pushing himself through.

He withdrew the gun and looked around. He could hear the TV from the living room but no other sounds. To his left was a breakfast nook with a bench seat. He grabbed the lone throw pillow. The flow of words from the TV came into definition:

TV: “…and we’re back here on the Packer Backer’s Program talking about another tough loss today.”

He walked slowly down the hall, trying not to agitate the hardwood floors. He held the gun against his chest, barrel pointed out. He kept the throw pillow up in his other hand, ready to place in front of the barrel to muffle the shots.

TV: “The game breaker came early in the second quarter when Aaron Rodgers threw this pick which the Bears returned for a T.D. This was the first of 3 INT’s a string of bad decisions which would haunt The Pack all game long.”

The hallway was bare of any pictures. Dust clung together in giant balls that rolled across the floor. The portion of the living room he could see was devoid of any kind of furniture or decoration. The kitchen had no appliances on the counters, dishes, jars of food, anything. Aside from the lone throw pillow, the house looked unlived in. He paused for a moment, wondering not only at the lack of sings of life, but wondered why there was, of all things, a throw pillow as the only sign someone lived there.

Stay focused, he thought, snapping himself back to the situation. Don’t get yourself killed ‘cause you cannot pay attention.

He took another two steps, and over the TV he could hear a tortured snoring. A tiny bit of tension left his shoulders and he picked up the pace for the last few steps. He stuck his head around the corner.

TV: “Most importantly, this loss changes the entire season for the Packers as their high hopes for a divisional title at the beginning of the season, look to be all but over…”

The balding top of his head could be seen peeking over the back of the couch. It rose and fell with each gasping, strangled snore. The TV was enormous, large enough to light the entire room enough to see that, like the rest of the house, there were no amenities or decorations anywhere. Just a TV, it’s stand, the couch, and exposed cords snaking across the floor to wall sockets.

With a swift motion he strode two steps in coming behind the couch. He raised the gun and placed the pillow in front of the barrel, placing them inches from the head.

BAM

The top of the scalp exploded, spraying bone and blood across the TV. The body flew forward landing on the ground. He was already moving around the couch before it hit the ground and pulled the trigger 3 more times.

BAM, BAM, BAM.

The bullets tore through his back, shredding the thin robe and sending little geysers of blood into the air. The pillow had been totally shredded by the third shot and synthetic feathers floated around his head, mixing with the smoke and smell of gunpowder.

He quickly walked to the window and drew the curtain back a fraction, looking for increased signs of life outside.

TV: “So the question becomes, with almost half a season left to go, do the Packers continue with Rodgers and try to develop him-hoping that they may be able to sneak in to the play-offs as a wildcard. Or do they accept that he will never be an NFL quarterback and give their rookie some valuable experience at the cost of winning games?”

He let the curtain fall and turned back. The man was standing up, his silhouette illuminated by the TV, his head clearly missing a large chunk. There was just enough time to exasperatedly think; Oh COME ON!... before the figure sprang over the couch, silently bridging the entire living room span, and landing with a devastating punch to his jaw that turned the whole world blinding white and then completely black.

*****

Pay N’ Stay RV Park, 5 miles west of Fargo, North Dakota, 2 Days later.

He was curled in a ball on the bench seat of his truck. He had been awake off and on for hours, the thin blanket providing almost no protection from the sub-zero weather outside. His whole body was contorted and sore and it hurt to breath. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his head was so great that even opening his eyes was out of the question. The thin morning sunlight provided little warmth and increased the misery.

He could feel the rosary biting into his palm under the blanket. More than anything, fear kept him immobilized, a gnawing burning sensation that snaked up from his stomach into his head, gripping his skull in a vise. He tried to breath deeply to stave of the panic and the pain. His lips began to move amongst the grooves worn through years of repetition, the words floating on the white breath that quickly sank in the cold air:

“…Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death…”