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Jack’s Apartment (part 6)

Jack’s Apartment

(part 6)

by Thadd Presley

Jack was chanting again. Adam tried to turn away from him, to roll onto his stomach, but with the pain stopped him. Then, from the bottom of his vision, he saw something move.

Looking into the room behind Jack, Adam saw a woman coming towards him. She has come back, he thought. My God.

Then he saw that it was not one but two women. The skeletons were no longer dead.

The form of the red-haired girl was not fully formed. Her eyes were only black holes, and her hands were stretched out before her. Yellow strings wiggled around her wrist and connected to white tendons right before his eyes. This is a dream, he thought. I’m dying and this is only a fever dream caused by fear.

Help us, Adam, they said in unison. He was going into shock. He knew death would be soon.

He suddenly realized, with fear clutching his heart, that Jack had told him the truth. The demon had given him a way of bringing back the dead. With great agony, he found strength and sat up from under Jack’s hands. Jack still had pieces of intestines wrapped in his fingers, and they pulled out more as Adam scooted away from the skeletons.

Once again, the strange voice started to speak through Jack’s lips. Adam saw his chance and reached for the cross he’d worn around his neck since his twenty-first birthday.

The woman laughed and reluctantly took a step back.

As they retreated, the little girl’s body grew together more and more. Flesh was connecting on her shoulders and arms. The other woman, much older than the girl, was completely formed. She put her hands to her breasts and smiled. Jack looked up at Adam and smiled as well. Through Jack’s smile, the demon’s voice did not falter, but kept Jack’s lips speaking words he could not understand. Then, the older woman stopped moving back and spoke in a strange language.

As if the words opened his eyes, Adam saw the book. My God, he thought, they were not victims at all. They were chained here in an attempt to stop them from returning. He saw the man then, reading the book, trying to learn the ancient words in an attempt to keep the two women from coming back from the dead. The only way to kill them was to embalm them and take out their organs in a certain way. The entire process was ancient and involved a long forgotten spell that had been created by people tens of thousands of years older than the Egyptians.

“I command you,” he said, surprised at the strength in his voice.

Jack looked up and seemed to be himself for the first time since Adam came to.

The mother spoke then. “And who are you?” This brought doubt shooting through Adam’s mind. He didn’t know who he was.

“Yes. You know what you are,” she said and laughed.

Adam felt a bolt of electricity shoot through his body, coupled with a memory… the memory of the worst thing he’d ever done. It caused him to question himself, to doubt himself.

“Let them help me, Adam,” Jack croaked. “They’re angels sent to give Caroline back. Please help them.”

“No, Jack, they’re sent by the Devil. They tricked you and you et them free from hell.”

The demon’s voice spoke through Jack again; powerful words that he would never remember.

“We are free, Jack.” It was the little red-haired girl who spoke. “Now, we can give you the gift.” She came forward, and her flesh was almost complete. Only her face was left decrepit, showing red muscle and gray, white bone. Her voice was thundering, nothing like the voice which should come from a little girl. “Come to us, Jack, and be with us always.”

Adam heard a siren in the distance, and the words from Jack came faster. It was now two voices speaking.

“We’ll never die, Adam. Come be with us.”

“Never!” he screamed as his friend’s lips spoke in an old forgotten language.

“We see your soul, Adam. You know he has power greater than you can imagine. He knows what you did.”

The memory of his worst sin came to him, and he tried to fight it, but he saw it and couldn’t turn away.

He thought about trying to get the book, but there was no way he could get up or approach the room, not with his insides hanging out and now with these women blocking the way. But he had to. Somehow, he knew he had to get to that book. He pulled his intestines up into his hands. Jack did not try to stop him. His hands were over his head, chanting.

Adam started to scoot himself toward the room.

Suddenly, as if they could read his thoughts and see his fear, the red-haired girl flew toward him. Her feet did not touch the floor.

The sirens were closer, now, both the police and ambulance. It was empowering to know help was on the way. Adam reached out with his free hand and pushed the little girl. Surprisingly, she floated easily out of his way.

She smiled a gorgeous, crooked-toothed smile that melted his heart. He’d never had children of his own, but if he would have, he would have wanted one just like her. He felt love for her and wished he could save her.

A laugh came from the child’s throat then, causing him to cover his ears. It was the loudest sound he’d ever heard and he wondered if others could her it. He would have sworn that people all over the city had heard it. The mother was right behind her, completely whole and naked. “We can help you too, Adam. The salvation you seek is with us. You only have to ask.”

“You don’t know what I seek.”

“But you do.” The woman screamed.

Adam knew he didn’t have time for her games. He was dying.

Everything seemed too far away. Jack’s voice had once been loud and clear, but now it was fading. He knew he had to get to the book.

He quickly turned his head from the two unholy things. Now that they were both fully formed and naked, he saw that they were the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. He couldn’t continue to look at them. He knew it was a sin to feel these feelings. He tried to think of his wife, but her face would no come to him.

Jack’s bible was lying on the floor in front of the couch. It had fallen off the coffee table during the struggle. He reached out to get it, but the mother was on him as if she could read his mind. “You cannot defeat us. We are beyond your time, beyond your knowledge, beyond all things you understand.”

The red-haired girl was faster that Adam. But, as she moved around him, he managed to reach out and grab her foot. Where his fingers touched, smoke rose and left a blackened hand print on her skin.

Trying to hold his intestines in one hand, he got off the floor and turned toward the mother. He held his hand up and her skin started to smoke. Never before had he felt such power, but he knew it was not his power. He pushed her backward with an invisible hand. Just the thought of touching her was enough to drive her back. Two black hand prints appeared on her chest. He didn’t put his hands down until she was against the wall.

Her leg still showing Adam’s blackened, charred hand print, the little girl screamed and flew towards him. He turned to meet her attack, but she circled around him and disappeared into the room.

Adam spoke verses from the bible and from the room came terrible screams of agony. He repeated verses that he knew held power.

The women, stricken by the words, screamed louder and louder still. Then, with their voices echoing off the walls of the dusty room, they fell to the floor. The older woman’s body was writhing around in a puddle of puss, like red soup. Her body had quickly liquified. Smoke rose from both of them. On the floor behind him, Jack started laughing.

This would be Adam’s only chance. Soon the authorities would be there. He walked forward carefully and grabbed Jack around the throat. Tiny flames hopped alive on Jack’s skin where Adam touched him. The odor poured up and over his face. It was almost more than he could bear, but he gripped tighter just the same.

Smoke began to fill the room. It was pouring from the two women as well and the come quickly filled with the vile, disgusting stench of burning flesh. Already, they had become the skeletons they had been ten minutes before, but Adam could not stop. He held his hands tight around Jack’s throat until the man stopped struggling.

He had a responsibility, both to his friend and the world. His friend, who’d become host to a demon, could not be allowed to live. So, without a glance back, he took the quilt from the floor and tossed it over the heater. Black smoke began to fill the room.

Adam breathed the smoke deep into his lungs. In coughing gasps, he felt his strength leave him.

Jack’s Apartment (part 5)

Jack’s Apartment

(part 5)

by Thadd Presley

Jack came to, lying on the floor inside the dusty room. His face was inches from wool socks that bunched around the brittle bones of the girl’s feet. He felt very sad for her because she gave her life for an experiment. He wanted to reach out and feel her socks, but knowing they would crumble under his touch, he didn’t have the heart to destroy them. She had been through so much.

He realized then what he was meant to do. He could bring her back. Somehow. Wasn’t that what the man had done; brought his daughter back? Why else would he have gotten to see all he had, if not to help? He realized then that he could see Caroline. He could bring her back.

Then, he found himself engulfed with the knowledge he needed. Something had stuck out to him from the visions he’d seen. He looked around to find what he couldn’t remember. He saw it then and wondered why he hadn’t paid it more attention. It was the old, handwritten book. It had all the information and direction he needed to bring Caroline back. The book held ancient secrets unknown to man, pages upon pages telling of other worlds and gates that lead to them: gates to the dead and how they could be opened.

The book was priceless and held powers that no man alive remembered. He wanted the book. He had to know its secrets if he was to bring Caroline back; to right his wrong, he had to learn the secrets.

His hands trembled at the thought of holding the book. There were other papers on the desk that held the key to unlocking secrets of a forgotten time.

Written in a strange, unearthly language, the pages called to him. He saw drawings that depicted those who walked between worlds and the kingdoms in those worlds, which were described in all their glory and detail. The book told how the civilizations of this world and others fell to endless battles… battles that brought evil into the worlds of men. Yes, worlds!

He lifted a loose page from the desk and blew dust into the air. One look at the words and he knew it told of a last battle where man’s fate would be decided. But, once he got it close enough to read, he found it illegible. Frustrated, he picked up another page… nothing. Not even the drawings made sense to him now.

It was the same with the book. He didn’t understand a single word. But, he blew the dust off and looked at it anyway. There was no doubt about the knowledge the book held and the secrets its pages described. Jack’s need to know pushed him onward. He was sure he could learn how to read the book. It was necessary if he was to bring Caroline back. He had to free her. No, he had to free both of them.

They needed him: both the girl and Caroline.

It wasn’t hard to approach the dusty, disintegrating skeleton of the little girl now that Caroline’s life was at stake. He felt like he knew her and she him. He took a deep breath and brought the hammer down on the ring that held her chains. It took two blows before the old, rusted iron broke. He realized then that a chain was also attached to the body under the bed.

A moment later, less time than he could calculate, he was aware of the cold again. It was entering him, blowing into his face, seeping into him, making him weak. Far away he heard the phone ring. But that wasn’t important; there was more work to be done.

We need you, Jack.

He looked at the skeleton girl who was now crumpled on the floor. He started to reach down and pull her bones up, but it wasn’t important…

Read the book, Jack

He suddenly realized he’d done something wrong. An overwhelming emotion of fear fell upon him.

He wanted his Bible. He needed the comfort and protection of his new found faith.

“Jack,” a weak voice wheezed behind him, spinning him away from the skeleton and back to reality.

“Adam, good lord, lay still,” he said, walking toward his friend.

Adam was struggling to get up. “It’s a demon, Jack.” Adam took a deep, rattling breath. “I saw him in my dream. It made him kill his wife and child.” The quilt was filled with blood and Adam had his hand at his cracked skull.

“Dear God,” Jack cried, rushing to Adam’s side and pulling his belt off. “Keep your hands away from your head.” He bound the man’s hands, taking care not to fight with him. “It’s for your own good. You don’t want to dig your brains out, do you?” It was like dealing with a child, a strong child.

During the last year he had volunteered at the hospital and learned that head injuries were often made worse by people poking their dirty fingers into their brain and not knowing it. This was exactly the case with Adam. Jack saw that he had indeed been digging into his skull. Now the bone-white skull was covered with bits of grey, unwittingly pulled out by Adam’s probing fingers.

“Lord, be with us,” Jack prayed.

“It itches, Jack. Give me that screwdriver. I have to scratch it.”

The phone rang.

“Lydia,” Jack screamed into the phone. “Are you on the way?” He listened. “I’m afraid your husband is worse,” he explained to her. “He had a heart attack or something. He collapsed and hurt himself badly.” He listened. “Yes, I called them,” he lied and hung up.

Now he had to call them. He had no choice. If he didn’t it would look very bad.

With a shaking hand and an ever-more unpredictable finger, he pushed at the buttons on the phone.

“Nine-One-One. What is your emergency?” A woman was on the line before the first ring ended.

“I need an ambulance at the Wartzburg Building downtown. My friend has fallen. He has a head injury.” Jack heard her typing. “I’m afraid…he’s…I had to bind his hands with my belt. He’s quite delirious…”

The phone beeped in his ear and a woman’s voice, obviously automated, began to explain about staying on the line until the paramedics got to him. “Damn,” Jack said and hung up.

Adam was still fighting Jack’s every move and was now trying to stand up. Jack held Adam down and tie the his ankles with an extension cord.

What am I doing? he thought. “I’m so sorry, Adam, please forgive me.”

Jack. The voice called to him. It was a man. You can save her.

Don’t listen, Jack,” Adam croaked. “It’s lies.”

You can bring her back. She is your responsibility.

Jack picked up the screwdriver and knew what to do. He could bring Caroline back by sacrificing a life for a life. With a moan he pushed the tip of the screwdriver into his friend’s stomach. The screwdriver did not go easily. He had to use his other hand to hold the skin taunt. Finally, it broke through with a pop.
Adam shook his head and tried to fight, but he didn’t have the strength. “Don’t, Jack,” he said, twisting his body away. The cold steel was deep inside him. “Caroline’s gone. This won’t bring her back.” But, as he said it, he saw that Jack’s eyes were far away.

Jack pulled the screwdriver out and pushed two fingers into Adam’s stomach, just like he saw the man do in his vision. Adam’s insides were much warmer than Jack imagined.

Adam felt a tug and then pain erupted in his head and shot lightening fast through his body, filling his vision with red. He managed to look down at his body and screamed when he saw what Jack was doing.
Slowly, Jack was pulling Adam’s intestines out, loop by loop. They were gray with bits of clotted blood on them.

Black and green filled them in places.

When Jack started chanting, Adam was surprised at the low, guttural voice that he heard coming from his friend. Adam realized what was happening and the idea of death scared him.

Jack had given total control to the demon in the hopes of getting Caroline back.

“Jack, stop. It isn’t too late.”

Jack felt the love he had for Adam escalate. He bent down and kissed Adams cheek. “Thank you for everything,” he told Adam, then started chanting over again.

“Shut up, you fucking idiot! Can’t you see what you’re doing? Caroline is dead. She will not come back…” Adam groaned and his voice faded, unable to continue because of the pain.

Jack stopped for a moment. He was going to say something, but Adam didn’t give him a chance.

“Something is doing this to you, Jack. We have to get out of here.”

“They do not want to hear your drivel,” Jack said. It was the other voice again talking through him.
“They have been left alone for too long, waiting to be freed. Now, have a bit of fucking respect.” He jabbed the screwdriver into Adam’s arm. “And let me concentrate.”

There was already more pain than Adam thought possible. The pain in his stomach was terrible, so terrible, he didn’t even feel the screwdriver in his bicep. He knew that he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. Soon, he would go into shock.     “Listen to me, Jack. Caroline is gone.”

Jack’s Apartment (part 4)

Jack’s Apartment

(part 4)

by Thadd Presley

Jack’s mind screamed for him to leave, to run away — this was an evil place –and never return, but he couldn’t look away. The red shock of hair, which hung from the skull in clumps, was too hideous to be anything but real.

“My God, Adam, is that a little girl?” Jack’s voice was only a whisper. “I mean, she can’t be real?”

“No, she can’t be.” He took a small breath, and silence filled the apartment while both men stood silently looking at the skeleton. “But, she is.”

Adam was praying, but also trying not to comprehend that things like this happened all over the world. He didn’t want to know the evils that men wrought.

Jack stood beside him looking at the shackled child in disbelief. His mind halted at the implications, but he was once an evil man himself and knew too well the terrible things the minds of men brought into existence. Men kill innocent people every day. I am a murder myself, he thought.

As Adam prayed, trying to forget the image before him, Jack saw more and more of the room’s contents: a long, black stain ran down the wall behind the skeleton and another black stain was under the small writing desk. The wooden chair, was covered in the same blackness stain, broken to pieces under the desk.

The girl’s screams came to Jack, suddenly. He could hear a woman crying behind the screams. He could see what happened in that room. He was forced to watch.

The black stain, which covered a large portion of the wall, was blood that had dripped from the girl’s shackled wrists. Just a flash of the terrible events showed him enough for an eternity: the girl hanging in the shackles, crying softly, pulling at her own wrists. He saw the blood breaking through the skin, running down her white arms. Her wild eyes darting around, watching, her fear of being trapped… of being unable to escape before she was to die.

The bruises running up her arm had been put there by the woman who now wept for the little girl. The woman was much older than his friend Adam. She had beat the girl earlier with a broomstick and burned her with a hot poker, first sticking the poker to the girl’s legs, which began to blister immediately. Then the broomstick was used on rest of her. The girl screamed and cried as she was beat.

The words flashed in his mind. Help Me!

He knew the little girl’s fate better than he knew his own father’s face. Someone had tortured this girl, long and hard, until the girl found it necessary to saw her wrists on the very shackles that imprisoned her. He closed his eyes to the pain she felt. He didn’t want to see anymore. But, the pain and loneliness of the girl pushed in on his mind.

She was beaten severely before being put into the shackles and hung on the wall to starve to death and hang for eternity, but she ended the misery of hunger by finishing the job herself.

As he pushed the scene out of his head, his eyes fell upon an open book on the desk. From what he could see, it was hand written and in a terrible state of decay. The book interested Jack very much. He had to have to look.

“Do you think anyone knows,” Jack asked, starting into the room.

“No, please. Don’t go in there.” Adam backed away from the room.

“Don’t leave me,” Jack pleaded and grabbed the old man’s wrist. “I think there’s…I see –”

“We have to call the police, somebody.”

“But, there’s something else? If I can just get closer –”

“Jack, please don’t.”

“I have to. You don’t understand. They called me. It was this girl that called out to me. I know it sounds crazy, but it was her. She knew my name.”

Fear filled Adam. He didn’t believe in ghosts, and he certainly didn’t want to hang around while was happening. To even know this had happened ,long ago was to much to face. To know that there was someone in the world that did this sort of thing… and something that called to people and knocked on their walls at night. He tried to force it away, but he couldn’t deny what was right in front of him. This was too real.

Adam grasped his left arm.

Adam’s fall brought his head down on the electric heater and a red stain started to bloom on the carpet.

Jack quickly knelt beside his friend so he could check his heart, but before he could: We need you, Jack. Now.

Jack’s head jerked up, afraid he might actually see the skeleton moving. But his eyes adjusted to the gray figure he’d seen on the floor and realized another skeleton lay there. He could only see the legs sticking out from under the bed. He believed, for no obvious reason, that this was the remains of a woman. ‘We need you, now’ was enough to convince him. He got up so he could see better. Her dress had disintegrated over the years, and her bones had partially turned to dust. But, the two voices had been women, and these were they. He was sure of that.

But, this woman had been stuffed under the bed when she died.

How do you know that? He asked himself these questions knowing that there was no answer. He’d never heard about any of this. How did he know that the skeleton under the bed was even a woman.

It didn’t matter. He just knew. He’d seen it. She was the woman who used the poker to burn the little girl. It washer who beat the girl with the broomstick and put shackles on her wrists.

Again, a vision flooded his mind. This woman, who’d been killed and stuffed under the bed, spoken with a man who sat at the desk writing in the old book. He saw them together, speaking softly to each other so the girl couldn’t hear them.

* * * * *

“It’ll only be one more night,” the man said. He wore a tall hat and sat at the desk. The woman stood beside him. “Tomorrow will be the full moon. We can send her back through the gate.”

* * * * *

Suddenly, Adam’s phone rang again and caused Jack to jump. He looked down and saw the blood flower still growing under Adam’s head. He bent down to search for the ringing phone and tripped over Adam’s foot. He fell hard against the wall. Pain shot from his shoulder into his neck. It caught him off guard, and he found himself on the floor beside Adam.

Seeing the thick pool of blood and smelling the metallic odor, made him realize that it was much more serious than he’d first thought. Adam wasn’t just injured on the outside, the man’s eyes told him he might’ve had a heart attack. He knew he had to do something to help him. The fact of two ancient homicides, less than fifteen feet away, meant nothing to him. The only thing that mattered was Adam.

Moving as quickly as he dared, he felt through Adam’s pockets for the phone. Finally he found it inside the pocket of Adam’s jacket, but not before it had stopped ringing. He forced his eyes to focus on the screen and pressed the buttons to show the received calls. Pushing the ‘send’ button on the first listing, the phone automatically dialed. It was Adam’s wife.

“Where are you…” she started without saying hello. “Lydia, it’s Jack.”

“Where’s Adam?”

Fucking Bitch, he thought, shut up a minute and listen. And she was a fucking bitch. He’d known her for a year now, and his opinion of her never improved. She was a nag, a pessimist, and she always needed control over everything. She never gave Adam credit for what he had achieved, neither with the ministry, nor his work with the rehab center. She constantly put others down to make herself look good. Jack realized the way she was as soon as he had met her properly.

“Please, Lydia shut up.”

He heard her gasp and took the moment to keep talking. “I got a big problem here.”

“Where is Adam? Put him on the phone.”

“Did you hear me? I have a problem and I need you too…” The phone clicked in his ear.
Perfect, he thought. Just perfect. What a bitch. He looked at Adam. “You’re gonna make it pal. Just hold in there. You’ll make it just fine.” But the blood on the floor tried to tell him different.

The phone rang in his hand and he jumped. He knew it was Lydia. He answered, “Adam is hurt Lydia. I need you to listen.” She was silent. Good, he thought. “I’m calling the ambulance, but I need you here. Do you know where my apartment is?”

She was silent. “Do you….”

“Not really.”

“Come downtown. It’s right across the tracks at the Wartzburg building…”

“But…” Then she started to cry.

“Are you coming?”

The phone clicked in his ear. He lowered his hand and just looked at the phone. He didn’t call 911 right away. He couldn’t. What would he say? He didn’t know how to begin. He wanted to make sure Adam was awake when they got there, so he could explain the situation himself.

When Adam fell, the sharp corner of the heater punched into his skull. The bone was cracked open, but at least his brains weren’t o

zing out. Jack couldn’t leave him to bleed to death, so he pulled the quilt off the couch and put it under his head. Then, he pulled it tight and redoubled it, tying a bow with the corners to hold it in place. Tucking more of the blanket under the bow, he tightened it to be more of a tourniquet. He thought about using his belt to tighten it further, but didn’t think it would work unless he put it around his neck.

A cold draft forced his mind back to the dusty room and the decayed skeletons. He turned to close the hallway door and stop the draft, but it wasn’t open. The cold was coming from the room.

Help us, Jack.

Jack felt himself go a bit light headed, but he tried to stand up anyway. It was a maneuver he couldn’t manage without leaning against the wall. The cold was bitter and overwhelming. He felt it seep into him, chilling his bones, draining him of his thoughts and energy.

He slowly moved toward the room, admiring his handy work on the broken door frame. I’ll have to fix that, he thought and found it funny. The light-headed feeling had returned, or had never passed, and he found himself leaning on the wall again for support. His thoughts were on the woman and child. He thought of Caroline.

What state was her body in, he wondered. Probably rotting with worms eating away at her.

Suddenly, he was filled with an urge to enter the room, to get close to the girl. It was a feeling he found absurd, but, none the less, could not fight. The room and the girl were the most important things in his life now. He had to help her anyway he could.

The phone rang again. He knew it was Lydia, but didn’t see the point of answering it. She was either on her way or not, simple as that. He couldn’t make the situation any more clear to her. He’d forgotten to call 911 and wanted to, although, now he didn’t think he could. He had so much he had to do. They need me, he thought. They need my help.

He found strength in wanting to help them; enough to walk out into the hallway. He took the hammer out of his tool bag.

Moving slowly, walked across the threshold back into his room. Upon entering, the cold blasted through him again. In his mind’s eye, he saw the girl screaming and the woman crying. He wanted to help them. But he didn’t know how.

He did know that they would tell him.

It was so cold in the room that Jack shivered violently, and his teeth chattered.

* * * * *

A vivid scene embraced him. He found it impossible not to see the brutality of it all, and he knew he would never unsee it. It filled his aching mind. The man with the tall hat was beating the girl. She was chained to the wall, crying for him to stop. He was a brute of a man. He put his hands around the girl’s throat and choked her until her face turned blue. Then he laughed at her when she came to.

Then the scene changed and the man was dressed in a blood drenched smock, leaning over the red-haired child. She was tied down to a wooden table with leather straps. Jack watched as she screamed and kicked. The table rocked with her strength, and the man held a knife to her stomach, chanting in a language Jack couldn’t recognize. His voice rose in wild octaves, words he had never heard filled the room. It sent chills through him.
The man took the large blade and pulled it smoothly across her abdomen. It was a quick, deep cut that gaped open; his hand moved with the precise skill of a surgeon, but this man was no doctor.

The skin pulled apart on its own, and he reached into the incision, lifting out a gray deformed child. Blood dripped from the man’ s hands as he continued to pull. She screamed, and Jack tried to block the image.

Help us, Jack. We need you.

More and more the man pulled, until finally the large hands and feet of the child were free from her. A thick organ came into view, plopping to the floor. It was her placenta. The blood ran black, spilling from the table onto the floor along with some of her intestines. Strings of black and green hung from the child’s large head. As the man tugged, the girl kicked her legs and flexed her arms. She never stopped twisting on the table. His hands were back inside of her now, groping around. He had placed the baby on the table beside her.

Then, he smiled and the girl stopped moving. “It is working,” he told someone. Jack couldn’t see who else was in the room. “The gate is opening. Soon we will have the gate open and have our daughter back.” He withdrew his hands from the girl’s abdomen and shook them off, splattering the table with tiny clots of red and black. “A life for a life,” he told the unseen listener. “This girl for our girl.”

Jack could stand no more. This had to stop seeing this. He searched his mind for a way to save her; he realized he’d just seen an abortion. But the child was not human.

Then, as if answering the questions forming in his mind, the girl looked toward Jack. “We need you,” she said and passed out.
The man in the blood covered smock shouted. “Soon Tabitha will return. Our daughter will be with us again.”

Jack’s Apartment (part 3)

Jack’s Apartment

(part 3)

by Thadd Presley

He woke sitting up on his couch. The quilt had fallen in the floor and was laying too close to the heater. He could see steam rising from it. Sunshine streamed in through the windows, brightening his living room.
Then the knock came again. The same three booming knocks. He looked at the red, digital numbers of the clock blinking 12:47 PM

“Damn, the electricity must have gone out,” he said to no one. Then, to the knocking, he yelled, “hold on.”

“Jack,” someone called. It was a familiar voice. “You in there?”

“I said hold on. Just a second.”

Two sleepy steps brought him close enough to the only window for him to see the red pinto on the curb. It was Adam come to visit him. He opened the door.

“Mornin’ Adam.”

“Boy you’re a light sleeper,” Adam joked.

“Lucky I slept at all.”

“Sorry to hear it,” Adam sympathized. “I hope you feel up to coming to the food drive?”

“I had the craziest dream,” Jack began without being asked about the dream. “Something I hadn’t felt in a longtime.”

Adam saw the unsettled look in his eyes. “You have to give it time, Jack. It’s been a long time since you lived alone. It will get easier. Perhaps, it’s the temptation manifesting itself…”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Have you had urges…”

“Yeah, I guess, but that’s not it.” Frustration was already showing in his voice and Adam heard it easily.

“Well, tell me about it on the way to the church. We have a food bank to stock. I’ve got some coffee in the car. Maybe I can help you figure out something that will help you readjust to your new surroundings.”

“Do you believe dreams have a meaning,” Jack asked, turning from the door, allowing his friend to enter. Then, without letting him answer, “I mean, I know what it’s about. I remember it perfectly, but you think it might mean something in the real world?”

“Maybe, probably, maybe not. What was it about?”

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“You are crazy.” Adam said smiling. “Or, maybe you should be.” He put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Look, you probably just slept wrong.” He pointed to the couch as if it was proof.

“It’s not the couch, Adam. I’ve slept on way worse at the church and at the clinic.”

“Well, we’ll pick up my daughter’s old bed after the food drive just in case. I don’t want you sleeping on that old thing anymore. Who knows where it’s been. And then, tonight, we’ll have a few beers and talk about your new life. It’ll make a world of difference to talk about it and work out a few details of the coming week.”

“No, no, my stuff’s s’posed to be here today. Matter of fact, I should stay in and wait on the movers. Plus, I want to look around and see the best way to get started on the renovations.” But that wasn’t the only reason he wanted to stay. The dream was still fresh in his mind. He could hear the girl’s voice so clearly. He had to get that key, had to help her.

“Well, you going to tell me about the dream or not,” Adam asked, looking around the room. “It’s probably got something to do with this place.”

“That’s it exactly. It is this place. Maybe it’s the whole building.” He closed his eyes, trying to close out the locked door right in front of him, trying not to see his dream.

“Well, it’ll pass as you get used to it. Now, when do the movers get here?”
“Noon-ish,” Jack answered. “I just have the few things from the storage unit. No reason to pay forty bucks a month while I have all this room. I’ll wait on them and let them in.”

“Yeah, I suppose you should. Tell you what. I’ll give you a call tonight.”

“Just give me a few minutes before you leave. I want to tell you about the dream.” He was starting to feel uncomfortable again, claustrophobic. “I need to tell someone.”

“Wow, this is really got a-hold of you, huh?” Sweat was visible on Jack’s face, and Adam realized then that his friend was actually shaking. “Start from the beginning.”

Jack closed the door against the cold hallway. “You see that door?” He asked while Adam sat down on the couch.

“I do..”

“Well, I can’t open it. It’s locked tight, and I haven’t got a key.”
“Dorry does. She’ll bring it in a few days, I’m sure.”

“Huh?”

“The land lady, Dorry, she’s got all the keys.”

“Oh.” He paused, then started again. “I just don’t know what’s in there and…”

What about the dream, Jack?”

Jack held up his hand. “Hold on. This is gonna sound crazy enough as is, we can’t just rush into it.” He sat on the couch and noticed for the first time that it smelled bad, like old cheese and mold. The whole place stank, but he pushed that out of his mind and cleared his throat. “It all started because I thought I heard someone call my name. At first I just put it out of my mind, you see, but it happened a few times.

“Finally, after getting a bit spooked, I just listened, and I heard it again. That’s when I realized it came from that room.”

“You just scared yourself,” Adam assured him. “It happens all the time. It’s even happened to me a time or two. Once, when I was in college, I was to the point of sleep. You know that place where you’re in between. Like your still awake but unable to move?”

Jack nodded.

“Well, I thought the devil was in the room. I actually thought there were demons in the room. I felt them all around me.” He started to laugh. “I prayed and prayed, but nothing worked. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t move. It was one of the worst things that’s ever happened to me. Later in life, I learned that it’s called sleep paralysis, a common happening.”

“But the voice called out to me while I was awake, asking me to help them. ‘We need you,’ the little girl said.”

“But you were dreaming?”

“No, not then. I wasn’t asleep.” He started to rise from the couch. “I was awake. Fully awake and walking to the bathroom.”

Adam touched Jack’s arm and kept him from standing up. Goosebumps covered his skin. “It’s called sleep paralysis. Don’t work yourself up.”

“No, it wasn’t that. I could move. I sat straight up and looked around. Believe me, I know when I’m awake Adam.”

“Okay, then you were dozing and you…”

“Dammit, Adam. It’s more than that. It’s that room.”

The hard words were not what surprised Adam, even though he was twenty years Jack’s senior. After all, he didn’t expect the man to call him sir or pop. It was the fierce nature of the words that startled him. Jack had never spoken to him that way. “Well, maybe the answer is simple,” Adam said, thinking the room wasn’t the problem at all. “Let’s just pick the lock and solve the mystery. See what’s on the other side.”

Oddly, the simple solution of picking the lock hadn’t occurred to Jack, and he suddenly wanted to kiss the old man. “By Jove, you’re a genius.”

Adam winced at the word. He didn’t like people to use God’s name unless in prayer or bible reading.

Jove was, after all, a shortened version of God’s name.

“Sorry. It slipped,” he said, already off the couch and heading for the door. “Got a knife?”

“I have a credit card. Maybe we can slide it between the jam and get it that way. At least, I think we can.” The two men looked at each other, and Adam smiled. “I wasn’t always a man of God, my boy.” They laughed, and for Jack it felt good to laugh.

After the terrible night and feeling of loneliness the night before, happiness and laughter seemed very far from him.

As they tried to force the credit card between the door and the frame, Adam’s phone rang. He didn’t answer it. Another few minutes passed and they still hadn’t opened the door.

“Do you have a knife of any kind or a screw driver,” Adam asked.

“Yes, in my tool bag. Hold on,” Jack said and disappeared through the apartment door and into the hallway.

In the hall, Jack felt the cold, January chill on his legs, even though he was still inside the building. The night before suddenly came back to him. He smelled the steam from the quilt, the urgent need to use the bathroom, the face he saw in the mirror that looked so afraid, and the words: We need you, Jack.

It was too much.

He returned with a small, black, leather case and closed the door to the hallway. He didn’t want anyone to come up and see him breaking into the locked door. After all, didn’t she say that there could be treasure up here.

Adam reached out for the black case. “Getting cold again,” he said. “I’ll bet there’s a line a mile long at the church waiting for a hot meal.” He was looking at Jack, as if to say: this can wait. People are starving, you know? But, to Jack, this was the most important thing at the moment. Let them starve; let them freeze; just get that damn door open, he thought. “And there will be more snow tonight. We’ll probably be opening the auditorium to the homeless by sundown. We need all the people we can get.”

“Hope so,” Jack said matter-of-factly. “I love snow.”

“You got the gas on?”

“No, I’ll probably freeze, but won’t it be beautiful in the morning.”

“You should come down after your storage arrives and stay at the church. They’d be happy to see you again. They need you…”

“Don’t say that,” Jack snapped.

Adam looked at him. No, he leered at him, trying to see what was behind his eyes. Adam suddenly wondered if the man had been on drugs again.

“Just, don’t,” he told him. “That’s what the little girl was saying last night and kept saying it. Then, they called me by name.”

“I really wish you would come with me when we get finished here.” He didn’t want to leave him alone.

“You could just leave a note for the movers.”

“I might, Adam. Really, I might. And please,” he said, taking the old man by the arm. “I’m not crazy. I’ve never been afraid of anything in my life. Not before this.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of it, don’t worry.” He held up a flat head screwdriver. “If we can’t force it, we’ll take it off the hinges.”

Both men pried on the door. Adam went first trying to jimmy the lock, and then Jack tried to force off the hinges, but neither worked.

Adam turned to get the pack. “This door probably hasn’t been opened for twenty or thirty…” But his words were cut short when Jack kicked the door. “Hold on…” he said, but Jack kicked it again, and the frame cracked. “Now you’ve done it.”

“I can build it back,” Jack said, and Adam knew he could. He knew Jack was a great carpenter.

“Okay, finish her off, but do it with finesse.”

Another kick sent the door smashing open. Dust flew up and filled the air. The room beyond was like an Egyptian tomb, dust covered everything and the musty air took his breath away. For a moment, the room was nothing but a swirling mass of gray dust. Faint objects could be seen strewn everywhere, covered with an inch of dust.

Inside the room was an ancient iron-framed bed. A molded, rotting mattress had fallen through the frame and was decaying on the floor; beside the bed, a roll-top desk leaned to the left. It was covered with papers. Beside the desk were figures drawn on the wall.

What the two men saw next, which they saw together, was too frightening to comprehend.

On the wall, hanging with it’s wrists bound, was a skeleton.

“That can’t be real,” Adam croaked. He was gasping for air, whether it was the dust or the sight of a skeleton. “People liked to collect things like that in the old days. Oddities they called them.” Then, as he realized all the dust in the room was most likely the skin and rotted remains of the body, he covered his mouth.
The odor in the room was sickening and overwhelming. They could both taste the foulness of the place… taste the deadness in the air.

Jack’s Apartment (part 2)

Jack’s Apartment

(part 2)

by Thadd Presley

During the meeting with the landlord, she told him that the fourth floor had been used as storage area for years. She talked a bit about her father passing away and leaving the building to her. “My brother got the money, and the yacht, and the hotel. All I got was this run-down place.”

“But, why was the fourth floor empty?”

“He had plans for it, I guess. He was always a dreamer. Fact is, he won the building in a high-stakes poker match during one of the worst years of his life. He lost everything and bet everything he had on a single card.

“As you can see, he won.”

Jack smiled. He liked to hear stories of people making good on a million to one odds.

“Too bad, my mother told him. Looks like you lost more than you’ll ever know with that place.”

Jack wanted to ask about her brother, but she didn’t give him a chance.

“My father was into gambling and drinking. That is… until he met Adam. My dad didn’t go to church much, until the end, but Adam helped him to find God and so much changed after that.”

Jack thought it was a lot of information to be telling a stranger, but then again, they had someone in common. Through Adam, they were far from strangers.

“There could be rats or bats or anything up there,” she told him. “I haven’t cleaned the place or even been up there in over a year.” She looked out over the river that passed in front of the restaurant where they had lunch. “When you get your room finished, we’ll see what we can throw away, but you might find treasures up there.” She smiled. “I think the last tenant of the fourth floor was in his early seventies. He was a bit of a pack rat. He kept everything and I’m sure you will run into it.”

“Treasures would be great,” he remembered saying, assuring her he wouldn’t steal anything; he was afraid if he stole from her or lied to her, drugs and death were sure follow. He wondered what Adam had told her about his situation. “I don’t need anything fancy, mind you, just a quiet place where I can get used to being on my own again.”

She smiled at that and explained again that room wouldn’t be suitable for human occupation until he gave it a bit of love and care.

He liked that she used the word “love.” It gave him a warm feeling of acceptance, a thing he hadn’t felt in a long time.

*     *     *     *     *

We need you, Jack , the voice snapped again, sending a frosty bolt of lightening down his back, calling him back to the present. It seemed to come from all around. Goosebumps sprang out on his arms. The urge to pee suddenly returned, and he quickly turned from the sink, which continued to run nothing but cold water, and faced the toilet.

Once finished, he washed his hands and made his way to the kitchen, only looking into the living room to check the heater. Once in the kitchen, he knew he couldn’t stay and that he was going to call Adam. But, not quite yet. First he made a sandwich from the leftover macaroni and carried it to the warmth of the couch where sat down.

He used his foot to pull his small electric heater toward him and watched the locked door like it was going to crash open any minute. Listening for the voice, trying to steel himself against it if it happened again. He thought if he sat and waited, he would know exactly where it came from, but even before he finished his sandwich, he started to doze.

His dreams began immediately.

*     *    *     *     *

He stood in the stairwell that led up to the fourth floor. Looking down over the metal rail, he mentally counted the flights he’d passed. Was he on the right floor? Each landing looked the same. But, the door which opened on the fourth floor was painted green, where all the other floors had white doors. But, there was no door at this landing. He hadn’t seen a green door on any of the landings all the way up. He was lost, but that was impossible because there was only one set of stairs. He looked up, surprised to see that the stairs climbed higher and higher.

There wasn’t but four floors in this building.

Panic struck him then. Where was he? The wrong building? His eyes filled with hot tears. The feeling of loneliness suddenly encased him and pushed closer and closer, farther and farther into his mind. He was overwhelmed; he needed to find the door to his floor or the door to the street. If he was found in the wrong building, someone would think he was trespassing. The cops would be called and his probation violated.

His mind screamed the fact that he was alone in the world. He’d killed the only woman who’d ever loved him. Being alone had never bothered him before; it was the way he wanted it. But now the desire for someone to care for him, to love him; it overwhelmed his mind and flood his blood with fear. He would do anything to have someone love him, anything for a companion to sit through the evenings with him and read.

The climb up the flights was not a particularly bad one; he enjoyed walking, and this was a source of some much-needed exercise and another good habit he could take up. He assured himself that the next landing would be his. But, the stairs went up and up. They seemed to be never ending.

Before having to stop and catch his breath, he climbed twenty flights and never passed a single door.
He turned and began to start down when he saw the door. But, it wasn’t green, nor was it in the right place. It was one flight below him. He knew it wasn’t there before, but none of that mattered now. As long as it lead to a floor and to someone who would direct him in the right direction.

As he walked down the steps, dread began building up inside of him. By the time he stood in front of the door, he was afraid to open it. He couldn’t just stand there. He had to go through the door. He built up his courage and just as his hand touched the knob, it became the locked door in his apartment.

We are waiting, Jack. We need you.

To turn around and start back down seemed impossible. It would only begin his journey all over again, and he knew he couldn’t leave and abandon anyone, not again, especially if someone needed his help. Meaning if he could help them, he would.

“Who’s there,” he called and listened as his voice echoed off the concrete walls of the stairwell.

His hand was still on the doorknob.

We need you, Jack.

He jerked his hand away from the cold brass.

A moment passed, and he knocked on the door, then banged on it. “Hello,” he yelled and then listened as his voice echoed again and again in the endless stairwell. “Who are you? Where are you?”

Help us.

“I will, just….”

Just what, he thought? How could he help anyone when he was the one lost?

Everything in him wanted to help, whether it was the homeless at the food ministry or orphaned children in another country. It was in his nature; at least, it was a part of his new nature.
He put his ear to the door, listening for movement. He was suddenly aware of the silence. The terrible feeling of loneliness returned. He wanted to help them. Whoever they were. He felt, he needed their companionship as much as they needed him. After all, wasn’t he trapped as well? He pressed his ear to the door harder and listened with all his might.

Boom, Boom, Boom

The door rattled with thundering knocks which caused him to jerk his head away. His foot came to the edge of the steps, and he rocked on the edge for a moment; for a millionth of a second he floated there, not knowing if he was going to go over or keep his balance.     Then, as gravity would have it, he tilted too far and started to fall….
The slow, tumbling fall into forever brought him back to the real world with a jolt.

The Fall by Thadd Presley

The Fall

 

by Thadd Presley

He glanced over the edge, not knowing that below
his emptiness was the truth. He’d always been alone.
He looked across the desert trying to imagine his fall.
The beautiful, blue horizon reminded him that love wasn’t all.
Many times over the last year, when love came near
he embraced the future, saying he could face all of his fears
about coming out and letting his family know
tell them who he wanted to love, so he could let his love be shown.
He’s already heard the hurtful words. They all cut deep, to the bone.
How could tear his family apart and destroy his childhood home?
Feelings of loss, betrayal, remorse, and disgust
were made worse by the thoughts of abandonment and distrust.

How? – he asked himself. How could you do this to them?
They love you!! God, you’re nothing but filthy fucking trash.
This selfishness will ruin everything you touch,
and turn your families life into dust and ash.

They all see through you! It’s obvious what you are.
Why would they be surprised to hear it repeated in your voice?
They’ve said it themselves.  “He’s always been a blip on my Gaydar.”
“God didn’t make him a fag, being that way is his own choice.”

His uncle told his dad on his eleventh Christmas. “He’s a damn fancy boy.”
An Ass-tronant, a Butt-Pirate, a Bum-hole Engineer,
A Fudge packer, a stinking cockstar, I bet you’re really embarrassed by him.
A Fairy, a flamer, for a son. You know his momma turned him queer.

He’s a limp wristed, Jobby Jabber, a butt rustling-shit stabber
A girly boy, Nancy Man, fancy-pants, Cock-struction worker
A Browine King, Anus Assassin,and faggot ass dick grabber
Even his Dad called him a shit smelling Goober Jerker.

His mother found out on her own.
There  was nothing to hide. He couldn’t have lied if I tried.
His mother had knew since day one.
But when he admitted it,  she actually looked surprised.

We are through with you, she said, but you know I love you.
I want you to be happy, son, but going against God and nature is not the way
You’re dad doesn’t want you here anymore!
He’s tried for so long, but his heart, you know We can’t make that mistake!

And now you want to turn me away?
You’d really turn me out?
You’ve known this longer than anyone.
I thought I could count on you to help them love me.
But it’s too late. Everything has wilted and gone dreadfully wrong.
I never wanted this sadness to come bacl, but the end has come and gone past.
Love has no end, but how long can hate last?

He glanced over the edge, not knowing that below
his emptiness was the truth. He’d always been alone.
He looked across the desert trying to imagine his fall.
The beautiful, blue horizon reminded him that love wasn’t all.

 

Helping Others

The Art and Magic of Helping Others

by Thadd Presley

Why do we do things for others? Why bother? Our hearts tell us to puts others first, but it often doesn’t make sense to us on the surface. I’d like to know the answer to many of these questions, but one of them comes ahead of all the rest: why do we desire to put ourselves last? It just seems backward to let others go first. Why do we say “yes” when we want to say “no?” Doesn’t it make more sense to help ourselves and allow others to benefit from the wealth, health, and knowlegde we aquire afterwards? It might seem that way but that’s not the way the universe words.

The universe? What does that have to do with anything?
The universe is everything out there and we are stuck down here.

What if I told you that we can have anything we want, but we have to ask for it?
Seem like magic? I know, it does.
And that is exactly what it looks like when it happens.
The easiest way for me to explain it is like this: the more help you give someone else, the more power and influence you will have over the infinite resources of the universe.
I know that sounds like a fairy-tale and many people have not witnessed this amazing miracle in their lives, but it is true and it happens all of the time to ordinary people just like me.
I am living proof that this concept pays off quickly and unfailingly. I am a walking-talking billboard of generosity that comes from the magical, fantastical universe.

There are times I talk with my friends about “asking the universe” for what you want. It never fails to intrigue them and I can see the doubt in their eyes. But they listen because they want it to be true so bad.
It often amazes when what I’m telling them begins to happen. Not eventually, but usually very quickly. If the magic does not happen immediately, it’s within that day or at most the next. It’s just a fact of the universe, I tell them, and together we are absolutely amazed. No matter how or when it happens, whoever I’m sharing my “magic” with is there to witness it and they become endowed with the gift as well.

They always had the power to ask the universe, but they didn’t believe it would ever work for them. They lacked faith. All the stories through out history of miracles, magicians, and even Jesus wasn’t enough to give them the faith to try it. But, seeing it happen one time pushed them over the threshold into a new world. In to a world where they are creators as well as the created.

You think none of this can be true, right?. That there’s no way the universe just give people the things they ask for. You might think that for many reasons, but one of the biggest seeds of doubt is myself (the writer of this post.) You might doubt because I’m not super wealthy or wildly successful person. In fact, you’ve probably never heard of me and until now never read a word I’ve written. If that is true, then I’m very happy you are still reading this and I have a lot of work to do.

What if I told you I’ve done everything I’ve wanted to do and I have more than enough money than I need? Would you think that’s a miracle all by itself? If not, I want to share a few of the things I did. I’m not bragging, I’m only documenting.

Things I’ve done that most people won’t get to:

toured as a bass player in a rock and roll band
opened for a world famous band
met famous rock stars from America and Europe
worked with famous people
published several books (fiction and poetry)
recorded a great album with a rock band
recorded a solo album
currently publishing a fiction blog
work for myself writing fiction and other things
traveled the United States and a bit of Canada,
met a woman at 23 who still loves me and I love her,
live in a great place with a great view from the porch
found an endless supply of freedom and love

I could go on but I don’t want this to be about what I have, but instead about doing for others.

I have a huge problem saying NO. I just can’t do it. More often than not, I put other people before myself and my own needs.Yeah, you can probably understand how I came to write this and that putting myself last begins to get old. All of this is largely my fault.

I don’t have to say YES, YES, YES to everyone and constantly create scenarios where I feel used. Instead, very recently, I have realized that I have to say YES to myself sometimes. This will allow me to be in a better place when it comes time to help others.

You see what happened there?

I am putting myself first, but it’s for others. It’s not a selfish desire to want to help myself. It’s not selfish to want things. By putting myself ahead of another person, especially when it’s done in the interest of helping them, will demonstrate (to myself and them) that I am useful and important.

Helping others demonstrates my strength and knowledge of the world around me and it shows my respect for the universe that gives me the strength and resources in the first place. If I give my time and talent the respect it deserves, then people around me will begin to see that my help is a gift. It is not only given freely, but it is efficient and powerful.

More than anything, by helping others, I will see myself as a needed part in, not only my own life, but in the existence of others. If I allow myself to be run down and used to the point of being useless, then I’ll lose confidence in my own ability and begin to doubt myself. At that point, I won’t be able to help anyone or myself.

Murder To Save A Friend (part1)

Murder to Save A Friend
(part 1)

Everything about this situation looks so plain and simple from my point of view. John needs to see it for himself, not that it matter’s who tells him, only that he finds out before it’s to late. It’s true that I see things from my own perspective which comes with a certain light that most people are blind to, but it is illuminating and many people, including my friend John, would benefit from it’s intensity, but I wouldn’t go as far as saying he has ever listened to me. He rarely takes my advice, in fact, usually going in the direction I least favor, causing hardship on himself and those who love him.

The situation is so clear and easy, as I see it, but I know I can’t  bring the subject up to John directly. I shall have to leave the task, this minor act of discretion, to my butler, a man we both adore, who is cunning and knowing, and will slip my words into John’s ear without even a hint of force or embarrassment. To say Hamish knows people would be an underestimation of his agreeable talents, to say he knows exactly the right words to use in every circumstance would be a direct hit on his powers. He is a worldly, faithful servant, not because he needs to be, because he wants to be, and he has raised me from a colicky babe into the gentleman and friend I have become today.

John loves and respects Hamish as much as I do. As my constant companion through childhood and business partner in adulthood, we have both drank from the same trough of learning, which was constantly replenished from Hamish’s well of knowledge and wisdom. As close as brothers, we’ve been through thick and thin together, and we’ve never had a bad word between us. That is, until recently.

So, it shall be Hamish who sets into motion the only possible solution to John’s miserable existence, which is to murder John’s wife and liberate my dear friend from the hell he has been subject to these last six months. Even though, as easy as it shall be, I know John will suspect me and fight tooth and nail to bring me to justice. So, to remove suspicion from myself I set my plan into motion a fortnight ago by inviting John and his wife to dinner by way of telegram while they were away in Knoxville.

Of course, they received the telegram and accepted the invitation. John replied with happy sentiments, admitting that after a week of being away with his wife he was looking forward to Hamish’s cooking, writing that she destroyed a pot of Premium Oatmeal by arguing with him instead of watching the breakfast. And while John knows that his life with Rosa is not perfect, what he doesn’t realize is that it will only get worse.
So, because of my vision and from an act of love for my best friend, I have arranged an “emergency” to befall us on the road at precisely 4:45, while we are on our way from the offices to my house for dinner. A robbery will take place that will once and for all remove Rosa from John’s life.

The death will look accidental. I am sure no one will be the wiser once the excitement is over and she is found. To further confuse matters, I have elected myself to become wounded in the performance as well. I believe it will lend an air of reality to an otherwise fake event. My wounds will not be life threatening, I hope, but should be enough to remove all possible accusations from myself and place them on the thieves.

I realize that someone might look at my scheme and think I’m only being a jealous friend who has lost his playmate and will do anything to get him back, but it would be wrong to assume that. If only it possible to see what I see, why that person would volunteer for a part in my production, possibly even maneuver themselves into the position to pull the trigger and set John free by their own hand.

It is hard for me to look upon tonight without some feelings of guilt because it would not have come to this if I would have spoke up in the beginning. If only I had John’s ear and knew how to explain myself, I know I could have saved John and Rosa. But, it is too late now and to say that I knew what was awaiting John the moment we met Rosa is only admitting that I did nothing to stop it.

Frequency Shift: A Metaphysical Exchance (part 4)

Frequency Shift:
A Metaphysical Exchance
(part 4)

Magic and Miracles follow me everywhere I go. You can ask around if you don’t believe me. I’m am using the Alchemist in me to create new things. Life is an adventure designed to teach us all how to turn energy into things we need. Bad energy can be converted into good and then changed into substance. On the other side, good energy can be used for greed and other thoughtless acts which will create great future interference and struggle. This is my mantra for today: Magic and Miracles follow me everywhere I go. Magic and Miracles follow me everywhere I go.

I learned from one of my all time favorite family members a quick way to silence your thoughts. I know it sounds impossible, especially to those who understand meditation and how important it is to have control over our thoughts in times of stress, but it is not impossible. It requires asking yourself a question.

“Who a I?” Ask yourself this question honestly and you will find yourself in a truly quiet moment.

These rare moments of silence are important and hard to achieve, but through this question, asked honestly, you will find a quiet that is not artificial or forced.

Don’t be too concerned if people learn about you meditating or laugh at the idea that thoughts can really create something real. Just because they don’t think like you or value your vision doesn’t mean they won’t benefit from your quiet times. Remember that nno matter how magnificent the sun truly is, people still complain about it. What is more importantly, is that you practice this thought: how will this serve me?

How will the new information you learn from meditating, they new information you learn abobut yourself, make you into a better person?  Only you must accept who you are. 100% acceptance of who you are is the beginning of understanding how you are creating your own reality.

What did you think about when you closed you eyes to meditate?
What was the first scene you saw floating before your eyes when you tried to shut everything out?
Who’s voice did you hear first?
What did they say?
Who were they speaking to?
How did it make you feel?
What memory do you have of meditating yesterday?

These questions will help you put your thoughts in order, help you understand what is always lurking behind the scenes putting “ideas”into your head, and it’ll show you a better layout of the map you have to navigate to bring a thought you “want” to have to the front of your mind. And once you have a better idea of what is in your mind, you will have a better idea of why certain things are in your life.

Yesterday I hung out with my brother and we had a long discussion on why people act a certain way towards people. We shared personal stories and how we should interpret other people’s actions towards ourselves. We came to the conclusion that we don’t see the other person’s feelings. Instead we see their actions and hear their words, but we don’t really know what they are feeling. And this void is very important to us as people. To know what people feel is to know why they acted a certain way. So, what does our brain do in order to fill in the blank?  It replaces the unknown with a “known” and tries to figure out what the action means.

The important thing about living our lives and being the best version of ourselves we can be, is knowing that what someone else thinks doesn’t matter. What I think of myself is the most important thought we could ever have the answer to.

So ask yourself: Who am I?
Do it today when you sit own to meditate and enjoy the silence.

A Writer

Writers

They write
They type,
They’ll edit many times

Move words
’til they’ve
perfected every line

A writer
A lover
of words and page

Writers
aren’t born
somehow their made.


I’ve was a writer even before I realized what being one meant. It was more a nagging suspicion than a revelation. There was always something inside of me trying to get free. My first experience of wanting to create a story was after reading a Conan the Barbarian book. I saw the map inside and drew my own. I tried to write a story to go along with the map, but I never got around to it. I was in seventh grade at that time.  I didn’t actually write any stories that year, but I could see the characters on the map and I began to hear character’s voices in my head. I knew where they lived, where they were going, and what they had to do.  Although, these characters and plots have been with me for a long time, I have failed to write every story,  but I’ve finished plenty along the way. I truly feel that writing is something that chose me.