It is human nature to dream and plan for an idyllic future. Jack Aitken’s high hopes for his family and himself have fallen far short of his envisioned destiny. Random twists of fate have caused Jack’s dreams to be altered, postponed, or abandoned. Jack has played by the rules all his life, but living years on the knife’s edge has drained him mentally and spiritually. But he has a plan to change the trajectory of his life!
Chasing his dream of becoming an author, Jack completely throws himself into researching Route 666, a road closed by the government due to an unusual number of deadly accidents. Ignoring the warning signs and the pleas of his wife, Amanda, Jack uses an ancient map provided by a suspicious museum curator to search for a previously unknown Native American burial mound. Instead, he ignites a chain reaction of events that find Jack fighting his personal demons while in a life and death struggle with a malevolent being whose power rivals the devil himself.
About the novel’s thrilling conclusion, editor Emily Marquart stated, “I loved the twists and turns, and I honestly had no idea how it would pan out!”
“I fear not the dark itself but what may lurk within it.” Anonymous
Prologue
September 1728
Woods outside present-day Culpeper, Virginia
Sunset
Alsoomse was running as fast as she could through the dense woods. Drenched in sweat and with blood dripping down her face from cuts caused by razor-like thorns that engulfed the trail, she had managed to stay on the one recognizable path in the forest, but now the sun was setting. Soon, the night would fall, and it would be too challenging to stay on the trail.
Alsoomse knew she would then become hopelessly lost, just like when she had arrived in the Manahoac village about thirteen moons ago to support a group sent to negotiate a pact for peace between the Manahoac and her tribe. As a result, she had little knowledge of the local region. The only way she knew could lead her out was the same way she had come in, and Alsoomse was still very unsure how far away from the main access road she was.
She felt like her chest was about to explode, so she stopped, leaned against a tree, and tried to catch her breath. She could hear those vicious Hell Hounds in the distance and knew that her disappearance was no longer a secret. Along with the howling Mya Aoemwa she heard crashing through the woods, that hideous Evil Shaman Matchitehew would be leading his Red-Eye Warriors after her. She shuddered, thinking of the consequences if they caught up to her, but she knew she would not survive the forced labor much longer.
She also sensed that with the digging approaching its conclusion, it was unlikely she and the remaining Manahoac would continue to serve any useful purpose. Her death, along with the remaining Manahoac, was inevitable. She had been planning her escape for weeks, and there would be no going back. She started running down the trail once more.
September 1728
Manahoac labor camp
Lying on the dirt floor of his wigwam after another back-breaking day of hard labor, Eluwilussit heard the howling of the Mya Aoemwa. Too exhausted to even eat, he barely could lift his head from the ground. The dampness in the air combined with his sweat-soaked clothing caused him to shiver. He knew his physical condition was deteriorating, and he soon would be dead. The food rations were barely enough to keep the remaining Manahoac alive, and with the burial mound excavation nearly complete, he knew that Matchitehew would kill them all. Eluwilussit had been the Medicine Man for the tribe before Matchitehew had arrived several years ago. He knew that the remnants of the tribe now regretted replacing him with Matchitehew, but he was a forgiving man and held no animosity toward his friends. His only regret was his inability to convince the tribe that Matchitehew would lead them into ruin. Unfortunately for the tribe, Eluwilussit’s horrible visions had become a reality.
The years before Matchitehew’s arrival had proven to be difficult ones for the Manahoac people. They were continually being pushed westward by the white man, and the small size of their tribe made them an easy target for larger groups. These larger tribes would steal their food and their women. He did his best to protect his people, but his spells were no substitute for a shortage of warriors, and his pleas to The Great Spirit appeared to go unheard. Then one day, Matchithew suddenly appeared, and everything changed.
He claimed to be a member of the Manahoac tribe, but no one recognized him. Eluwilussit recalled that he called himself Lucius, which was not a name that the tribe had ever heard before. Later Eluwilussit would rename him Matchitehew because of the evil that he would inflict on the people. While Eluwilussit was initially suspicious, he knew it was common for Medicine Men to leave the tribe and live many years on their own to forge ties with the spirit world and master spells and incantations. After all, he had done this very thing himself, many moons ago. This lifestyle was a challenging one and could result in spiritual changes and physical ones. Matchitehew indicated that his family members had been kidnapped from the Manahoac generations ago when he was a child, and he could only find his way back to the tribe with the help of The Great Spirit.
Matchitehew promised that he brought “good medicine” and that the tribe would prosper with his leadership. The seed corn he provided led to a crop like nothing the tribe had ever seen before. He also recruited great warriors who successfully defended the Manahoac against the tribes that had previously preyed upon them. These new warriors were, in fact, such fierce fighters that the neighboring tribes sent emissaries to the Manahoac to negotiate a peace agreement. For the first time that any Manahoac could remember, they were at peace and were prosperous. The prestige of the tribe amongst its neighbors was so high that tribute gifts poured in from these other groups. Matchitehew had delivered on his promises, and Eluwilussit had no choice but to step aside and abide by Matchitehew’s leadership.
Staring through a gaping hole in his tattered shelter, Eluwilussit looked to the sky and noted that the moons of change, known as Ptanyetu, had begun, which meant the cold season was coming. This change mirrored the fortunes of the Manahoac. Just as the season of plenty always follows a time of scarcity, the prosperity that Matchitehew brought with him soon gave way to hardship and eventually calamity. The following season’s harvest was meager, which led to a shortage of food. The visits and tributes from other tribes began to become less frequent and eventually stopped altogether. Rumors circulated that the road through Manahoac territory and the forests surrounding the tribe were mya-li, and the woods were now frequently avoided. The isolation and inability to trade for what they needed only increased the misery of the tribe.
Matchitehew said that the Manahoac had not been thankful enough for the previous year's bountiful harvest, which angered the Great Spirit. He told them that they needed to construct a wiki ni for the Great Spirit and fill it with repentance offerings to appease the entity. Initially, the tribe welcomed the guidance and began to dig a deep hole. At Matchitehew’s insistence, they piled the excavated earth on top of the hole they were digging in a manner like how they would construct one of their burial mounds.
Eluwilussit began to doubt the project when Matchitehew insisted they dig day and night and had them ignore their typical activities such as storing food for the cold months. They also came across bountiful amounts of copper and gold, which were highly valuable to the white man and that the Manahoac could trade for food and other essential supplies. Matchitehew showed no interest in either of these prized minerals or stockpiling resources. Finally, Matchitehew also insisted that they call the Great Spirit by a new name, Lucifer.
When he had raised concerns about this with Matchitehew, the warriors turned on him and the people. The Manahoac became slaves, and Matchitehew worked them until they began to get sick. As the hole became cavernous, the mound grew higher, and the Manahoac started to die. Once dead, they were buried in the growing pile of dirt. There were escape attempts, but those who left never returned, nor did any help ever arrive. In a last-ditch effort to save the remaining members of the tribe, Eluwilussit began to counsel Alsoomse on how she might escape.
Unfortunately, the sounds of the Mya Aoemwa confirmed that Matchitehew was aware that she was gone. As he closed his eyes, he hoped that she would succeed where others had failed. Otherwise, he knew the Manahoac would be no more.
***
Alsoomse had thus far managed to avoid the Mya Aoemwa, but she knew they had closed the gap between them. It was getting more difficult to move down the path, not only because it was dark but because the wilderness had begun to reclaim the trail. The vines and brambles grabbed her ankles and had caused her to fall more than once. The forest was eerily silent, with the only sounds being her muscling through the brush and the beasts in hot pursuit.
Eluwilussit had told her that she would be near the main road that led through Manahoac territory and connected with other tribes when she crossed over the third stream that cut across the path. Once she got to that main road, he told her to head east toward the white man’s settlements and find help. He believed that only the white man would have weapons that might work against Matchitehew and his warriors. She had just crossed over the last stream and felt a surge of energy. She knew she had to be close to the main road.
Just then, Alsoomse heard a noise to the right that caused her to stop and look around. She began running again and was startled by noises to her left. Alsoomse looked all around and saw nothing but darkness. A sensation of being watched made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Starting down the path once more, Alsoomse eventually came upon a road. She had made it! She tried to orient herself and figure out which way was east. She looked down, and it was evident that no one had traveled this way for some time. There were no footprints or hoof prints on the muddy edges of the road.
Many people had disappeared while taking this road. Alsoomse hoped to change that. She turned left in a direction that she believed to be east. She had taken just a few steps when red eyes peering through the darkness surrounded her. Then, she heard growling and a menacing voice emanating from the night.
“Alsoomse, my dear. You should not be out here after dark. You never know what terrible things could happen.”
Screams echoed through the forest. Then, there was nothing but silence. No one was there to see Alsoomse’s body being dragged from the road back into the deep, dark woods.
Chapter 1
October 28th
Lawrence, Kansas
9:00 a.m.
Jack Aitken sat staring at the plate of bacon and eggs on the table in front of him. The Cosmic Café had a reputation for serving the most delicious breakfast in Lawrence, and typically Jack would have eaten a meal like this with gusto, but this morning he had no appetite. Nervously sipping his coffee, Jack waited for Father Mark Desmond to join him. He had not seen Mark Desmond since they were teenagers, and were it not for his clerical collar, he would likely have difficulty recognizing him.
Jack’s thoughts turned back to his family, and his anxiety began to build. A bead of sweat dripped down his back, and he tapped his fingers on the table incessantly. He knew they were safe for the moment, but how was he going to rescue them? How could he fight a force that he still could not comprehend? It was an ancient evil so horrific that he found it impossible to articulate the magnitude of its destructive power. Jack fought to maintain his composure, but his fear and unceasing worry were overwhelming him, and while he struggled not to hyperventilate, he felt tears slowly roll down his cheeks. He hoped that he could find the right words to explain all of this to Mark and, even more importantly, convince Mark to help him. What do I do if Mark doesn’t believe me? He struggled to push the negative thought from his brain, but Jack knew he was running out of time. Failure was not an option.
The waitress poured another cup of coffee, and Jack checked his watch. It was just about 9:00 a.m., and he looked out the window, scanning the parking lot for Mark. At the same time, he was on the lookout for the police. Jack was sure that the authorities in Virginia now knew he was on the run, and it would not be long before they put out a nationwide APB for him. The cloaking spell that he hoped temporarily shielded him from the view of his adversary would not provide the same protection against law enforcement.
The door to the café opened, and a bell signaled the entrance of a new patron. The waitress greeted Father Desmond by name. Jack slid out from the booth and waved to get Father Desmond’s attention. Father Desmond saw Jack and made his way over to the booth. They shook hands, greeted one another warmly, and sat down in the booth across from one another.
The waitress approached and asked Father Desmond if he would like coffee.
Father Desmond smiled. “Yes, thank you, Mary. I will have my usual as well, please.”
“Coffee coming up,” Mary said. “And I’ll put an order of pancakes and sausage in right away.”
Mary turned over the coffee cup in front of Father Desmond and poured the coffee. She left, and the two men sat looking at one another, with neither of them knowing just what to say.
Jack was the first to speak. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Father?”
Father Desmond quickly interjected, “Jack, please call me Mark. My friends still call me Mark, despite my chosen vocation.”
Jack took a breath and said, “Okay, Mark. It is good to see you, my old friend.”
“It is good to see you too,” the Father said. “I must say that it was quite a surprise to hear from you after all of these years. I am looking forward to catching up, but tell me, what brings you to Lawrence?”
Jack hesitated. “I have some business that I need to attend to here. But before I get to that, seeing you reminded me of something. Do you remember our St. Aidan’s soccer team?”
“Oh, yes.” Father Desmond smiled. “Ever since I received your e-mail, I have been thinking about CYO soccer. I was trying to recall the names of our teammates. Tommy Rogers played left-wing, didn’t he?”
Jack nodded. “That’s right. Paul Bradford played right-wing, and you were the striker.”
Father Desmond continued, “You were the right halfback, and your brother George was the goalie. Your twin brother, right?”
“Your memory is excellent, Mark. George lives in South Carolina and is married with three kids. He teaches history and coaches soccer. His son is an up-and-coming goalie himself. Guess it’s in their genes. Do you remember Camp Marydale?” he asked.
“That is where we played our games, wasn’t it?” Father Desmond laughed. “I think it was in Farmingdale on Long Island.”
“I wonder if they still play soccer games there,” Jack added. “Do you remember the championship game against Holy Spirit?”
Father Desmond quickly answered with a slight tone of disappointment in his voice. “Yes. How could I forget it? That was the game we lost two to one in overtime.”
Jack sighed. “I think George still has nightmares about that game. Every so often, he will bring it up, and it makes me think he’s still processing why he couldn’t stop that penalty shot.”
“There are some things I guess you never get over.”
Mary returned with Father Desmond’s breakfast. She turned to Jack and asked, “Was there anything wrong with your meal, hon? It looks like you have not touched it.”
“Oh, no, ma’am. I guess I’m just not very hungry this morning. I’d love some more coffee, though.”
Father Desmond poured syrup on his pancakes, and as he began to eat, Jack mindlessly stirred the coffee in his cup. He enjoyed their trip down amnesia lane but felt pangs of guilt for enjoying himself while God only knew what was happening to his family. Putting down his spoon, he said solemnly, “Mark, may I ask you a personal question?”
Mark put down his fork, matching Jack’s change in demeanor. “Sure, Jack, what would you like to know?”
“What made you decide to become a priest? How does one go about it?”
Father Desmond looked surprised and joked in a blatant attempt to lighten the mood a little. “Are you interested in becoming one, Jack?”
“I guess that would be difficult since I’m not Catholic. I’m just curious, I guess.”
Father Desmond continued to eat his breakfast. “I know that becoming a priest is not something that you hear a lot about today. It was not necessarily something that I set out to do. When I was younger, I was an altar boy. I served many masses with Father Richard Malloy, and he was an inspiration to me. He would allow me to go with him to minister to the sick in the parish, and as I approached my high school graduation, I felt a calling to serve God. After graduating from Chaminade high school, I studied theology and philosophy at Notre Dame. I got involved with the campus ministry while I was there.”
Jack shifted in his seat. “What did you do after college?”
“I returned home to Williston Park and enrolled at the Seminary of the Immaculate Conception in Huntington. After completing seminary, I served as a Deacon at St. Aidan’s and then was ordained as a priest about two years later. I eventually found my way back to Chaminade as a priest, hearing confessions and being a spiritual advisor to the young men who went there. I was transferred to the Saint Lawrence Catholic Campus here in Lawrence about ten years ago.” He studied him. “Now it’s your turn, Jack. What have you been doing all these years since the end of your illustrious soccer career?”
Jack hesitated. Should he tell Mark the real reason he was here in Lawrence? He decided he wasn’t quite ready to do so. “Well, I graduated from Herricks High School in 1984 and went to Stony Brook University. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to study when I was there, so I ended up taking a wide variety of courses, ranging from astronomy to the history of Judaism. I graduated in 1988 with a degree in Political Science and History.”
“Stony Brook has an excellent academic reputation,” Father Mark said. “What did you do after college?”
Jack felt his lips tug into a smile. “I got married to my high school sweetheart Amanda, and we have two wonderful sons. I’m not sure that my degree had anything to do with my career as I’ve been working in insurance for almost thirty years. I can’t say I love it, but who truly loves their job, right?”
Mark chuckled. “I guess that is true. I love what I do, but there are aspects of being a priest that can be, shall we say, challenging.”
Jack was about to continue when his phone began to vibrate. He had purchased a burner phone to avoid being tracked by the authorities, but there was nowhere he could run to escape this caller. Jack checked the screen, a knot building in his stomach at the all too familiar number. He felt the blood draining from his head and thought he might faint, but he knew he had to collect himself and answer the call.
Excusing himself, he got up from the booth and pressed the answer button. Jack heard a voice that struck fear right to his very core.
The genteel English accent on the other side of the line could not mask the cold, calculating tone of the voice. “Good morning, Jack. Are you still in Lawrence?”
“Yes. I am here.”
“How are you progressing in regard to fulfilling the terms of our bargain?”
Jack took a deep breath. “I’m working on it. Are my wife and children okay?”
“Of course, Jack. They are okay, for now.”
Jack was growing agitated. He struggled to keep his cool. “I want to speak with them now,” he demanded.
The icy voice replied, “Mr. Aitken. You are not in a position to make demands. I would suggest that you act with greater restraint if you wish to see your family again, alive.”
Jack regained his composure. “May I speak to my family, please?”
“That is better.”
Relief flooded him as Amanda’s voice came on the line. “Jack, are you there?” she asked. Her voice was quivering.
“Yes, Amanda, I am here. Are you and the boys okay?”
“We are, for now. Where are you?”
Jack tried to sound reassuring. “I am in Lawrence, Kansas. I’m going to find what he is demanding, and I will see you all soon.”
“Jack, please hurry.” Amanda did not sound convinced. “I’m worried about what all of this is doing to Louis and David.”
While she was speaking, Jack heard his sons sobbing in the background. He closed his eyes and tried to picture Amanda and the boys. He wanted to remember them with smiles and laughter, but the only vision that came to his mind was the three of them clutching one another inside a ring of fire. The fear on their faces seared in his memory forever.
Jack tried to sound composed and confident, but there were tears in his eyes. “Amanda, I know this is hard on all of you. I promise I will make this right.”
The voice that he dreaded returned. “Jack. You have heard for yourself that your family is unharmed. I would suggest that you make haste. Remember, midnight November first, Mr. Aitken.”
Before he could say another word, the line went dead.
***
After Jack excused himself, Father Desmond continued to sip his coffee. He enjoyed talking about their glory days, but he could not help but wonder why Jack was here in Lawrence. He said he was here for business reasons, but as a priest, Father Desmond had become pretty adept at sizing people up and knowing when they were hiding something. There was something Jack wasn’t sharing with him. But what was it?
Jack returned to the booth, his face ashen. The mood, which was blissful with nostalgia only a few minutes ago, was now somber and subdued. One clear thing was Jack’s call had not gone well. “Jack, are you alright?”
He sat down and rubbed his eyes. Father Desmond didn’t miss that they shone with tears. “I am okay, Mark,” Jack stated unconvincingly.
Father Desmond grew more concerned. “You do not look okay, Jack. Did you receive bad news?”
“It’s… complicated, Mark. I will be alright. Do you want some more coffee?”
Father Desmond could tell Jack was not ready to talk just yet. “Sure, Jack, let us have one more cup.” He motioned to Mary, who brought a fresh pot of coffee.
Jack added cream and sugar to his cup and stirred it with a spoon for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he looked up at Mark. “I’m sorry for that interruption and for being so distracted. Where were we?”
“I do not have to be a priest to see that you are troubled, Jack. Sometimes it is beneficial to have another person help to bear a burden. I am not trying to pressure you or pry into something personal, but perhaps I can help.”
Jack took a deep breath. “I know this is probably the last thing you would think I’d be asking you, but… what can you tell me about good vs. evil? What I mean is, what did they teach you in seminary about it?”
Father Desmond tried not to appear shocked. Were it not for Jack’s grave appearance, he might have grinned or possibly attempted to change the subject. It was clear, however, that Jack was waiting for an answer.
“Well,” he began slowly. “The Catholic Church teaches that there are three kinds of evil. Physical evil encompasses all those things that can cause harm to us. These include injury, illness, and even death itself. All of these are things that prevent human beings from fulfilling the normal progression of their lives. The second kind of evil is what we refer to as moral evil. Sin is the manifestation of this. It is where a person does what they know; eventually, it causes a guilty conscience.” He paused. “The final type of evil is called metaphysical. This form of evil prevents natural objects from attaining their ideal potential or what we might call perfection.”
Jack nodded as if he understood, and Father Desmond continued, “I believe more people abandon their faith in God because of the influence of evil. This temptation to stop believing leads a person to feel resentment toward God and causes them to rebel. Some people refer to evil as a thing, but I see it as the wrong choices we make and their consequences. Evil is the freedom to choose sin and selfishness. God is the ultimate example of joy and love, and rebellion on our part causes us to lose these things.”
Jack’s shoulders slumped, and he stared at the table. It seemed his words had hit close to home. “Mark, why do bad things seemingly always happen to good people?”
Father Desmond collected his thoughts before responding. “Jack, this is a question we all ask ourselves. It is hard not to, at times, feel persecution despite trying to do what we believe to be the right thing. However, there are three thoughts that I would like you to consider. First, who says all people are good? Isn’t the opposite true? Don’t good things happen to people who do not seem to deserve them? I find that sinners often think they are saints, but a real saint would know they are a sinner. Indeed great people are the ones that are most reluctant to say that they are.
“Second, is all suffering terrible? Isn’t true wisdom derived from suffering? Even Eastern religions like Buddhism refer to true knowledge only coming from pain. Ask yourself, what does a person who has not suffered truly know about life?
“Finally, are we destined to know the rationale behind God’s actions? The man the Bible calls Job may represent the ultimate exploration of the concept of evil. Even at the end of that book, we do not know what God is actually up to.”
Jack removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I have to admit that I never really thought about the challenges in my life from this perspective,” he said. “Perhaps it’s the consequence of being a lapsed Methodist. I know that part of a priest’s job is to hear the confessions of their congregation. I guess mine is that I have not set foot in a church in more than twenty years. Thank you for indulging me. I do, however, have another question that I would like to ask you. Mark, what is the position of the church on the existence of Hell?”
Father Desmond fought every instinct that told him to ask Jack where this was all leading. Something in Jack’s face, however, said to him that this was not that time. “If you are looking for proof of its reality, I have none to give you. Taking things on faith is part of my job description. The church affirms its existence and that Hell is the chief punishment for being separated from God. You see, to be united with God means to love him freely. Suppose we sin against God, our fellow man, or ourselves, then we are not loving God, are we? Dying without repentance and refusing to accept His mercy means we are separated from Him forever. Ultimately, this is what the concept of Hell truly represents. Perhaps it is a state of being as much as a place. Hell is a consequence of our free will. In some respect, we choose Hell for ourselves. For some, Hell seems unreal, and its existence impossible. However, when we acknowledge the inhumanity of Auschwitz or what happened to Christ at Golgotha, then the existence of Hell seems all too real.”
Jack took this all in. “It’s easy to forget in all of the discussion about heaven that there even is a Hell,” he said. “The concept of free will sometimes is lost when we are making excuses for our behavior. Being a victim of circumstance is a lot easier to accept than taking responsibility for our actions. I have to admit that I am guilty of doing just that.”
“If you are searching for absolution, you are talking to the right person.”
Jack gave him a rueful smile. “Be careful, Mark. Some souls are beyond redemption. After all, the devil does not live in Hell all by himself.” Before Father Desmond could respond, Jack continued, “Mark, I have one final question.”
Father Desmond looked at Jack. “Okay, Jack. I’m listening.”
Jack hesitated and then asked, “You have given me your explanation of what the Church says about evil and Hell, but I would like to hear what your personal view is on the subject. What do you believe about the reality of these things? Do you believe in the supernatural?”
Father Desmond looked up sharply.
Jack persisted. “Mark, I need to know.” His agony was apparent.
Father Desmond had not discussed the topic of the existence of supernatural forces with anyone in many years. He had somehow managed to bury his experiences, but they came flooding back in a torrent of fear. He had promised himself that he would never open this door again, but Jack’s anxiety was palpable, and he knew that his friend needed significant assistance.
Father Desmond said a silent prayer and began to speak, “Jack, I have not spoken about this in many years and promised myself that I would never do so again. However, I can tell you are carrying a great weight on your shoulders. If it helps you, I will tell you what I believe.”
***
Father Desmond’s demeanor had changed as soon as Jack asked his question. His fingers were tightly laced together and held under his chin. He stared downward at the tabletop as if he were about to pray. Jack sensed he’d struck a nerve, but there was no turning back now. He listened intently as Mark spoke.
“The church walks a fine line when it comes to the supernatural and paranormal. Faith requires us to believe in the extraordinary, but ghosts and spirits can just as easily be deceptive instruments of Satan as they are souls of the departed. I have had several experiences with the paranormal and what some would call the supernatural. When I was in third grade, I woke up in the middle of the night and saw a vision of what I believed to be my grandfather in my room. It was perplexing since my grandfather lived in Florida. I asked the vision what it was doing, and it disappeared. The next day I found out that my grandfather had passed away. I was not scared and tried to tell my parents about what I saw, but they dismissed it as the imagination of a sleepy nine-year-old. I can’t tell you why he appeared to me. Perhaps it was to say goodbye. But as we sit here today, I know what I saw, and it was real to me.”
Father Desmond took a sip of water and continued. “As a teenager, I went on a camping trip with some of my friends. One of them had packed a Ouija board, and we thought it would be cool to play with it. That night we gathered around the campfire and sat in a circle holding the board. We started asking questions about girls and other things teenage boys discuss. Then one of my friends asked if there was anyone there with us. The planchette began to move and hovered over ‘yes.’ We then requested whatever this was to identify itself. The planchette started moving independently, spelling out D-E-M-O-N. The board then flew out of our laps into the campfire. We were startled and began accusing one another of trying to pull a prank. We narrowly avoided a fistfight over the whole incident. Although none of us would admit it, we were scared. We talked about what had happened for hours, and eventually, we all agreed we should go to sleep.”
Jack swallowed hard.
“I was jarred awake by what sounded like something was scratching at our tent. I glanced down at my watch, and the time read 3:00 a.m. As I sat up in my sleeping bag, I saw something so hideous that I cannot even describe it to you. Its claws were holding open the flaps of the tent as if it were beginning to pull itself inside. Its red eyes met mine, and it growled. None of my friends moved a muscle. It was almost as if this entity was coming for me. I instinctively reached for my crucifix, which I always wore around my neck. I held it in front of me, and the entity reared back as if the vision of the crucifix was causing it pain, and it disappeared.
“My heart was pounding out of my chest, and I was fighting to catch my breath. Eventually, I slid back down into my sleeping bag, but truthfully there was no getting any sleep after that. The following day we found footprints in front of the tent. They looked like claws, and everyone else figured that some animals had visited us. I knew better but kept silent as I thought no one would believe me. I only found out years later paranormal investigators consider 3:00 a.m. to be the so-called witching or devil’s hour and that demons appear at that time as an affront to God and the holy trinity. The next day was when I decided to become a priest.”
Jack was speechless. Before he could utter a word, Father Desmond began to speak once more. “As a priest, I have witnessed and participated in exorcisms. I have seen things that have no earthly explanation. Modern psychiatry and science cannot account for them. I believe that evil is present in forms that we cannot and do not want to comprehend. Satan and his legions are real, and they have a voracious appetite for souls. The battle between good and evil has raged since Satan fell and continues to this day. I am haunted by what I have seen and experienced. You asked me what I believe. What I have told you is what I feel entirely and unequivocally.”
Jack sat dumbfounded. He had come to Lawrence for a specific purpose and hoped that Mark could give him some insight into the adversary he faced. Somehow this seemed to become even more surreal than could be imagined. How could it be possible that reaching out to a friend who he had not seen for nearly forty years would provide him with the hope that he might still find a way out of what appeared to be a no-win situation? That he even might yet save his family and himself from eternal damnation.
It couldn’t be just a coincidence. Jack did not believe in predestination, but was a higher power guiding his steps?
Although Father Desmond asked Jack to call him Mark, it no longer seemed respectful. Father Desmond had shared so much of himself with Jack and had done so despite his fear and dread. The only way he could think to repay Father Desmond was to tell him the truth. He owed him that.
Regaining his composure, Jack leaned in closely and whispered, “Let’s go for a walk.”
Father Desmond insisted on paying the bill, and Jack acquiesced. They stepped out into the bright sunshine.
***
The air was crisp but invigorating. The reds and yellows of the changing leaves made it clear fall was in full swing. It was late October, and Halloween decorations were everywhere. Father Desmond led the way to Lawrence Nature Park, several blocks from The Cosmic Café. They made small talk, continuing to catch up on what had transpired in their lives over the years. They arrived at the park and walked an unpaved trail surrounded by oak trees, hickory, and redbuds. Jack almost felt like he was back home, walking a path along Bull Run Creek in the Manassas battlefield.
He searched for the courage to tell Father Desmond the real reason he was in Lawrence.
“Father, I greatly appreciate the time we have spent together today and everything that you have shared with me. Now, I need to share some things with you. There is no easy way for me to say this, so I will just say it. I am on the run. The police in Virginia are likely looking for me right now, and it probably won’t be long before they figure out that I’ve left town. Several weeks ago, my family went missing.” Their conversation stood in stark contrast to the tranquil park surroundings. “They were victims of a kidnapping, but the authorities think I am responsible for their disappearance.”
Father Desmond didn’t appear to be surprised. “I see, Jack. I sensed something terrible had happened, and I was waiting for you to tell me what was going on. Please continue.”
Reassured, Jack continued. “The ransom for the return of my family is not monetary. If I don’t meet the demands of the kidnapper, then my family will lose their eternal souls.”
Father Desmond’s eyes widened. “Jack, did I hear you correctly? Did you say, lose their souls?
“Father, I’m sorry for dragging you into this. If I hadn’t lived with this knowledge for several weeks, I wouldn’t believe it myself.” He shook his head. “I had nowhere else to turn, and when I found your name while searching for a priest to converse with here in Lawrence, I was relieved.”
“You did the right thing,” Father Desmond reassured him. “As Christians, we are here to help bear each other’s burdens. Please go on.”
Jack blurted out, “Father, I am here to retrieve an object from Stull Cemetery.”
Father Desmond stopped dead in his tracks. Jack couldn’t blame him. Stull Cemetery, located twenty miles west of Lawrence, had a well-deserved reputation for being one of the world's evilest places. In truth, many believed it to be the gate to Hell itself.
He looked Jack directly in the eyes and asked sternly, “Jack, what could you possibly want from Stull Cemetery?”
“Father, are you able to hear the confession of a non-Catholic?”
“Yes, if the danger of death is present.”
Jack put his hand on Father Desmond’s shoulder. “Father, perhaps it would be best if I start at the beginning…”