Hell Hath Enlarged Itself

“Hell hath enlarged itself beyond measure! That means that every time a lost sinner dies, the pits get a little deeper, and the fire gets hotter and it’s white-hot even now, my friends!”

Brother Bo Craven was on a roll. People were on the edge of their seats, hanging on his every word. Bo was a big man, well over six feet tall, broad shouldered and barrel chested. He wore his jet black hair in a crew cut. He wore horn rimmed glasses. He had shucked his navy blue suit jacket into the front row several minutes ago, but that hadn’t prevented his white dress shirt from becoming sweat soaked.

I would have been scared to death of the preacher’s warning , but I had been saved four years earlier at Vacation Bible School. Most people in our community would have reckoned that was my only redeeming value. I was a gangly 16 year old boy with greasy hair, a bad complexion, and coke bottle glasses. I hadn’t gotten my driver’s license. I didn’t have my permit. Dad used words like “lazy” and “he just don’t know how to apply himself” when he spoke of me. Honestly, I was doing the best that I could.

Brother Bo was bringing his sermon to a close. He was building to an explosive climax.

“Ezekiel 33:ll says it best, sinner friends: ‘As I live, saith the Lord GOD, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn from his way and live: turn ye, turn ye from your evil ways; for why will ye die?’ Why will ye die, dear ones? John 3:16, you’ve all got it memorized: ’Whosoever believes on him shall be saved!” We sang that old song earlier tonight…”

With that, he began to sing, clapping his hands to keep time, in a twangy, but pleasant baritone:

"Whosoever," surely meaneth me,

Surely meaneth me, O surely meaneth me;

"Whosoever," surely meaneth me,

"Whosoever," meaneth me.”

During his singing, our eyes met briefly and I felt chills going down my spine. I thought back to the last Saturday night. I saw the straight razor, held in his right hand, slashing the throat of Missy Miller. I saw myself confronting him, fists clenched, trying desperately to look bigger and tougher than I actually was.

“I seen what you did!” I spat the words at him. My voice sounded shrill and impotent.

“No one will ever believe you, boy!” he responded in a voice that was similar to the hissing of a snake. After that, he waved the razor at me.

“If I was you, I’d git while I still could!”

Like a coward, I turn and ran.

I shook my head and snapped myself out of my daze. Now, Pastor Eddie Lakens was standing beside Brother Bo in front of the pulpit.

“If you don’t know the Lord,” Pastor wailed as tears rolled down his cheeks, “Come and put your faith in trust in Him!”

My mother began playing the piano and Aunt Tilly joined in on the organ. The congregation sang:

“I can hear my Savior calling,

I can hear my Savior calling,

I can hear my Savior calling,

"Take thy cross and follow, follow Me."

I'll go with Him through the garden,

I'll go with Him through the garden,

I'll go with Him through the garden,

I'll go with Him, with Him all the way.”

Several people came down the aisle. They were teary eyed like the old pastor as they either shook hands with or embraced the two preachers. Then, after some discussion and Bible reading, one of the ministers would kneel with the new convert and pray. When the preacher and the new Christian would stand, shouts of “Amen!”, “Praise God!”, and “Thank You, Jesus!” would resound throughout the little auditorium. My father, seated next to me, had the heartiest of the shouts. When Bo had said that nobody would believe me, Dad was probably one of the people he had in mind.

By the time that the altar call was finished, almost a dozen souls were flanking Brother Bo and Pastor Lakens. After the pastor announced their names, “Amazing Grace” was played and the remainder of the congregation walked to the front and filed by the preachers and the newborn Christians. We all shook hands with or embraced everybody. When it was my turn to shake hands with Brother Bo, he wrapped his arms around me in a hug that almost squeezed the breath out of me. Suddenly, I knew what the prey of a boa constrictor felt like.

“You remember what I told you, boy!” he whispered in my ear. When he finally let go of me, I felt like I was going to collapse. Dad was ahead of me in the line and saw me out of the corner of his eye. He took me by the arm and led me back to our pew.

“He’s a great man of God, son,” Dad whispered. My father never said anything unless he believed it wholeheartedly.

With the handshake line completed, Pastor Eddie Lakens asked Dad to close in prayer.

“Dear Father God in Heaven,” Dad prayed loudly and fervently. “We thank you for allowing us to be here tonight. We thank you that you have seen fit to add more souls to your Kingdom and that you have written new names in the Lamb’s Book of Life. Lord, we know that it’s possible that there are others here who have unfinished business. Those who need to make a decision. I humbly ask that you would empower them to make that decision for you before it’s eternally too late. In Jesus’s name, I pray, Amen and amen!”

Dad never claimed to be a preacher, but his words had given me courage that Brother Bo could have never inspired.

Call it Providence, coincidence, or whatever you like. Dooley Prince was standing by the back door that evening, shaking hands. Dooley was just the man I needed to speak with. Not only was Dooley the church’s youth minister, he was also Missy Miller’s uncle and a Deputy Sheriff in Caudill County.

I shook his hand and said, “Brother Dooley, could I have a word?”

“Sure, ol’ buddy,” he drawled. “Let’s go over here in this prayer room.” I had been saved and baptized when I was 12 years old, but I think almost everybody doubted that it was a genuine conversion. Dooley probably though he was going to lead me to the Lord.

We went into the prayer room and sat on folding chairs. I launched into my lurid tale. Several times a week, I took long walks in the woods behind our house. Last Saturday evening, during that walk, I usually passed an old graveyard that local teenagers used as a parking spot. As I approached, I heard a woman and a man having an argument. The man kept saying, “They won’t ever believe this!” and “I’m a gonna kill you!” I arrived at the graveyard just in time to see Bo Cravens slash Missy’s throat with his straight razor.

Dooley looked shocked at first, but then his expression changed. He even nodded a few times. Then, as I finished, reached out and squeezed my shoulder.

“Let me ask you a question, Richie, and think hard. Was Missy wearing any jewelry that you noticed?”

I nodded, “Yessir, it was a necklace with a heart shaped , what do you call it? A locket, yeah a locket.

He sighed deeply and stifled a sob. He wiped a few tears.

“Do you think I’m a liar?”

“Son, a lot of what you just said rings true. Missy never took that necklace off. Her mamaw, my mom, bought her that when she was a little girl. We ain’t seen Missy since last Saturday. Sheriff Bentley said we ought to keep it quiet and hope that if somebody took her, they’d slip up. This is just between the two of us, alright?”

“Yessir.”

Another deep sigh, another stifled sob, more wiped tears.

“My niece was pregnant,” he said, voice breaking, “She said she knew who the daddy was and we’d never believe it if she told.” That was all he could get out before he broke down.

I reached out and patted him on the back a few times. I really had no idea how to handle this situation.

When he recovered, he said, “Lord knows, she was right. Brother Bo?” He began sobbing again. The sobbing ended as quickly as it had begun. He stood, took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stood straight and tall.

“You did right, young man,” he was using his deputy sheriff voice. He shook my hand, then said, “Go on home. I’ll look into this.”

“You gonna be ok, Dooley?” I asked. I was on the verge of tears myself.

“Ain’t got no choice, “he replied. “Go on home. And thanks for what you’ve done here tonight. Took a lot of guts.”

I didn’t feel very courageous.

It was almost bedtime when the phone rang. I was watching something on TV. No, I was staring at the TV while my parents extolled the goodness and greatness of Brother Bo Cravens. Mom went to the kitchen and answered the phone. When she came back to the living room, she looked terrified.

“Son, what have you done? Why is the sheriff on the phone, asking for you?”

I jumped to my feet and ran to the kitchen. I grabbed the phone.

“Sheriff?” I said.

“Is this Richie Proudfoot?”

“Yessir.”

“Deputy Prince asked me to get in touch with you. Based on the information that you provided, Deputy Prince questioned Bo Cravens regarding the disappearance of Melissa Miller. Cravens pulled a straight razor and attempted to stab Deputy Prince.”

At this point, the Sheriff sighed deeply. He had sounded like he was reading from a script, but after that pause, he changed to a more conversational tone.

“Dooley had no choice but to pull his service pistol and defend his life. Son, he shot Bo through the heart. Thanks to you, that man will never hurt anybody again!”

Yeah, Brother Bo, Hell has once again enlarged itself.