The Reverend

My alarm clock read 9:17 a.m. I was going to be late for school but too depressed to get out of bed, falling back to sleep for another hour before forcing myself up for the day. The house was quiet. Another hour passed before I realized it was Saturday.

I poured milk on the Cap't Crunch in my bowl and headed to the living room, cycling through the TV guide about a dozen times before giving up. When depression has you, the world is dim. Two squirrels chased each other outside the patio door. The sight of them reminded me how the little neighbor boys used to jump up and down and squeal with excitement at the slightest thing. It used to make me smile. I couldn’t smile anymore. I glanced hopeless at the ceiling and then back toward the TV. The same paranormal program that made our town famous several years ago was showing an episode on hauntings. In the past, I would have rolled my eyes and quickly changed the channel. This time was different. I watch intently. It was all too real. The same experiences I had were shown on the program. The dark shadowy figures. The hallucinations. The eerie voices. My heart reached out to the people in the documentary. They didn’t have a clue what they were up against.

A woman talked about leaving her kitchen for a second and then coming back to find all of the chairs stacked on top of each other.

“It was like they just disappeared and then reappeared that way,” she said.

My hand shook, unable to set the coffee cup neatly on the table, hot liquid ran in every direction. The pen. My pen did the same thing, only I chose to ignore it. It had dissolved itself and reappeared in my hand. I thought back to the moment. I remembered wishing the pen would appear in my hand because I was too exhausted to get up. I passed it off to sleep deprivation. Did the woman in the show have a similar experience? Did she simply wish for the chairs be stacked on top of each other?

I had questions that needed answers. Monika's name starred at me through my address book. I decided against it. I couldn't risk Justin or Corbin finding out. There was a woman in town, Marla Williams. She was one of those palm reader, fortune teller types. I hated even the thought of it, but I was desperate.

Saturdays were always busy in Millersville. It took forever to find a parking spot. I eventually just snuck into The Jumping Bean’s lot and ended up walking over to Marla’s shop.

“Hello, my name is Will." I walked into her shop. There were crystals of all shapes and sizes. Incense burned in each corner of the room, enough to make me gag.

“I know who you are.” Marla smiled. “You go to school with my daughter.”

“I believe so. Samantha, right?”

“That’s right.”

I had always been kind to Marla's daughter. Samantha was a grade below me. Heavy set, not very pretty, didn’t have any friends that I knew of. I went out of my way to talk to her. She would get done with band practice the same time I would finish with football. We were always the last kids picked up. I usually came up with some lame comment like, I hope they didn’t forget about us, and she would smile.

"How is she? I haven’t seen her much since football ended.”

For all my social anxieties, I did have a knack for small talk. It was detached and unemotional, just logical. There were no feelings, no blushing, nothing personal involved. “She’s doing well, all things considered.”

“All things considered. What do you mean?”

“Oh it’s nothing. She was just going through a rough patch for a while. Teenage stuff I guess.” Marla said. I didn’t say it but I knew the truth. Samantha always had a tough go of it. She was teased and bullied. That's part of the reason I went out of my way to be nice to her.

"What brings you here, Will?"

“Um, some things have been happening, things you might have answers for.”

“I’d be glad to help. First, I'd like to do a reading. Would you be ok with that?”

“Um, I'm not so sure about that."

“It'll be painless, I promise. It'll give me some insight into the things that cloud your mind.”

I agreed to the reading. Marla was remarkably accurate. She pinned the pain in my heart. Her concern for the anger inside was eminent. I told her I was working with a trusted therapist. She encouraged me to continue doing so.

“William, you might not want to hear this but it's my duty to warn you.”

“What is it?”

“There are dangers around you. Dark spirits. They're feeding off of your anger, using your pain against you.”

“I’m getting that under control.”

“Still, it is very dangerous to have them around you. They're like vampires. They drain your spiritual light and bleed you dry.”

“Spiritual light?”

“All beings, whether good or evil need light, or energy if you prefer, to survive. Beings from a negative realm will try to get you to lower and misuse your energy. That’s the only way they can feed off of it. If they fed off of positive energy it would be most uncomfortable for them, maybe even kill them.” Marla warned of the dangers of carrying as much anger as I did.

"There are certain rituals, protection prayers, I'd like you to use."

"Thanks Ms. Williams. I appreciate your concern, but I assure you I'm in control."

"Be careful, Will, dark spirits have a way of getting inside. You won't even know it."

“Can we focus on my experience with the pen?” Dark spirits scared me sure, but I didn't have time for ritual and prayer. I needed immediacy. I needed results.

“This phenomenon occurs more often than you think. Techniques for moving objects were quite common thousands of years ago. It's called Telekinesis. The ancient Egyptians used this knowledge to build the Pyramids.”

“Does it still exist? What happened to it?”

Marla smiled. "A few bad apples misused the power and sought personal gain at the expense of others. The enlightened people of the time quickly recognized the danger of such knowledge and hid it away. Saving it for those who prove themselves worthy enough to possess such powerful abilities."

“Do you think I might have these abilities?”

“It's possible. I imagine this isn't the first time you experienced something like this?”

“It's the first and only time."

Marla's face went pale. “I've never heard of anyone discovering these abilities as late in life as you have, usually it's something people are born with. This concerns me, Will. Usually, a person first encounters their gifts when they are quite young. In childhood.”

I sat back, clenched my fists, and wiped my hands on my trembling knees. I remembered the dark entity telling me that he was giving me a gift. I was in great danger. It was unnatural for me to have this ability. I looked up at Marla who's concern deepened. It wasn’t until I was out the door and on the street that I realized that I hadn’t paid or even thanked her for her help. I was too afraid to go back. She was too afraid to come after me.

“Mr. Stark!” The sound of his voice ignited my blood pressure. My feet froze to the sidewalk. “Turn and face me, son.” The lump in my throat swelled bigger as I pivoted around. Mr. Channing was standing on two old milk crates underneath the same lamppost on the same street corner he had been for the past three years.

“Mr. Channing.” I cleared my throat and addressed him. “It isn’t Sunday.”

“The Devil never takes a day off. Why should I?” His eyes starred with forced intention.

“I see.”

“I warned you. God is watching.” His eyes held me frozen in their grip. “I saw you come out of that shop of horrors ... that witch’s den, the Devil’s den.” My feet still couldn't move. “I’ve got my eye on you boy. Don’t think I don’t. I know you were involved with my daughter, and that devil worshiping murderer!”

“I am sorry for your loss. Believe me. I'm grieving Allison’s death more than you know. She was very dear to me, sir."

Mr. Channing's lip curled. “Lies! You were in on it. You and that Fritz boy! I know you had something to do with it!”

My fists gripped down on themselves causing a sharp tingling in my hands. “I’m the only one who tried to help Allison. I tried to pull her away from him. I tried to save her from going down that path!”

Mr. Channing tilted his head back and looked toward the sky and then back at me. “And look at you now. Running toward the very thing you were trying to save her from. Running right into the Devil’s welcoming arms. Running right where you belong.”

“You’re the one who belongs there! You’re the one who abandoned her, who drove her away, who drove her into Corey’s arms! You should have been there. Protected her! You ran like a coward! You belong in hell! Not her! You killed her!"

Mr. Channing stood stunned and visibly shaken. No one ever dared challenge him. Several people stopped to stare. A few had recorded the incident on their smart phones. I didn’t care. Whispers swirled around me. The same ones that came from my closet, urging me to rush him.

“Knock him off his pedestal! Strike him down! Use the gift that's been given to you.” The voices shouted in my ear. I envisioned the milk crates shattering and Mr. Channing breaking his neck. I slowed my breathing, took control, and stepped back.

"Don't ever come back!" Mr. Channing's temper took hold. His knee buckled and the crates crumbled beneath him, causing him to fall forward into my arms. Our eyes met in icy cold stares. No words were exchanged, just hate and its wicked vibration.