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Dare The DevilChapter 13 - Summit Meeting“I was tired, so tired of running / I had to turn and look around / I saw eyes that looked right through me / And a voice that made no sound / My body froze and I stood and stared, unearthly face before me / From the depths of a hooded Nightmare / I saw what could not be.” --Kansas, Mysteries and Mayhem It was time to get serious. I remembered clearly the night a year ago in the park when I told the Devil to go to Hell. Now, I was working on becoming a Christian Witch, Communing with The Voice, and playing all sorts of psychological games with people. I never made the connection between the two. I needed a Summit Meeting. I wanted to meet the Devil face-to-face. Now, don’t look for a rational explanation here. This idea, like most that I lived by those days, came to me clearly by The Voice during a Communion. The rationalization I had (not, dear friends, to be confused with rationality) was that meeting the Devil was one of the things I could handle, now that I was special and powerful, it sounded interesting, and I got what I wanted. And I wanted to meet the Devil. I didn’t know what I’d say to him, and didn’t have an agenda, but it seemed like the thing to do. So I put in a request with Debbie, who I always turned to in times like this. She was available on a very infrequent basis, she let me know, as long as the issue was pressing and significant. She wouldn’t chit chat, didn’t like answering questions, and certainly wasn’t going to be one of my little girly playthings. But when something of sufficient import came along, she was available. Queens of Covens did that type of thing, you know. I met David at the same cast party where I met Peter Krenic. He is such a wonderful person, warm, philosophical, always ready to laugh. He would become one of a trio of lifelong friends I met during this insane period, the others being the guy I got drunk with the night of his senior graduation and another one I haven’t even mentioned and don’t plan to. The perceptive reader will notice that few of my “friends” even have last names in this little writing, and their character development is certainly lacking. That’s what we professional authors call a device. You see, in that self-absorbed period I was the only reality. Everyone else played only bit parts. Parents, siblings (yes, I have a sister too but I won’t tell you about her), girlfriends, none of them mattered. They were for me exactly as sketchy and shadowy as I have portrayed them here….extras in the High Drama which was my self-indulgent narcissism. So it would be wrong for me to paint David’s picture too clearly. A better author, telling a nicer story, would spend many pages relaying the chess tournaments and the long walks through the desert and the ping pong Olympics we used to engage in and how David was the one and only “real” person I knew, who I tried to keep free from The Voice and all that. But I’m not that better author, and this is not a nice story. David encountered The Powers only twice. The first time we were listening to a record in my bedroom, stoned of course. Or, more properly, he was stoned and I was high. Such pathetic word games were the basis of my twisted life, you see. He was just a plain, dumb doper. I was a Christian, imbued with special abilities, Transmitter of The Power when I chose to do so. Anyway, while listening to that record that particular day the music started talking to me. Weird, obscure stuff about the human race and my destiny, and I didn’t understand it, and wouldn’t understand it for months, but I knew, just knew there was a message here, just beyond, just past the grasp of my consciousness, and all I needed to do was get a little higher, a little more attentive to The Voice, and all would be revealed. And as the music talked to me “The Power” picked me up off the bed where I was sitting and physically slammed me against the wall. My head hit the wall hard, and my arms were outstretched in a mock-crucifixion pose. Now it’s not like I was suspended in the middle of the wall without support. No, I was still sitting on the bed, but the movement from just sitting on the bed to being “crucified against the wall” was quite sudden and, evidently, dramatic. David saw the whole thing. And when the song was done a couple minutes later and I opened my eyes, he asked “What the hell was that?” “Oh, nothing…Just tripping.” “Are you sure? I mean, you were acting so freaky, head thrashing back and forth, what was all that?” “I don’t know. Nothing, really. Forget it.” “Whatever.” Another clue, it seemed, in my continuing scientific investigation as to just exactly what was going on in my life. This certainly could not prove that The Voice was real, but it did prove that someone outside me had seen something very odd. And brother Bob definitely had not liked the “mind-game” I tried to pull on him at the concert, though I still had no idea what I said. It was kind of like what I guess being a savant is all about: able to do things and perform tasks that have no basis in rational comprehension. I was the idiot-savant of witchcraft. Thank you. The second time was….Oh, how I even loathe to relate the story. Remembering it is bad enough, describing it worse, and subjecting the delicate soul of my dear reader to such psychic abuse nearly more than I can stand. But I am still convinced this story must be heard….My warning is real, the danger is real, as you must understand. One day we were driving down the long straight road between my house and his. David was driving. He was not stoned, and I was not high. That’s the really scary part, as The Powers and Voice began to creep their way into my sober, waking consciousness. All of a sudden, David made a hard right turn, for no apparent reason at all. We were now headed in a direction completely opposite from where we needed to go, moving toward the middle of absolutely nowhere. “Yo, Dude, what the heck are you doing?” No answer. “Hello? Idiot? Anybody in there?” No answer. Then I noticed that his hands were not on the steering wheel. He was rubbing them together like some poor imitation of the villain Snidely Whiplash in some cheesy melodrama. He turned his head toward me. His face was changed. It was not him. It was dark, evil, malevolent. And this face was floating 2 inches in front of his face. “We are going to the place where your family’s bones will be kept.” But it was not David’s voice. Much darker, distorted, again like a cheap sound effect from a B-movie. But as he spoke I felt a laser beam of hatred and misery shoot into my soul. I immediately jumped back against the passenger door and covered my face. I would see the exact same gesture from the Love of My Life, directed at me, in only a few months. “That’s enough!! I GIVE!!!!!!” For instantly I knew….I asked to meet the Devil, and once again, wish granted. Sam always got what he wanted. Sam was special. Sam wants drugs, Sam gets drugs. Sam wants girls, Sam gets girls. Sam wants to meet the Devil, Sam gets to meet the Devil. Next request? Only there was no dialogue, no confrontation. I had nothing to say to this malicious darkness except “Leave me ALONE!!!!!” David looked forward. Put his hands on the wheel. Made a U-turn. Then said softly, “Just kidding.” I had never been more relieved in my life than when I heard his own voice. My heart was beating faster than I’d thought possible. To say I was stunned is like calling the Grand Canyon a big hole in the ground, but I lack the linguistic facility to communicate the effect any better. “Why did you DO that?!? What’s wrong with you?!?” That’s what I felt like saying. But I didn’t. That would have been the natural, normal reaction. But there was nothing natural or normal about this situation. Nothing. And I knew it. What I didn’t know was the subtle profundity of the lie embodied in the entire episode. I wanted to see the Devil, and I did. And I didn’t like it, not one bit, thank you very much. So that meant that I had no attraction to evil, right? That The Voice and The Powers were, in fact, from God, because if they were from the Devil I would hate them because I saw the Devil and I hated him and since I didn’t hate the Voice or the Powers they couldn’t be from the Devil, could they. Could they? |
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