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Dare The DevilChapter 23 - Drytime“Lori, I…” “Shut UP!! Don’t TALK to me.” After a couple more futile attempts I gave up. She just wouldn’t communicate. She would glance briefly at me a couple of times, as though checking for further signs of The Face. But it was gone. I was me again. All safe. I dropped her off at her house. No kiss goodbye, no nothing. She got out, closed the door, and without even a glance over her shoulder half-ran into the house. I drove home and went to bed. No Communion, no Voice, no nothing, really. Not even any thought. As was regularly happening in those days, the purple haze of confusion had become so great that I would have to wait for the sobriety of morning light to help me understand my insanity. And that night I had this dream, a most horrid dream. Really horrid. Dear reader you might not to read this part, and I am not kidding, but you can tell by now this is not such a pleasant story. So don’t say I didn’t warn you if you choose you continue to read about how I dreamt that… It was my turn to cook dinner for Mom and Dad, and I
took the Shake-N-Bake out of the oven and hmmm, it tastes strange, but good, but
in a strange way, when Mom noticed a little stain under the kitchen sink, and it
was red too red and opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink and there he was
oh no what was left of him oh no just his skin because I had butchered George
the family dog and stuffed his skin under the sink and served George for
dinner… And I woke-up crying, literally eyes wet and sobbing and the feeling, the feeling of what I had done in the dream seemed somehow to be related, not that I had actually done anything to George, but the feeling of what that would be like seemed to parallel the feeling of the horror I saw in Lori’s eyes. I lay in bed for quite some time that morning, waiting for a socially acceptable time to be able to call My Love. I figured she wouldn’t talk to me again, but that I could tell her mom it was really important and please please put her on. I had to talk to her, explain, really. At 8:30 or so I figured it wasn’t too early to be calling on a Saturday and rang her house. Amazingly, although nothing further would be likely to ever amaze me again, she picked-up the phone. “Hi. It’s me.” “I know. I knew you’d call.” “Look, about last night….I want to explain.” “Yes. I think you better.” And I told her the story. The whole story, really, although some of the more minor details I have related here I omitted, but basically I told her the whole thing. About this guy named Peter who said he was a witch and how I was told I could be like him, and how I was doing these things I called Communion, smoking dope and thinking about God and reading the Bible and I would hear this Voice, and I can like do things, and I think I can control people’s minds. No, I didn’t tell her about being the Anti or Ante Christ (Oh no, must not mention that too much cannot tell her
everything she can’t handle it wouldn’t understand that would be wrong Good
Boy) but I did tell her everything just short of that. She was silent for the nearly 20 minutes I talked. When I was done, saying something like “Please talk to me. I really need to know what you are thinking,” the first words out of her mouth was, “I’m scared, Sam.” “About what?” “About YOU!! This just isn’t right. I don’t understand everything you are saying, but God can’t talk to you when you are stoned, and you looked like the Devil last night.” “But that’s just the thing, I…” She cut me off. “No. Don’t say anything else. I’ve had enough. I’m sick. I have to go now. Bye.” Click. Alone again. And the feeling of panic was growing. I didn’t like it when Lori was even irritated with me, and she was more than irritated. We had never even had what you could legitimately call a fight. I remember when we went to the senior prom, and even though I was a vegetarian at the time (not eating meat helped to open the psychic centers in the brain, I had read somewhere and every little thing helps when you are Communing with The Voice) I had some chicken for dinner, and she was upset with me because I was being inconsistent and she wanted and needed me to be reliable and I apologized and told her it would never happen again and it didn’t and…. And…. And this girl who I had apologized to when I had eaten some chicken because I was unreliable and I didn’t want to upset her at all about anything, no matter how trivial, had just told me I had looked like the Devil Himself. I think I better think it out again… OK…So I hadn’t exactly been completely honest with her these past 4 months. I mean, you can’t go on a first date and say, “By the way, I’m a witch, training to be the AntiChrist and I can control your brain when I feel like it. What’s your name?” Not exactly the best way to start a relationship. So I didn’t tell her everything all at once, what was the harm in that? I would let her fall in love with the normal, mortal me, and then start to let her know there was more to the story, that’s all. But last night’s introduction had been less than warmly received. Think about that…Come on, Sam, LOOK! Regardless of anything else, something is happening here. I mean, this “stuff” is real. She saw the road start to glow! Can you believe it?!? Yes, I did believe it. Heck, I had moved beyond belief and knew it to be true. My brother Bob, Richard, my impossible paddleball performance with Drex after I “shot” myself with the voice, and now Lori. OK, fine, skeptics will always remain skeptics, but at a certain point coincidences add up to fact, and I was, in my own mind, at that point here. I could affect people’s minds. Period. The “spells” were real, or at least worked. But where did the Power come from? This was the key point I kept returning to regularly over the past months. Granting the Power as real, what was it? My own, untapped psychic energy? Certainly not to be discounted. The scientists say we use about 10% of our brains…Maybe between the drugs and a gift of nature I was able to use 12% or 15%, and that was enough of an edge to let me implant powerful enough thoughts that it looked like I was controlling people’s brains. Maybe it wasn’t God after all. Maybe it was just me. I had read Huxley’s Doors of Perception, and the purpose of the physical body is more to filter things out than let things in, I knew that, and the drugs just helped to open windows in the soul a teeny, tiny bit, and perhaps I was tapping into forces in the Greater-Universe-At-Large, just like energy or something… But…But… The deciding factor…The ONE overriding element, that tipped the scales and outweighed everything else combined, was not a Bible reference or a thought or word or anything of the sort. It was an image, a picture in my mind’s eye so vivid that I fear to this day it will indeed be my last coherent memory, should the rest of my mind be eaten away by Alzheimer’s Disease… The vision of Lori’s precious face contorted in
revulsion as she pressed herself against the passenger door of the car, trying
to get as far away from the visage of evil before her as the physics of the
confined space would allow. Her sweet, loving face, that had looked at me with such openness and adoration during moments of intimacy…That face I loved more than any on the planet, covered with her hands, as she could no longer endure the countenance of the Devil she saw before her. In me. ME!! Christian. Born again. The forerunner of Christ. How could this be? Maybe the Power wasn’t me after all…and maybe it wasn’t from God, either. Maybe, just maybe…. Maybe the power was… Oh God. I couldn’t even think it, let alone say it out loud. But still, the data, the evidence… But hey, I remembered quite clearly doing that…I did it myself…Contorting my face that way on purpose, though what that purpose was and why I did it and what my motives were (motives? What could possibly be my motive for concocting the most hideously demonic scowl I could, let alone aiming it at her of all people?!?!) I could not begin to understand…Something in me wanted to help her and protect her, but it sure appeared like “I” (or something from me or in me or moving through me) was trying to scare her away from me!!!!! What the Hell?!?!? I suddenly realized how tired I was of all this. Voices and drugs and Communions and full moons (why did all the weird stuff seem to need the full moon to happen?) and records that talked to me and listening to mental music concerts and…geez…Give me a break. Give myself a break. I mean, I’m a high school graduate…I have an OK job, helping companies get refunds on the FICA taxes they had erroneously withheld on their employees’ sick pay, sometimes adding up to hundreds of thousands of dollars for large enough companies…$7 an hour is not all that much, but it’s a lot more than most guys my age I know…and I’m going to attend the University of California at Irvine as a math major, and I can play the organ and I am a Christian and God loves me and Lori loves me and maybe after she graduates from high school we really can get married… Who needs all this craziness? And without any bells or fanfares, just as simply as I had picked what shirt to wear the day before, I decided to stop smoking weed. Oh, not to change my life or renounce the Devil and all his ways, because I couldn’t be sure and wasn’t sure that the Devil really had anything to do with this, but that wasn’t the point. I would quit smoking weed. I would practice Communion (the Voice what about the Voice the Voice might go away
we need to watch that closely) sober. My mind would be clearer. I could do Bible study (Revelations, must look into the Book of Revelations
about everything it says about the AntiChrist must look into that) and further my Christian education during the next 2 months before I started college. And Lori would be pleased. Yes, most important, far above and beyond all else, Lori would be pleased. I would call her and tell her she was right and I was sorry and God was using her loving influence to minister to me and show me the errors of my way and I was listening to her and growing and sorry, oh so sorry, it will never happen again, and she would be happy and kiss me again and no longer see Satan in me now or ever again. Yes. That is what I would do. --\-- Thus began what I would later refer to as the Drytime. Sobriety. Well, there were no physical withdrawal symptoms, since I was pretty-much only smoking weed once or twice a week. And Lori was glad to hear the news. A bit skeptical, but glad I was going to lay-off the evil weed. She said she would quit, too. Yet another thing we had in common. And I went to work and swam at the local pool and Lori and I went to dinner and went to Church and all kinds of normal, regular, mortal things. Life in Drytime was hard. Things were not well. I can fairly state that Lori was never the same after she saw Satan staring at her through my eyes. We didn’t even talk about it. It’s not like we spent hours and hours examining the whole Voice thing and all. It happened, she was stoned too, and it was far from pleasant, but we did not dwell on it. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Yeah, right. And the sad truth, the saddest truth of all, was that I wasn’t the same either. The Voice went away. Even staring at the moon and trying to listen to mental music had no effect whatsoever. Before, the Bible had glowed, the words living and breathing, whispering and screaming glorious revelations one after another. Now, they seemed only like dead words on a static page written about an ancient, bygone era. Pointless. Empty. The whole AntiChrist / AnteChrist thing seemed, well, high. Stoned. Which should have, honestly should have been a relief, as sobriety helped me to see the sickness that had crept into my soul. But that’s not how it was. Have you ever been to an airport and been on one of those really, really, long moving walkways? If you walk quickly on that moving walkway, your speed is added to the automatic platform beneath you, and your “normal” gait is amplified greatly. You rush along the ground, under your own power, and yet each step is good for two or three. You are, on that walkway, moving with super-human speed. But when you reach the end of the horizontal “escalator” that has whisked you along, you step onto the plain, flat, dull earth, and experience this most unpleasant s-l-o-w-i-n-g effect, as your Superman steps decay into just-plain-walking, and the exhilarating rush of ground and wind settles back to normalcy. That’s what I was going through now, only worse, much worse, because it wasn’t my body but my soul that was trying to downshift to Drytime. The Voice and the Powers and Communion were like a 40 mile an hour walkway, and yes I was the one walking and yes I was the one moving but wow I was not normal, no, I was more than Superman, I was… was… The Forerunner of Christ Himself. And now in Drytime I was just a regular, boring person. Not all that handsome, not really all that smart, and yes Lori still loved me at least she seemed to, although she was more distant, she said she wasn’t but I could feel it, I knew it, and not really knowing what to do with my life and heading to college for what reason I had no idea….Well, Drytime sucked. “Sobriety is the punishment God uses on those who can’t handle drugs.” Cute. Real cute. But all too close to the way I in actuality felt… Physical withdrawal was a joke. A non-issue, really. But we are more than chemistry, more than body, more than flesh. And the psychological effects of withdrawal, becoming mortal and (how the despised word causes me to choke) normal, well, that was a hell I had not imagined and was not prepared for. Not ready for. Not Ready. Good Boy. |
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