Shadows Rising

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Shadows Rising Page 27

by Dean Rasmussen


  The audience cheered and shouted, “Amen.”

  “Let me hear your faith!”

  They cheered louder.

  “Shout it out to God!”

  Their voices roared against the auditorium walls.

  “Let me hear your thunder!”

  The crowd erupted and stomped their feet on the bleacher’s floors.

  “You are my people, and God is with us tonight.”

  David moved around from behind the pulpit and stepped down to Pastor John’s body. He placed his hands on Pastor John’s chest, holding up one hand to the sky. “I send the angel of Pastor John back into your hands, oh Lord, and ask that you send your Holy Spirit down to be with us. Flow his healing powers into me so I can carry on with the glorious mission you gave him. Fill me with his healing powers now!”

  The crowd shouted praises to God.

  “God is with me tonight too. Before Pastor John passed away, a light shined down above us, and a voice roared like thunder. ‘Heal my people,’ God said. So tonight I am taking over as Pastor of Stone Hill Risen Temple, and I will heal my people just as Pastor John healed you. Through God’s power, I will heal this gentleman’s broken arm.”

  The stage fell into darkness except for a single harsh ray of light on Pastor John’s face. The audience gasped, and some members wailed. David circled back around to the pulpit and grabbed a white towel he had prepared earlier. Within the faint ambient light, he opened the bottle of Dunamis. The sickening odor of the black water rushed up his nose. He poured some of it on a section of the towel, careful not to spill any, and stood up. He gave the signal for the lights to return. They burst on, and he led the elderly man around so they stood in front of Pastor John’s body. The spotlight focused on them.

  David swiped the towel across the elderly man’s arm. The man flinched as if he’d received a shot from the doctor. They had cut off the cast from his arm right before the ceremony, and the man had trembled then too.

  “Be strong,” David said.

  David pressed the towel against the man’s broken arm, and within a minute, the angle of the man’s arm straightened. The man’s jaw dropped open, and he gasped for breath as he spun around and displayed it to the crowd.

  The audience roared and shouted praises to David. He held the man’s hand up high.

  “Thank you! Thank you!” The healed man dropped to his knees and praised him.

  Something cracked behind David. He glanced backward. Bertha had pried open Pastor John’s jaw and was emptying the bottle of Dunamis down his throat.

  The audience gasped and David lurched back to grab the bottle from her hands, but it was too late. The bottle had emptied. He pulled it away and stood over Pastor John’s body with his back to the audience. That bitch had ruined everything. His face flushed with heat, and he shook with rage. He held in a guttural scream hanging at the edge of his clenched teeth. The wrong move now would destroy his future. He gestured for the guards to remove Bertha.

  “John!” Bertha clutched at Pastor John’s face. “Come back to me!”

  She’d wasted the Dunamis. He clawed at the empty bottle and imagined it was Bertha’s neck. She would pay for her selfishness.

  The guards tore Bertha from Pastor John’s body and guided her off the stage. The audience chatter grew. She wailed louder until they brought her outside and the door crashed shut behind them.

  David forced an indulgent smile and turned around to face the audience.

  “This is a difficult time for all of us.” He shook his head.

  He wasn’t the same master showman as Pastor John. His hands shook, and the elderly man he’d just healed still cowered below him. The crowd murmured and rustled louder.

  “Rise,” David said to the elderly man. “Please go out and show everyone the miracle I’ve performed.”

  “Yes, Brother David.”

  David turned back to Pastor John. The Dunamis streamed down the side of Pastor John’s face that was turned away from the audience, and his jaw gaped open. David considered forcing it shut again, but didn’t want to make things worse. He used the towel in his hand to soak up the Dunamis leaking down Pastor John’s cheek and neck. A small pool of Dunamis had drained away at the back of his throat. Perhaps enough had soaked into the towel for one final miracle.

  Pastor John’s eyes fluttered.

  David froze.

  Pastor John’s cheek twitched.

  A trick of the light. Or a muscle spasm. Dead muscles. It wasn’t possible. David dropped the towel at his side.

  Pastor John’s hand shuddered.

  “God,” David said. He stumbled back.

  Pastor John’s body convulsed. The Dunamis gurgled up from his throat and ran down his cheek. The crowd gasped and shrieked praises to God. His body shook as if an electric current surged through him.

  Pastor John’s eyes bulged open as if they would explode from his skull.

  “Help me!” Pastor John whipped his face toward the audience and reached his hand out toward the center spotlight. His eyes and jaw stretched wider as a deep groan erupted drowning out every voice from the audience. The groan transformed into a low growl as if the sound were emerging from the flames of hell. He screamed over and over as his torso convulsed, slamming down onto the wooden table erected beneath him. He clutched at his face and ripped at his skin.

  David grabbed Pastor John’s wrists and held them down to keep him from tearing his face off. The audience backed away from the stage as the body thrashed on the table.

  “I command you to rise, in the name of God,” David’s voice boomed through the auditorium speakers.

  David’s grip on Pastor John’s wrists tightened, and he toppled from side to side as the living corpse flailed. Pastor John broke free and sprang forward, grabbing David by the front of his suit. Pastor John hoisted himself toward David’s face, each vertebra cracking as he sat up.

  “Help me!” he screamed into David’s face. David winced as the scream amplified through his microphone and pierced his ears.

  David stumbled back, freeing himself from Pastor John’s grip, gesturing to his guards at the side of the stage. Music erupted over the loudspeakers, and the temple’s musical director attempted to lead the audience in a hymn. Pastor John wobbled like a newborn. He threw his legs over the edge of the table, which sent a roar of cheers through the audience as if someone had scored in a football game. The guards held Pastor John’s wrists as David wrapped his arm around his shoulders and helped him into a standing position. When his feet hit the floor, the audience erupted in cheers again, and they raised their hands to the sky.

  “He has risen!”

  About the Author

  Dean Rasmussen grew up in a small Minnesota town and began writing stories at the age of ten, driven by his fascination with the Star Wars hero’s journey. He continued writing short stories and attempted a few novels through his early twenties until he stopped to focus on his computer animation ambitions. He studied English at a Minnesota college during that time.

  He learned the art of computer animation and went on to work on twenty feature films, a television show, and a AAA video game as a visual effects artist over thirteen years.

  Dean currently teaches animation for visual effects in Orlando, Florida. Inspired by his favorite authors, Stephen King, Ray Bradbury, and H. P. Lovecraft, Dean began writing novels and short stories again in 2018 to thrill and delight a new generation of horror fans.

  More novels and stories coming soon!

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  www.deanrasmussen.com

  ★★★★★

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mensely appreciated and reviews make a huge difference in helping

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  Thank you!

  Bibliography

  All Biblical references provided by The World English Bible. https://ebible.org/web/index.htm

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my wife, Anh, and family who supported me, and who continue to do so, through many long hours of writing.

  Thank you to my friends and relatives, some of whom have passed away, who inspired me and supported my crazy ideas. Thank you for putting up with me!

  Thank you to Kiet Barlow for all your advice and friendship over the years.

  Thank you to my alpha and beta readers: Chantel Ellingson, Neal Robinson, Susan Rasmussen, Julie Passanisi, Lori Schroeder, and Jennifer Svenneby.

  Thank you to Adam Berry and Austyn Cohen for the concept art.

  Thank you to Linda Metcalf who edited one of my not-so-great novels as a high school student. Your sacrifice was not in vain! Eventually, I got it.

  Thank you to all my fans and supporters!

 

 

 


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