The Resurrectionist

by Michael Gesellchen

  We approached the front steps, on both sides were two plain black posts that supported the overhang from the second floor. We walked up three steps to the front porch. Cobwebs concealed the pair of once black trimmed windows that stood on either side of the front door, yielding an old weathered appearance. For the house’s splendor, it was in dire need of restoration. The porch floor creaked no matter how light our steps. The screen on the front door had been half punched out and the white painted outside walls had accumulated dirt a half inch thick.

  “We’ve come this far. Open the door,” Justin pointed to a dirty brass doorknob.

  "Me?”

  “You have the light. That means you lead.” Justin said.

  "Please be locked." I whispered, turning the knob slowly. I really need to learn how to say no. The door swung open as if someone on the other side were inviting us in. I turned toward Justin. “Great, it's open.”

  “Let’s go.” Justin motioned for me to move forward.

  I peeked my head in the doorway, scanning the entryway with my flashlight. It looked normal enough. To my left were five pegs to hang jackets and a large rectangular mirror to my right. Ten feet ahead was a door and the entrance to the living room. Our steps were slow and deliberate.

  “This place is the marriage of a horror movie and a subsidized housing project. What a dump.” I said.

  “Wow, that’s the most I’ve heard you say since we got in the car to come out here, agreed. I guess the last family that lived here got so freaked that they just took off and left everything behind.”

  By the way they lived they obviously had no respect for such a beautiful home. Everything was out of place and chaotic. The air was heavy and musty. The furniture was torn and there were two fist-sized holes in the wall. “They must have had cats,” I plugged my nose and pointed to a urine soaked stain on the couch and another in the corner next to it.

  “Well Will, no one has lived here for several years. Were you expecting the Playboy Mansion?”

  “I know. I guess I just hate to see something this beautiful get treated so poor."

  “Do you always talk like that?” Justin asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  Justin paused, gazing downward. “Like everything is alive, like it has feeling and is hurt by its mistreatment.”

  “I guess I tend to think like that. I feel you should treat everything the way you would like to be treated.”

  “These are just things, objects, they aren’t alive. They don’t have feelings,” Justin said.

  Maybe he was right, but it's not like I could change it. Objects have a life of their own. Each with its own history and story to tell. Everything has life. The earth, the trees, the rocks. When a rose died a part of me died with it. A tremendous burden to carry. That level of intensity can cause a person great pain when they are unable to turn it off.

  We continued searching the living room. A television set with a cracked screen and a couple of the ugliest yellow recliners I’d ever seen consumed much of the room. A coffee table resting on its end against the wall was the only thing that seemed salvageable.

  Justin took a few steps ahead. He was drawn to something. I stepped in his path to grab him and keep him close. He looked right through me and nudged me to the side. He walked up to a closet door and swung it open. “Justin, you alright?” I felt the blood in my face drop to my feet. There was a faint giggle, and then joyous laughter. “Damn it Justin!”

  “I was just seeing if you thought I was possessed,” he said.

  “Leave it to a comedian to play practical jokes at a time like this,” I said.

  Justin’s laughter turned to concern. “Hey look, it’s not a closet, it’s a staircase."

  “Huh?"

  “Let’s check it out,” Justin looked inside.

  “I don’t know, it’s dark and we don’t know what’s down there. What if there’s a family of diseased mice, or something worse.”

  “You scared? That’s why you have your light.” Justin nudged me in the back as I shrugged my shoulders. Again, I found myself in the role of reluctant leader as we crept down the old wooden staircase.

  The air grew heavier and damper. I prayed my flashlight wouldn’t fail. We reached the bottom stair and stepped onto the cold stone floor. I scanned the room with my light. The basement was odd looking and about ten times scarier than it should have been under normal circumstances. There were strange symbols painted on the walls. A huge stone well sat in the middle of the room. The walls were lined with wooden shelves and corrugated boxes that stored old files. I pulled out a file and shined my light on it. "Patient is experiencing auditory hallucinations and delusions of religious persecution. Patient is being treated with electric shock. Patient's response to treatment is uncertain. Patient is suicidal and needs 24-hour supervision.”

  “That’s enough reading for now. You don’t need to fuel your imagination any further.” Justin called out.

  “What’s with all these misshapen symbols on the wall?” I asked.

  Justin bent down to inspect an empty drawer. “A group of Occultists squatted here about a year ago.”

  “Are you kidding me. I got freaked out over a group of nut-job Occultists.” I said.

  We broke out in laughter. It was rather common, however, given our town’s history. Like I said, we attracted people on the fringes of society. They mostly came because of morbid curiosity. Some bought into the myth that the doctor actually did open a doorway to hell and that they could summon dark entities to invoke diabolical favors. No one took these people seriously, except the doomsday preachers who rode into town every Sunday afternoon, fulfilling their self-appointed duties to preach that the Rapture was Nigh, and that we're all on the short track to damnation.

  Occultists were easy to spot in town. Most wore dark clothing and had hair that was dyed jet black. Some had tattoos of pentagrams and wore the symbol on jewelry or in some other form of self-expression. My friends and I referred to them as Outsiders in reference to the classic novel. Once, a group of them opened a flower shop in town. It was the only way the owner knew how to make a living. The shop stayed open for about two months. One of the Puritan preachers convinced a group of elderly women that they would go to hell if they didn't stop buying flowers from the shop. I mostly felt bad for the Outsiders. They wanted to fit in. Being normal, belonging, just wasn’t written in their DNA. I knew the feeling well.

  Millersville was divided between two opposing forces, the Outsiders and the Doomsday Preachers whom were nicknamed Puritans. My family stayed out of the politics of the town. Dad said politics and religion divided people. When there's division people behave badly, blinded by whatever beliefs they think are absolute truth.

  “Wow, now that’s messed up.” Justin said. A door stood at the other end of the basement leading to a modern washing machine which Justin decided he had to open.

  “What?” I asked, half expecting to see a severed head or something equally grotesque.

  “There’s still clothes in the dryer, these folks must have been in a major hurry to get the hell out of here.” Justin said.

  “I’m wondering if we should do the same.” I said, the thought of fleeing invited panic to invaded me. A sharp pain twisted my stomach. God no, I can’t have a panic attack in front of Justin. The air was freezing cold. Nerves bombarded my brain with a million stabbing thoughts, torment and suffering. My legs gave out and I tumbled to my knees.

  “We have to go. I can’t be here. I’m gonna throw up.”

  “Lay still and relax,” Justin said.

  My stomach turned over and released vomit on the floor, splattering up to my face. The palpitations of my pounding heart muted my hearing. “Help me get him to bed, and get him some Xanax, hurry.” I thought I heard Justin call out. A large figure rushed towards us, forcing a pill into my mouth and water down my throat. My vision blurred. Darkness consumed me.

  Chapter 2

  “How you feeling?” I opened my eyes. T
he room was fuzzy.

  “Justin, is that you?” I whispered.

  “No, just lay still and rest.”

  Adrenaline tried to alert my brain that I was in danger, but failed. The panic attack left me drained but I had peaked and was slowly starting to recover. I laid still, too disoriented to move. I was no stranger to overwhelming fear, but to throw up and black out like that, it can’t be good.

  I gathered enough strength to sit up. Every muscle was numb. I scanned the room for a clock but was unable to locate one. The mirror next to the bed told me I looked the same, normal on the outside, anything but normal on the inside. My dark eyes carried an air of sadness to them. That was nothing new. I kept my brown hair short and my t-shirts plain; doing everything I could to remain as unambiguous as possible. I hated drawing attention to myself. If I did, people would look at me; if they looked too close they might see the truth.

  Computers and gadgets lined every square inch of the room. A large dark figure was fast approaching. My blurred vision remained but I sensed no danger.

  “How’s the head feeling, Will?” The figure spoke with a dry raspy voice.

  “It hurts.” I said.

  “That’s normal; you’ll feel like yourself in a few hours.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Let me be the first to welcome you. You’re at Gateway. The figure said with an excited tone.

  “Gateway.”

  “Don’t be afraid. Gateway is the name of our operation.”

  “Ok, can you show me the exit please?” I said.

  My vision was clearing and I could see that the large shadowy figure had features of his own. I would guess early forties, wrinkles around the eyes, and a few gray hairs at the temples. He was snacking on a fried chicken drummie and drinking a can of soda. He could do without the snack since he was obviously overweight.

  “Hey! Mind your own damn business.” He said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You think I’m fat, so I told you to mind your own damn business.”

  “Um, I don’t think you’re fat. What gives you that idea?”

  “Well, first of all you just thought I could do without this chicken since I was obviously too heavy. That’s how I know you think I’m fat.” He calmed after putting me in my place.

  “But, I didn’t even say anything.” I glanced away, unable to make eye contact.

  Justin entered the room. I was glad to see his face and have the attention diverted away from the awkward conversation. “Hey Will, how ya feeling?”

  “Ok I guess, but what the hell is going on?”

  “I guess I should fill you in on a few things huh. You are still in the haunted house. This house was formerly a halfway house for patients at the old hospital. You weren’t supposed to get your hands on those old files. I think it overwhelmed you. The truth of the matter is, we, um, sort of set you up.” Justin’s eyes were glued to the floor.

  “What!” Justin stood silent, continuing to count the tiles on the floor. I raised my hands. “You mean to tell me this whole thing was a setup. You brought me out in the middle of nowhere just to scare the piss out of me. What the hell is going on Justin?” The forcefulness of my voice compelled him to shed his reluctance to speak.

  “Ok, this was an initiation. Congratulations! You are our newest member. You’ll get a membership packet in the mail and we’ll need a picture for your photo ID.”

  "I always knew there was something shady about you. I guess this is my proof." I raised my middle finger and extended it towards Justin.

  “Looks like you’re starting to regain some of your old self, great.” Justin’s sarcastic smile raised my blood pressure. “Will, listen, we brought you here for a reason. You see, we’re investigators, the supernatural kind.”

  I leaned back on the couch. “Are you kidding me? Like on those stupid cable shows.” I purposely rolled my eyes. Justin didn’t find the humor in it.

  “Our group, we’re paranormal investigators, you know, investigate hauntings. Ghosts and things."

  "Ok, a lot of kids are into that. Why be so secretive about it? Why not just tell me rather than give me a heart attack?" I asked.

  Justin glanced away from me, pausing for a second before speaking. “You wouldn’t have come.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “Because you fear God."

  The statement caught me off guard. "What are you talking about?"

  Justin’s shallow breathing indicated the conversation was making him uncomfortable.

  Justin rubbed his chin and changed the subject. “The entire earth and its inhabitants are made of energy, energy that breathes life into all things. Science has proven that energy can never be destroyed, only altered and manipulated. At its core the energy is powerful and pure, but there are forces that seek to misuse it. The energy can be gathered and collected. The more we obtain the more we can alter and control it. We just don't know how. That’s where you come in. The energy is drawn to you. You have certain gifts. Gifts that give you an unique advantage. Your fear holds you back, but in a way it's your greatest power. When you're strong enough, and I mean He-Man strong, we're going to break in and you're going to break them out.” Justin stared.

  “Are you saying I’m some sort of chosen one?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself! There are no chosen ones. Every person on this planet has the ability to obtain the energy. We're all chosen ones.” The heavyset man’s lip curled at the corner. I kept my silence.

  “Will, meet Corbin.” Justin said. I nodded politely towards the man’s direction. He never returned the gesture.

  “Why the initiation? I still don’t understand why you didn’t just ask? What does fearing God have to do with anything?"

  "Our methods are progressive, somewhat New Age. You're from Millersville and your not on Team Outsider. That means you come from the tradition that believes the dead should be left dead." Justin said.

  I knew what he was getting at. I'd seen the TV shows, how people attempted to contact spirits and meddle with things they shouldn't. I was no Puritan but Justin was right. I did consider myself to be a good, God fearing Christian. Lord's Prayer before bed. Come Lord Jesus be our guest, before every meal. Church on Sundays. I prayed a lot, but mostly out of desperation. At least I knew better than to mess with this stuff.

  All around me, buzzers began buzzing, beepers began beeping, and lights began flashing. My headache intensified as I stumbled like a drunken sailor back to my bed. Justin and Corbin raced to a computer, intently studying the screen.

  “Hey Corbin, check this out,” Justin said.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s another message. There’s an image and the word Exit written beneath it.”

  Corbin puzzled over the image. “I wish they could just talk. This metaphorical communication is maddening.”

  “Sorry man, just the way it is.” Justin shook his head in sympathetic agreement.

  I fought the searing pain in my head and made my way to the computer. I looked at an image of two adult men, one holding a small worn book and the other on his knees. The man with the book had pristine features, not a scratch or scar on his face. His clothes were bright and he appeared to be draped in a flowing white gown. One you might see in a painting of Greek Gods. He stretched his hand as far as it would go to the man on his knees who was pinned against a stone wall. The man was unresponsive, dirty and beaten, his face distorted with unforgivable disgrace.

  “Who are they?” I asked.

  “No clue. Haven’t seen or heard from them before. What time is Monika supposed to get here?” Corbin said as he turned to face Justin.

  “Not sure, she said she worked until ten o'clock and was going home to bed afterward. I’ll get a hold of her and convince her to come in.” Justin said.

  Air traffic controllers with a plane spiraling towards the earth had nothing on Justin and Corbin as they pounded on buttons and tried to keep up with the data being hurled ou
t of the printer. Their setup was elaborate. How they could afford all of this?

  “Who’s Monika?” I asked Corbin.

  “Monika Kingsbury is like you, only stronger,” he said.

  “Stronger? What do you mean?”

  “She could bench press a house, where as you'd be lucky to lift the bar off your chest.” Corbin said. My guard tightened with his comment.

  “Geez Will, don’t get so defensive.”

  “I wasn’t being defensive.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Corbin replied.

  Justin came back into the room and announced that it took some convincing on his part but Monika would stop in and try to establish a connection.

  “Connection to what?” I asked.

  “The men in the image,” Justin said.

  I sensed Corbin and Justin weren’t telling me everything I needed to know. I needed answers and they weren’t giving any. “I’m leaving.” The declaration spun both of their heads around.

  “Leaving! Where are you going? You can’t leave now.” Justin said.

  “Please then, one of you tell me what this is all about? Where the hell am I? Who the hell is Monika? And why does it feel like I am standing in the middle of Google’s IT department!”

  Behind me, a door flew open and a beautiful young woman came marching in. She walked with her head held high and spoke with a voice that demanded her presence, better be worth it. I sensed both Corbin and Justin held this woman in high regard. My eyes wouldn't leave her. She wasn't dressed to kill, a simple ensemble; blue jeans and a plain faded gray sweatshirt. She was older, but not by much. Early twenties, maybe just out of college. There was an unnamed presence about her. She looked like she just got off the third shift at the Millersville meat packing plant, but possessed a natural beauty only a lucky few are born with.

  “Geez,” I said. “You come from a slaughterhouse or what?” Shock and guilt flooded my body the second those words came out, stress and confusion getting the best of me. It was out of my character to respond that way. On most occasions, I can only mumble a shy hello when first meeting someone, especially someone as pretty as Monika. I went over a list of excuses to explain my rude and uncharacteristic behavior. I couldn’t spit any out. The only resort was to assure myself that all would be forgiven due to my lethargic condition.