The Presence

by Shady Grim

  “Is that all, Herbert?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You don’t remember anything else?”

  “No, sir, that’s all that happened.”

  “I washed his clothes when he came home,” said Herbert’s mother. “They were a little damp.”

  “How well do you know those people, Herbert?”

  “I never saw them before.”

  “You never saw them before, but you went swimming with them?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You didn’t think it was a little odd that strangers would ask you to go swimming with them?”

  Herbert frowned; he hadn’t thought about that. “No, sir, I was hot and swimming sounded like fun, so I went.”

  The sheriff smiled. He patted Herbert’s arm as he rose to leave. “Thank you, Herbert. I think that’ll do for now.” The sheriff moved toward the front door and Herbert’s parents followed him. The three of them talked in hushed voices for several minutes before the sheriff left. They were talking about the dead sinners. They didn’t want Herbert to hear them because they thought he was too innocent to hear the details of such a gruesome story. Herbert smiled to himself and silently thanked the Lord.

  The sheriff called in help from neighboring towns to aid in the investigation, and Herbert was questioned repeatedly by different people. The Lord came to help him each time he was questioned. Herbert felt invincible. The sinners’ remains were spread out over such a large area that not all of the parts were recovered. There was so little left of the remains that the causes of the deaths had never been determined, and the case was never solved. No one was ever arrested, and life in Twilight Falls eventually went back to its slow-moving uneventful normality.

  Herbert didn’t allow a police investigation to stop him from visiting Lizbet. His oldest sister and her husband were usually the ones to drive him into town to meet with Lizbet. Once she won the approval of Herbert’s eldest sister, Lizbet was invited to meet Herbert’s parents and the rest of his sisters. The worry that had been gnawing at Herbert’s parents melted away the second they saw Lizbet. She was well-spoken and intelligent, was modest in speech, manner, and dress; and she knew her Bible back to front. They were thrilled to learn that she was the daughter of an ordained minister. Herbert’s parents were convinced that she’d been sent by God to look after their simple unworldly son. She was welcomed into the family with open arms. Lizbet and Herbert were married a year later, and have remained a happy and devoted couple.

  LIZBET STRODE CONFIDENTLY into the parlor. She felt both pride and relief; pride in a job done well and relief that her burden had been lifted. She felt sure that the Lord would be pleased, and He would reward her for her sacrifice. She stood in front of the couch. Above it hung the plain unadorned cross that Herbert had made. She took it down, sat on the couch, and held the cross reverently in her hands for a moment while she prepared her mind for prayer. In front of her was the coffee table that Herbert had made that was never used, except for this singular purpose. When she felt ready for prayer, she spat upon the cross and set it on the coffee table; its head faced her, and its foot faced into the parlor.

  “Grace me with Thy Presence, Oh Lord. I beg Thee for Thy favor.” Lizbet sat motionless and silent, waiting for her Lord’s Presence to appear. Within moments an unnatural quiet permeated the room. Even Lizbet’s own breathing seemed to be silenced. The hushed atmosphere was followed by a drastic drop in temperature. Although she couldn’t hear herself breathing, she could clearly see her breath steaming in the air. The Lord was approaching. All the wood in the room; the walls, the floor, and even the furniture, sounded as if it were creaking and cracking under the weight of something immense. Lizbet smiled with anticipation. Heavy booted footsteps stamped into the room, and the silhouetted figure of a huge and slightly misshapen man appeared in front of her.

  “Oh, my gracious Lord, Thy humble servant requests instruction from Thee.” Lizbet’s excitement was short-lived. The familiar, deep, rumbling voice of her Lord sounded in her ears so that only she could hear. He was displeased. The Lord harangued her for her ineptitude. This was the second time she had disappointed Him.

  “Have you forgotten all that I’ve done for you?”

  “No, my Lord,” replied Lizbet. “I am forever grateful–”

  “Yet you defy me.”

  “I am, and always shall be, your loyal servant, my Lord.”

  “Behold...” Lizbet’s mind swirled as her Lord spoke to her. She saw her much younger self lying naked on the bed in her old bedroom. Her father had just left the room. She used to cry after her father’s visits, but she’d grown stronger and he couldn’t make her cry any more. Now she felt a cold churning hatred whenever she saw him or heard his voice. She rose and walked to the water basin that sat on a small table on the far side of the room. She moistened a washcloth and began to wash away her father’s dirt.

  Lizbet was her father’s favorite because she resembled her mother more than her sisters did. She hated her mother. It shamed Lizbet to admit that she resembled her. The resemblance stopped at outward appearance, however, and Lizbet felt great pride in knowing that she was much stronger than the weak-willed timid woman who pretended not to notice what her husband did to their four daughters. Lizbet’s father called the things he did, “showing love.” He took care not to cause physical harm to his daughters, but did so only because it alleviated the small measure of guilt that he felt for his actions. “This is a special love that only we can share. It’s the deepest, most intimate sort of love there is,” he would say, and Lizbet felt like retching every time he said it.

  Both of Lizbet’s older sisters married before they were twenty; both to good, God-fearing, young men in their father’s congregation. Her father was an ordained minister. The only one in their small, rural, Midwestern town, and he was very highly regarded in the community. He preached mercy, compassion, tolerance, and moral decency during the day, and molested his daughters in the evening. Lizbet’s oldest sister pretended nothing had ever happened. The second oldest continued having trysts with their father until his death. The youngest sister killed herself when she was nineteen because she was weak like their mother and couldn’t bear both the shame and the pressure of taking a husband. Lizbet, however, found a better way to deal with her father. Or, more precisely, a solution presented itself to her.

  Young Lizbet, now clean and dressed, sat at a small desk trying to read her Bible. Her mind fumed with a boiling hatred for her father. That hatred spilled over and Lizbet spat on the page she was attempting to read, and then hurled her Bible against the wall. How could God allow innocent girls to be abused in so vile a manner? Where is God’s mercy? Where is His justice?

  “Justice is not given. It must be sought,” replied an unfamiliar and very deep male voice. Lizbet whirled around in terror, and saw the silhouetted form of a very large man standing in the center of her small modest room. She was so fearful that she was unable to move; but the more she looked at this being, the more relaxed she became. The sheer size of him conveyed immense physical strength. Even more potent than his size, was the feeling he conveyed. His presence reassured her in a way she’d never felt before. This entity, this God of Shadow, had come to free her. He presented her with a large leather-bound book of herbal medicine. It was old and tattered. As she set it on her knee, it opened of its own accord to a chapter on poisons. “Justice by one’s own hand is the sweetest of all,” said the spirit.

  “I don’t understand,” replied Lizbet.

  “The book holds more wisdom in its pages than you will ever find in that.” The being pointed at the Bible lying crumpled on the floor. “Study and learn, and I shall bring you more wisdom.”

  The dark being disappeared from sight, but Lizbet could sense his presence lingering near her. The dark spirit visited her often after that, and he was true to his word. He brought her books and tools for making use of the herbs she collected and was learning to cultivate. Her father called her n
ew hobby witchcraft and diabolism. He too could sense the presence of the dark spirit and feared entering his favorite daughter’s bedroom. He eventually stopped touching Lizbet entirely, and focused his perverse attentions on her sisters. Lizbet didn’t care. They were weak and deserved what they got. She was strong. She was special; the dark spirit told her so. He was her protector, her mentor, and he soon became her Lord.

  Lizbet proved herself a quick study, and the Lord told her when it was time to put her training to good use. She began lacing her father’s food with foxglove. Over time, he developed tremors, weakness, vision problems, and cardiac complaints, but he eschewed doctors and claimed that God would heal him. His congregation prayed for a full and speedy recovery. After her father died, Lizbet feared that the authorities would figure out what she’d done and arrest her, but the Lord assured her that He would protect her. Lizbet’s father’s health had been in decline for some time and everyone knew it. His death was no surprise to anyone, and his death certificate listed the cause of death as a cardiac arrest. No further investigation was made.

  The family buried him and moved on with their lives. Lizbet had to stifle a giggle when she tossed a handful of dirt onto her father’s casket. Her oldest sister’s behavior was indifferent throughout the entire service. Her second oldest sister cried uncontrollably, and her younger sister seemed to be lost in fantasy. She’d always been considered frail of mind, and her subsequent suicide was deemed by the congregation to be a result of her dear father’s untimely death.

  Lizbet’s faith in her Lord never wavered after that. He was her God, the true King of Kings. Her Lord spoke to her, protected her, and He always came when she called to Him; unlike that silent, untouchable, invisible phantasm spoken of in the Bible. The Lord brought her to Twilight Falls. He found her a good husband, and He promised to give her a child; a very special child. Lizbet thought she’d found that child when she held the orphaned baby that she later adopted. She named him Royal as she thought the boy’s purpose to be of a divine nature. Lizbet sensed power in the squirmy newborn bundle she held. She felt strength radiating from him. To feel such things from a newborn infant was extremely rare, surely he must be the special child she’d been promised. In a rare moment of impulsivity, Lizbet asked to adopt the baby without first consulting the Lord. She was known to the authorities of Twilight Falls as a pious devout woman who was above reproach. She was permitted, against regulation, to take the baby home while the formal adoption process began.

  The Lord was greatly displeased when Lizbet brought the infant home. The house became icy cold the second Lizbet brought little Royal inside. The Lord roared His discontent, and the infant screamed in terror. The entire house vibrated and shook to the point that Lizbet and Herbert thought it might come crashing down around them. The Lord ordered Lizbet to dispose of the infant, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Children were her weakness. She forbade Herbert to harm a child unless it was absolutely necessary. She pleaded with the Lord to let her keep the baby, citing that the proper upbringing would make him useful to the cause. Eventually the Lord relented. Little Royal’s fear of the Lord also waned, and Lizbet became very hopeful for his future. By age two, he stopped responding to the Lord’s Presence. Lizbet thought it proof that her nurturing had made a good child out of him, but that was not the case. The boy grew to be a defiant malcontent, a subversive, and the Lord ordered her again to dispose of him.

  “Have I not been gracious? Have I not guided you and protected you?”

  “Yes, my Lord...I...I don’t understand...” Lizbet’s mind swirled again. An image appeared before her eyes of a freshly washed Royal seated on a small bench while a strange man bandaged his neck. Lizbet jumped from the shock and lurched backwards. The couch’s cushioned back prevented her head from colliding with the wall. The Lord ended their communication and abruptly departed. Lizbet rose on shaking legs, wiped off the cross with a hanky, and placed it back on the wall. Her trembling body walked unsteadily to the kitchen. The sight of his wife made Herbert drop his coffee cup onto the table. It landed on its side, splashing coffee everywhere, and rolled before coming to a stop at the table’s edge. Lizbet appeared ashen and weak. She was on the verge of tears. He jumped up from his seat, caught her arms, and steered her into the nearest chair.

  “What is it, Lizbet? What’s wrong?” She didn’t answer for several minutes. Herbert pulled his chair close to her, and sat gently patting her hand until she could speak.

  “We failed,” she said at last. “We failed, Herbert.” Her breathing was hitched and tears rolled freely down her cheeks.

  “But...how?” stammered Herbert. “We followed the plan. The boy’s dead. We can start again, the Lord said so.”

  “The Lord said he’s alive–”

  “I’ll get him,” said Herbert viciously as he shot up from his chair.

  “No,” replied Lizbet as she caught her husband’s arm. “He’s too far away. We have to wait for the proper time. We failed,” she repeated, and covered her face with her hands, unable to say anything more

  Chapter Four

  Ethan had been undersized for his age, a fact that bothered greatly until he turned eighteen. The family thought that he would be small like his sisters, but during the summer of his eighteenth birthday he grew nearly six inches in height. He changed from a scrawny teenager to a tall, broad-shouldered, young man in a matter of months. His voice deepened virtually overnight without any of the embarrassing cracking and squeaking that many adolescent boys must endure. He soon found himself the proud owner of a bone-shaking baritone. He turned out to be taller than his brothers by several inches and, although they were of a much thicker build than he, his considerable height advantage gave him greater body weight, and he never passed up an opportunity to remind them of it. All eight of them had exactly the same coloring except that Ethan was the only one with blue eyes. It was at this time that he had an epiphany. He realized that girls were looking his way. What he didn’t realize was that they had always looked. He was just too preoccupied with all of his perceived flaws to notice them. Ethan had always been very handsome, and he could be exceptionally charismatic whenever he desired. He had a wonderful sense of humor and could make even the crustiest old bitty laugh at his antics. But like everything else he did, Ethan took his new found interest to an extreme. All the girls that liked him for his charm and sensitivity became “just friends,” and all the selfish sleazy bimbos became his girlfriends. He and his buddies found the irresistible elixir called sex and hunted for it with reckless abandon. With this new found paradise, came the even more addictive sensations of drugs and alcohol.

  The one thing that Ethan didn’t count on was also his greatest weakness, and he found a girl who was cunning enough to see it in him; he never expected to become a father. He had the arrogance, as many do, to believe that he could be totally irresponsible about his sexual activities and get away with it. The news of a coming baby hit him like a bolt of lightning. He was, at first, in a state of panic and worked feverishly to provide for his coming family, but shortly after the thrill of his daughter being born had passed, he lapsed into a state of depression and began to drink more heavily. He never lost his devotion to his child, but the responsibility of raising a family and living with a woman he didn’t get along with, much less love, was too much for him to handle. He quickly learned that the jobs that easily paid for his fun didn’t pay enough to support two adults and a growing baby. Instead of looking for ways out of his predicament, he cemented himself in it. He tried to leave Kelly once, but the ensuing custody battle started out with so many ugly accusations and promised to be so very drawn out that he gave up without a fight. Instead, he patched things up with her and they were soon married. He took a job driving a delivery truck for an auto parts manufacturer and moved his family into a run-down trailer park. The money that he made wasn’t enough to pay for all of their necessities and also cover their habits. They quickly fell into debt and, as he did when we were chi
ldren, he called on me to fix his problems.

  I was living in an off-campus apartment while I attended medical school. My parents had both passed away a few years ago, my father from a stroke and my mother from sadness. After the support and company of my father was gone, my mother had no one else to lean on. I, at the time, was leaving home to start my schooling, and her sisters had long ago stopped speaking to her. Aunt Terri had blamed my parents for the death of Rachel and refused to speak with them again. She died several years later from alcohol abuse. My mother’s middle sister, Ellen, was so distraught over what had almost happened to Ethan that she also wouldn’t speak to my parents. Aunt Ellen was always the “spaz” of the family. I imagine that there is one in every family, just as there is always a “wild one,” or a “black sheep,” or a “ditsy one.” Some of Ethan’s silly fears and his overactive imagination came from his mother, I’m sure. Aunt Ellen was so upset over events that she had created in her mind that there was no way she would allow Ethan, or any of her other children, out of her sight again. She frequently exaggerated the events of a situation in her mind and then blamed others for being the cause of those fictional events. She blamed my parents for throwing poor Ethan, not Rachel and I, to the proverbial wolves. It was simply by the skin of his teeth that Ethan managed to escape from certain death while my parents were, apparently, enjoying the events from the safety of the porch. The fact that harm almost came to me and did come to Rachel was never mentioned, aside from it being “a shame.” It was this kind of twisting of reality that Ethan and his siblings had to deal with growing up. It’s nothing short of miraculous that Ethan managed to filter out as much of it as he did. Most of his siblings weren’t as fortunate, or as strong.