Believe what you want to believe

by George Williams

  Terrified, I hide behind my father and the two of them began to battle. Screaming and cursing at each other, my father thought it was a great idea to take out his three-foot, steel Knights of Columbus sword and swing it at Jason. He was quite drunk, so Jason picked up a large steak knife and attempted to duel with him. It was actually a little funny, but I think my father in his state of mind really thought he was dueling. They both made it outside and the police came again and took my father. They said, “Joe, you have to come with us now, but the sword has to stay here.”

  He refused to give it up, so they put him in the back seat and let him keep it. No cuffs, nothing. The cop said, “We’re going to have to put that sword in the trunk. When we get to the station I will give it back.”

  Drunk and easily manipulated, my dad said, “Okay but don’t give it to my son Jason, okay?” “Okay Joe, no problem,” replied the cop.

  My father was subjected to the drunk tank for ninety days this time. This entire summer I stayed at my sister Colleen’s house with her husband and my nephew Mickey. It was peaceful, for once, to be out of the mad house, but unfortunately Janie had to stay behind. They couldn’t handle both of us together since we fought a lot, being so close in age. I was very concerned for Janie, but I couldn’t tell anyone what I had seen because they might end up dead too. I knew what some people were capable of.

  I felt guilty for not staying with Janie, but there was no doubt I could have done anything to stop them at this point in time. After the summer was over, my sister Colleen took me home. She asked if I wanted to move in with them permanently, under the condition I could never go back. I said “no” since I couldn’t leave Janie again. I could only imagine what she went through that summer without me.

  Chapter 12

  Catholic Priests and Black Magic

  On a late August afternoon just before school started up again, the house was overcrowded and everyone was hot and cranky. With all of us complaining, my mother was overburdened so she asked Ziggy to take Janie and me over to Mea Mea’s house. When we finally arrived, Mea Mea greeted us as she usually did with a box of Pepperidge Farm cookies and crème soda that we didn’t dare drink.

  We went inside and lay on the chaise lounge while eating the cookies and playing catch up on an old game of Monopoly. To our surprise we heard a knock at the door. Not expecting any visitors, Janie and I exchanged looks of concern. Mea Mea answered the door and in a joyful tone said, “Hello, Father Paul!” Janie put her hand up to her mouth as I took a deep breath.

  “Good afternoon, Father Paul. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

  “You as well!” he said, returning the enthusiasm.

  “Let me take your things. May I offer you a drink?” Mea Mea asked.

  “Of course, dear,” Father Paul said as he handed his brown leather bag over to my grandmother.

  He took it upon himself to pour Mea Mea and himself a drink at the living room bar while she carried his bag into the guest room.

  “Hello kids...” Father Paul greeted us.

  Janie and I ignored him, staring directly at the ground. We didn’t trust this guy. Not after last time.

  When Mea Mea strode back into the living room, she said to us, “Why don’t you kids go out and play in the yard while I chat with Father Paul?”

  On our way out to play, Janie whispered to me, “What’s he doing here?”

  “I don’t know Janie. I have an idea! Maybe we can prove he’s a bad guy if we see what’s in his bag?”

  “Good idea,” Janie stated. “I’m going to look out for them in the living room. You go into the guest room and snatch the bag and we’ll look at it outside.”

  I snuck into the room, snatched the bag and headed for the front door.

  “Where do we go?” I asked Janie on my way towards the room.

  She pointed to the large weeping willow tree we usually play under. The hanging branches concealed us perfectly. We positioned ourselves safely under the tree. Immediately, we unzipped the bag to find a bottle of prescription medicine, sleeping pills, a cross and an antique-looking book.

  What interested us most was this book. The letters on the front were a shiny gold and it was made from old parchment.

  “It looks like some type of handbook or manual, but for what? Why don’t we keep the book and try to figure out what it is?!” Janie asked.

  I replied, “No, Janie. He will kill us. You better leave it in there!”

  Janie took it out anyway. When we opened the book cover, we noticed a handwritten note, “To Father Paul. 1960. Saint John's Seminary.” Janie said that the rest was written in Latin, like the words on a dollar bill.

  “Is this a church book?” Janie asked, scratching her head.

  “Janie, read what it says!”

  She began to read. We quickly realized it wasn't an orthodox book. It was more of an instructional guide filled with bible quotes. Part of the book spoke about animal sacrifice and drinking blood.

  I looked at Janie and asked, “What does this all mean?”

  Janie replied, “I’m not sure, but it sounds evil.”

  “Let’s put it back, before he finds it missing!” I said, biting my nails.

  I crept back in through the carport to return the book safely while Janie stood on the lookout so I would not get caught.

  Mea Mea called us in for lunch, which was strange since she never gave us anything but cookies when we went over. When we got inside, we saw a turkey dinner. Feeling starved, I ate everything and chased it down with a big glass of milk. Janie, on the other hand, only drank the milk. We loved the milk at Mea Mea’s because she put strawberry Quik in it. Suddenly Ziggy appeared out of nowhere.

  I wondered what he was still doing there and where Father Paul went. We finished up the last drops of milk and went out back to play. Suddenly we both became increasingly tired. Had we been drugged again?

  I could not believe that this was happening again. One minute Janie and I were in the carport at my grandmother’s house and the next thing I could remember, we were waking up in the back of Father Paul’s black car, heading down a secluded dirt road into the woods. “Where could he be taking us?” I thought, as I glanced over at Janie who was still asleep. As I looked out the back window, I spotted Ziggy following us in a small car. The road was bumpy and riddled with potholes. Father Paul said nothing to us but I saw him looking in the rearview mirror. Then I realized he was not watching us at all; he was only admiring his own reflection. “Who does he think he is? God?” I thought. Suddenly the car accelerated up a hill and then came to an abrupt stop. The sun was setting as we arrived to an area with many small cottages that all looked eerily similar.

  Father Paul got out and directed Janie and me out of the car. Our hands were tied in front of us as if we were kidnapped prisoners. This was a bad sign. They had never tied us up before. Father Paul yelled over to Ziggy “Take them down with the others!” Ziggy proceeded by taking us down a hill in a thickly wooded area. Then he put us in a shed and locked us in. I couldn’t help but notice a metal wire cage wrapped around the shed and it spooked me out. Feeling trapped like prisoners, Janie and I cried out of desperation.

  We continued to sit there for so long that I couldn’t hold it in anymore and I peed myself. Janie passed out since she had not eaten anything all day. Shaking Janie awake, I tried to become aware of my surroundings. I heard other children around us but couldn’t see them. Then I heard the whimper of another young boy. “What are we doing here?” I wondered.

  “Ziggy, light the fire and set the altar!” I heard Father Paul command. It was as if Ziggy were some weird altar boy for Satan, following his every command. I couldn’t see anything from the cage but I heard more cries coming from the other children who were pleading for their parents. This was not like the other times with Ziggy and Father Paul. Something more evil was at play here this time. Ziggy came for us and took us to a small building consisting of two doors, with light coming o
ut of the side windows. Ironically, it was a rest room. He said, “You must get cleaned up. The others will be here soon.”

  Puzzled about who the others were, I whimpered. My instincts were screaming for help. Ziggy cut the rope on my hands and said, “It’s okay, Sport. Just do what they tell you and you will be okay.” “Whose side is he on?” I questioned.

  Janie was weak from hunger, but she managed to stumble to the sink to clean up. Ziggy wrapped us in a sheet, putting it over our heads, and brought us out front. Father Paul stood tall over a makeshift altar and was dressed in a white robe with a purple scarf-like garment around his neck as if it were Sunday mass. A fire was glowing in the background. Father Paul had that book that we had stolen earlier on the altar. He began reading aloud as five people, dressed in robes, accompanied him. They didn’t have hoods and were dressed in church service robes that priests wear. There were four men and one woman I had never seen before. The males all had short hair and one looked more like an unkempt hippie-type, almost like a homely Jesus. To my surprise, Janie and I were the only children standing beside Father Paul, with our backs to everyone else.

  Father Paul read from the evil book. He began with a story of a beast. The beast brought light into the world. It was certainly some type of black magic book. Zig didn’t take part in this witchcraft as he stood quietly off in the distance.

  Father Paul raised his voice up and lowered it down and waved his hands to the others. He motioned over to Ziggy to get something and as I looked up, I could not believe what I was seeing. A young boy, maybe five years old or so with long blonde hair. He was just an innocent kid. I wasn’t much older but I had been prepared for this somehow. Ziggy took the boy to Father Paul and he put him up on a table in front of us, lying face up. The boy was paralyzed with fear. Father Paul read another passage from the book and motioned for the others to take part.

  First they blessed the boy by rubbing a cross in oil on his head and then on their own. After that, Father Paul pulled out a large hunting knife and gently cut the back of the boy’s hand. The boy began to cry as the blood spilled out. Father Paul made a cross with the blood on the boy’s head and on his own and asked the others to follow his lead. The boy had stopped screaming or I couldn’t hear it anyway. Maybe I was in shock. Then Father Paul read another passage from the book. It was violent and loud as he took the knife and stabbed down, striking the boy in the chest. The boy moved slightly and then you could see the life leave him. Father Paul stood over him and spoke again in Latin. Then he took the boy’s blood and poured it into a chalice. He drank from it and shared it with the others.

  Father Paul had a look in his eye that I had never seen in anyone before. It was a look of power. In his heart he thought he was God, but he was only human. A very evil human. Thoughts like, “Why is this happening and is it going to happen to us?” were running through my mind. “Who was the blonde boy and did he have a family?” I may never know the answers to those questions. Then Father Paul covered himself with blood and spoke the words again as the others echoed them. I wanted to run and hide but I felt paralyzed. Then they took us to a dark room inside the shed, with a large shape painted on the floor, and left us in there. I passed out again and Janie was taken to another location.

  When I woke up, I looked through an opening in the side of the building. Perched in front of the bathrooms and covered in blood, Father Paul was talking to Ziggy. “You must bury the boy’s body. Here and now,” Father Paul demanded.

  “How? There are too many tree roots out here. I can’t dig a hole anywhere,” Ziggy explained.

  “How about behind the cottage? There are no tree roots back there,” Father Paul suggested.

  Then Ziggy took a shovel and threw it to Father Paul. They both started digging. It took about an hour before they came out front again and sat near us, this time covered in blood, dirt and sweat. It was a hot summer night. Father Paul always had that book with him, even after he had finished cleaning up. He looked at the book and kissed it. God will not save Father Paul, who will pay for this someday. Could God spare my sister and me? I wasn’t sure.

  “Ziggy, take them home,” Father Paul demanded.

  Then he crouched down to Janie and me and warned, “You will never speak of this. If you do, your mom and dad and brothers and sisters will all be killed. I promise.” Janie and I nodded our heads. We believed it.

  Ziggy then dropped us back at my grandmother's house, like nothing had happened.

  The Satan priest was too smart for us. What could we do? He took away every escape route we had. Who would believe us? Who would believe this story?

  Later that night when we got home, Ziggy, Janie and I ended up alone in the basement. Janie spoke up and asked, “Why Ziggy!? Why did Father Paul kill that little boy today!?”

  Ziggy sat down on the basement floor near his motorcycle and began to weep. This was a moment of weakness, even for a sociopath.

  He said, “He believes he is God and he thinks hurting children and killing the innocent gives him special powers. Father Paul’s book is a manual that was passed down from a man named Allister Crowley who was once described as the most evil man in the world. He wants us all to join and become like him. That’s why he kept us alive. He hopes you and Sean become apprentices someday like me...”

  “So, why did you get involved in the first place?” I asked.

  Ziggy immediately put his head down as if to look at something on the floor. After pausing for a long time he replied emotionally while holding back tears, “I am an addict. I can’t control myself when I take the drugs and worse, I can’t say no. I need them.” Then Ziggy kicked his motorcycle over and sobbed. Shocked by his emotions, Janie and I understood his pain.

  With everything that we had witnessed, we were well on our way to becoming apprentices of Father Paul’s sick cult. Janie and I thought Father Paul was Satan and we decided we would never follow him like Ziggy did. Although we hated him with all our heart, whenever Father Paul told us to do something, we did it in fear. We acted like his soldiers. If he thought we were brainwashed, then we could stay alive. It was simply a survival tactic. Our ultimate goal was to put an end to Father Paul and Ziggy’s madness and torture rituals. Problem was, they held all the cards.

  Father Paul constantly bombarded us with death threats for our entire family. He said, “If you tell, you and everyone you love are dead.”

  “Plus, no one will ever believe you,” Father Paul repeatedly said. We never doubted the reality of these threats because we had seen firsthand what they were capable of.

  Chapter 13

  Retreat

  I had been very uneasy about going home after school and being alone. Too much criminal activity was going on with Jason and Ziggy. Drugs, violence and run-ins with the law were the norm. I tried to keep myself occupied by making new friends and getting a normal social life for a ten year old. Anything to keep my distance from that house.

  My new friend Freddie came over after school one afternoon in June. To paint a picture, he looked a little like a young Chuck Norris. This particular day, Freddie was especially excited. After smoking a bit of weed, Freddie took out a new toy he received by mail order.

  Curious about the toy, I asked, “What is that thing you’ve got?”

  He replied, “It’s a wrist rocket/slingshot on steroids! Let’s try this baby out!”

  We took a walk through the woods towards the tracks and found little round purple metal pellets that had fallen from the train. Fortunately, they were pea sized and fit into the wrist rocket perfectly.

  We began our adventure through the woods towards the pond, shooting at everything and anything. When we got to the river's edge, Freddie wanted to step it up a notch and shoot at the apartments so he aimed the wrist rocket in that direction.

  I pleaded, “Stop Freddie, this is a bad idea,” thinking this couldn’t end well.

  He turned his head and looked at me, grinning ear to ear. A few second
s later, I heard the sound of pellets hitting glass, shattering the windows. My heart started racing as my gut told me we were going to get caught this time. After about ten minutes of waiting, we heard a police radio and saw a blue uniform in the distance, heading our way. The officer was looking down the hill across the river. He couldn’t see us through the woods, but we could see him.

  Freddie exposed himself by stepping out in the opening in the tree line and gave the cop the finger. We both started sprinting. I charged right into my house where my brother was hanging out with his crew in the kitchen. Exhausted and scared, I ran in, panting and sweating, and looked up to see my brother with illegal fireworks sprawled across the kitchen table. The Fourth of July was around the corner so my brother and his friends must have made their annual trip out of state to get a ton of fireworks.

  Jason asked, “What’s the matter with you? Who are you running from?” as he shook his head.

  Ignoring my frantic state, he threw a couple of packs of bottle rockets at me and said, “Go try these out.”

  Since I couldn’t resist, I grabbed some empty beer bottles and set them up in a few places in the front yard. They were positioned on the giant hill and by the street, which felt like pretty safe spots to me. For special effect I tied all the rockets together and lit them off. I heard them whistling one after another, shooting in all directions. Suddenly I heard the colossal bang of the rocket and tires screeching. Panicking, I realized that a rocket must have hit a car. As I looked up to see if this were true, I noticed it was not just any car. It was a police cruiser.