“I think that you gave a convincing argument in class today, Brent. I fully expected a revolt by half the class, but only that one guy … What’s his name?”
“Jim.”
“Yeah, Jim. He was the only one with the guts to go up against you. Though, I’m not sure I’d call it guts. Stupid, maybe.”
Brent laughed. “Well, at least he’s not wishy-washy in what he believes. He may not have been able to form a very good argument against mine, but he’s firm. Half the class believes, or believed, what he argued. It’s just that they were either scared or found that they—and their ideologies—don’t have very solid foundations.
“Marta, a Christian who knows the why behind what he or she believes is a dangerous human being, not to mention a danger, to the Enemy. A studied-up Christian can topple any argument mounted against him. It’s just a matter of choosing to know what the Word of God says and to learn the supporting evidence.”
Marta looked down. “You shame me.”
Brent paused, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“No. Don’t you dare apologize. God chastises those He loves, right? I’ve just been chastised.” She looked back up into Brent’s eyes. “I’m learning that I need to change the way I handle things. I need to start turning back the darkness, too.”
Brent crossed his arms and stared into Marta’s eyes. “There’ll be forces that’ll come against you if you do.”
“Bring ‘em on!” she exclaimed with a wink and a smirk.
9:37 P.M.
TARA SAT IN her dorm room and brooded, one question perpetually playing on her mind. Why in hell am I here? She was nineteen years old, and had asked herself the same question every day for what seemed like years. Sometimes it was directed toward her involvement at the college. At other times it was directed at life in general; at life on this speck of cosmic dust hurtling through what seemed a cold, uninviting, and indifferent universe.
The low light and incense burning in the room—against dorm regulations—played on her emotions. The darkness may have been more comfortable for her, but it also had a tendency to usher in mild depression. Tonight was no exception, except that it was a bit more than mild this time.
She walked to the mirror above the sink in her room and stared. Eyeliner was starting to smudge around her right eye. She stared hard and long at the way she looked. Where had she gone? Tara Darlene Baker, the naïve, strawberry-blonde girl from Branson, Missouri, was nowhere to be found in the reflection.
Why in hell am I here? Where am I? Who am I?
She turned away from the mirror and walked to her window. Looking down at the courtyard, she could see that the lamps along the sidewalks had come on. The students below her were casually passing the evening by. Two guys laughed and pushed each other as they strode; a threesome of girls walked arm-in-arm. A guy sat with his arm around a girl on a bench underneath the huge oak tree in the center of the courtyard.
Without time to ward it off, a twinge of longing sprang up in her soul. What would it be like to be normal again? The question hung in her mind for a moment.
What?!
She pushed back from the window, hardly able to contain the rage that surged from her core. Like them?! I’ll die first! She paced back and forth in her small room. Irritation fueled her. Through clenched teeth she forced out, “To hell with them. To hell with all of them.”
Approaching the mirror again, she stared into her own eyes and seethed. “You are not one of them! You never will be. They are weak. You have power. Real power.” After a long moment, she decided on a course of action. “I think it’s time to tap into that power once again.”
She felt a tingle creep up her spine. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She hadn’t even summoned one of the dark ones yet, but she could already feel her spirit guide’s presence. She walked back to the window and picked out her target. It would be that pathetic lovey-dovey couple on the bench.
She knelt down before the small table in front of her window. Opening a drawer, she pulled out a rolled-up piece of black felt and spread it across the table to display her pentagram casting cloth. Two freshly-painted, concentric red circles looked like rings of blood at the center of the fabric. The center of the two circles contained a star—a pentagram—that touched the inner ring with all five points. Between the two circles and within the five points of the upside down star were symbols that very few people would recognize and, of which, even fewer could know the relevance. Next she pulled out four small black candles, set them outside the circles, creating a square, and lit them.
She was already beginning to feel the darkness swirl around her. This is what she knew. This is what she understood. This was her environment, and this is where she thrived.
She reached again into the drawer and pulled out a hag stone—her amulet. It was a stone that she found that had a naturally-made hole through it. Many people searched for decades for a hag stone, never to find one. The day she found hers, she knew it was a sign that she had received the blessings of the gods and goddesses. She also withdrew a chromed pentagram necklace and clasped the chain around her neck. It rested midway down her chest and reflected candlelight onto the walls. Lastly, she pulled out her personal grimoire1, her personal ‘book of shadows.’
She fingered through the book, looking for a nefarious spell to cast upon the young lovers, knowing that a dark one would enter into the room with her to take on the assignment and carry it out … if she could just find the right incantation.
A chill of fear coursed through her as she realized how close she came to a mortal mistake. She ran to her closet and pulled out another piece of black fabric and unrolled it on the floor in front of her small altar. On it were two more concentric circles of red, big enough to allow her to sit fully within their confines. Between the crimson rings were more magick symbols and the names of the spirits and gods she most often conjured.
How could she have forgotten her own protection? Several years ago she had remembered too late, and she had paid a price for it. A brutal price.
Before sitting, Tara looked at every inch of the circle to make sure that there were no breaks in it, breaks that, if penetrated all the way through, would create a hairline entryway from the outside into the protecting area. She centered herself in the blood-red circle, making sure that not a single part of her body or clothing lay outside its boundary. Grabbing her grimoire she turned a couple more pages before landing on the invocation she found suitable.
She laughed as she pictured the end result. Oh, she thought, this ought to be good. Real good.
Before beginning her spirit summons, she first spoke the spell of protection that was needed to create a barrier between her and whatever being came forth to answer the call.
“On this May night
By the dragon’s light
I call to thee
Give me your might.
I conjure thee
By the power of three
Protect all
That surrounds me.
So mote it be.
So mote it be!”
Comfortable with her environment, she looked down at the handwritten words in her book of shadows and spoke forth the words that would throw a fear-filled disruption into the lives of the young lovebirds sitting, oblivious, five stories below.
1 Go to Appendix B for a description of Tara’s items for ritual spellcasting
Okay, who threw that?” asked Terry. He looked up from his seat on the other side of the large round table. The group of five sat at the windowed edge of the heavily-populated student union building.
Brent looked up from his textbook to see Diane Hamilton burying a grin. Terry Carpenter hadn’t seen her yet. Diane realized that Brent was looking at her and put her left elbow up on the table and hid a quivering smile with her hand.
Uh-oh, thought Brent with an emerging grin of his own. Here comes the end of serious study. So be it! Knowing Diane was near the breaking point of
laughter, Brent pretended to start sticking a finger up his nose.
Marta glanced at him, and not knowing Brent’s true aim, produced a look of utter distaste as his finger got closer.
Terry, now looking at Marta, and seeing her twisted facial expression, directed his eyes over to Brent as well.
Karen McGlaughlin—the A-type personality of the group—startled everyone by loudly shouting, “Don’t do it, Brent! Don’t do it!”
That was all it took. An hour of concerted study erupted into uncontrollable laughter. Brent thought he would never catch his breath, especially after Diane, the initial culprit, fell off her chair and lay on the floor in hysterics.
At that point everyone knew that further study was hopeless. Terry suggested that they just close the books and order a couple of large pizzas. Everyone voiced agreement. Karen had an idea, too, and ran to her dormitory to get everyone’s favorite games, Outburst and Taboo.
After tackling the layers of pepperoni, banana peppers, and extra cheese, they began a game of Outburst. Their laughter escalated, soon drawing attention from other students around them. The next thing the group of five knew, a couple of onlookers from another table asked if they could join in on the fun.
It was a great evening.
By the time the “party” drew to a close and everyone had dispersed, the five friends had gained a couple of new companions.
“I needed that. Thank you,” whispered Brent into the night air. He walked alone toward the stupidly-distant parking lot.
Approaching “The Great Oak,” which stood in the middle of the wide, grassy courtyard between the rows of campus dormitories, Brent listened as a strong breeze ruffled the new-born leaves of the huge tree. A sudden cold chill washed over his body. There was something very wrong about it; no way should he feel cold. It was a warm night, in the mid-seventies, at the very least.
He felt something else; something he recognized—a manifestation of evil that he hadn’t felt in years.
He stopped. His heart rate spiked. Taking stock of his surroundings, he found that he was the only one in the courtyard.
“What’s going on?” he asked under his breath. “God? What’s…”
10:23 P.M.
TARA, IN THE faint glow of candlelight, stood within her protective rings and stared downward into the courtyard, observing the effects of her latest harassment. A male student stopped just before passing under the massive branches of The Great Oak. He turned to look around, and she grinned.
I know who that is. It’s Goodie-Two-Shoes from the student union.
“He’s about to feel more than simply my elbow.” Any moment, now, she would see the beautiful end result of her spellcast.
But Goodie just stood in place, quickly looking around. It was obvious that he was alert to the attack, however, too much time was passing without the expected end result.
“What the hell is going on?”
10:25 P.M.
BRENT FOUND HIS “spiritual legs” and stood his ground. “Father, protect me,” he whispered. Again he looked around, still seeing no one. Something was there, though, and very close. “In the name of Jesus, whom I serve, I rebuke you, spirit!” The command was spoken aloud, and the result was immediate.
A calm washed over him. Whatever it was that had harassed him was now gone.
His senses remained on high alert. He knew in the core of his being that whatever had just happened had been deliberate.
“Lord,” he began, a hint of worry in his voice, “This isn’t … I’m not being revisited, right? I mean, that’s all over. Long over. Right?”
The Holy Spirit’s presence rose up within him. It wasn’t the direct answer to his question that he hoped for, at least not one that he could recognize, but the Spirit was reassuring him that he wasn’t alone in this.
Unwilling to wait around for another fear-enmeshed visit, Brent started walking again, faster this time. Just another few minutes to my car, and I’m outta here.
Sometimes wisdom dictated a quick getaway.
10:27 P.M.
TARA’S EYES WIDENED in astonishment and dismay. “What?! What the hell just happened?!” She stepped off her mat in order to round her altar and get a better look out the window.
She recoiled in intense pain as she felt the full force of an angry spirit lash out at her. She fell to her knees, doubling over in agony. Her intestines felt as though they were being mutilated and ripped out of her belly. She instantly knew what was happening. The spirit she’d sent out to do her bidding had been repelled! Having stepped out of her rings of protection, its wrath was now returning, and with a vengeance.
She tried to utter an incantation for protection, but she couldn’t focus for all of the pain. “No!” she cried. “Don’t!”
She rolled onto the floor into a fetal position. Her bowels squeezed, and unable to make it to the bathroom, she soiled herself.
“No, no, no,” she whimpered as tears of anger, fear, and pain streamed into her hair. “No. Please, no.”
Brent and Marta walked through the commons area near the student union building. Marta saw that Brent was already focused on the task ahead.
“You ready to head to the courtyard?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yep.”
“At least it’s daylight. Not much going to happen under such a brilliant, blue sky.”
“I wish I could believe that,” said Brent. “But the fact of the matter is that, while people who perform witchcraft do enjoy the night to keep their practices private, demons are not opposed to working in the sunlight.”
“You sound so sure that it was witchcraft.” She paused thoughtfully before continuing. “I mean, it was night, you were alone; perfect time for a person’s imagination to get the best of him.”
Grim in his response, Brent said, “I know what I felt. A presence I haven’t felt since …” Brent got quiet.
“Okay, Darth,” quipped Marta with a smile on her face.
“Huh?” Brent looked at her curiously for a moment, then realized he had just precisely quoted Darth Vader from Star Wars. In spite of himself he chuckled. “Oh yeah.”
They took a few more paces and Brent said, “I appreciate you, Marta. Thanks for walking through this with me. Hopefully we’ll find some answers.”
“Like you said, we Christians are only as successful as our relationships with the Lord and each other.”
“I said that?”
“Yes, you did.”
He thought about it for a moment, then said, “You know what? I’m pretty smart.”
Marta deliberately moved closer and nudged him off the sidewalk. “Uh-huh. Not to bust your bubble, but it could have been the Holy Spirit.”
“I concede.”
They entered the courtyard area and immediately Brent became wary. Marta was right about one thing: the sunlight did help.
“You were under the oak?” asked Marta.
“Approaching it.”
“Do you think it has something to do with the oak?”
“No, I don’t think so. But I’ve got to admit that I don’t really know much about this stuff.”
“What? You told me that you were once a practicing witch. I thought that would kind of make you, if not an expert, certainly knowledgeable.”
“It wasn’t until after I left the occult that I found out that I had actually been involved in witchcraft. Even then I had a tough time admitting it to myself.”
They came to a stop under the shade of The Great Oak. Brent looked around, scoping out the landscape and the buildings.
“Brent, I know you wanted to come back out here. But, why exactly?”
He thought a moment, then said, “Just getting back on the horse.” The comment seemed to satisfy her.
Marta took a seat and leaned back against the tree’s massive, gnarled trunk. “Weird place to have a nightmarish encounter. It’s so beautiful and peaceful.”
Brent sat down next to her. “It was beautiful and peacefu
l last night, too. Until the attack happened.”
“That’s another thing that’s got me curious. How do you know it was an attack?”
“Good question. I don’t know how I know. Like I said, I’m new to all of this. I guess it’s the way the Holy Spirit brought up the right thing to say when I needed it. That, and the fact that it just came from out of nowhere. I mean, one minute I’m smiling, thinking back to the lunacy at the student union, and the next thing I know my skin is crawling. It seemed like an attack.”
“What I thought you meant was that someone might have actually sent the demon to attack you.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. If someone sent it that means someone had a reason. It’s not like I’ve got any enemies.”
“You did ruffle some feathers in some of our classes.”
“Yeah, but I never directed any of my comments at anyone in particular.”
“Brent, you represent Christianity. Sometimes it takes no more than that to get someone to hate you.”
“Yeah, you’re right. So, now we’re assuming that whoever launched this against me is someone in one of my classes.”
“And lives on campus,” added Marta.
“What?”
She pointed straight ahead to the six-story-high dormitory in front of them.
Deliver Us From Darkness Page 10