Deliver Us From Darkness

by W. Franklin Lattimore

  He was still. He was at peace. His body relaxed. He offered himself to the Holy Spirit as a platform on which to speak. That’s when he finally heard him.

  Pain. Dark and deep. A secret.

  Pastor Jonathan didn’t ask for an explanation. Experience had taught him that the Lord always gave what was needed.

  He righted himself and whispered to George and Brent, “Guys.” He motioned for them to return to Tara. All three of them knelt down again.

  Tara’s eyes were open and she was showing no ill signs, save for being extremely tired.

  “Tara,” said Pastor Jonathan in a very caring tone, “tell me about your secret.”

  Tara looked at him, confused. “What secret?”

  “I don’t know. The Holy Spirit gave me just a few words. He said, ‘Pain. Dark and deep. A secret.’ What does that mean to you?”

  Tara’s eyes began to show signs of panic, darting left and right. Her hands went from her sides and clasped her abdomen. And she screamed!

  “NOOOO!!! NOOOO!!!”

  The shriek was deafening. Marta and Cheryl covered their ears. Pastor Jonathan was on it. “Hold her. George and Brent on her legs. Marta and Karen take her arms. This is it.”

  Everyone shifted quickly.

  “NOOOO!!! Leave us! Leave us alone!”

  “Silence!”

  The voice coming out of Tara suddenly became very soothing. “We’ll take care of her. We promise. We love her.”

  “I said silence! In the name of Jesus!”

  Tara began to thrash. It was all that Karen and Marta could do to just keep her arms down at her sides. Both George and Brent took to straddling her shins, gripping her knees to hold them down.

  Brent exclaimed, “She’s so strong!”

  “It’s not her,” said George.

  Brent looked at him bewildered, then back down at Tara. His eyes widened.

  Pastor Jonathan once again commanded the spirits. “Cease in your maneuvers! In the name of Jesus, release Tara!”

  Again Tara’s body came to rest like a wet towel. She was panting heavily, hyperventilating.

  “Cheryl, give her some water.”

  Once again Jenni lifted her head and Tara took a long draught of the water. Then another. Cheryl took the glass away when Tara indicated she was done. Tara’s stomach tightened and she turned her head toward the third towel that had been laid to the right of her head. She retched and threw up the little bit of content in her stomach.

  “Please, make it stop,” she groaned.

  “We will,” Pastor Jonathan assured her. “We will. I need a little more help from you, though. Okay?”

  She nodded weakly.

  Marta wanted to cry. She hurt so deeply for Tara.

  Pastor Jonathan spoke again. “Tara, what was the Holy Spirit revealing to me?”

  Her face became a picture of abject misery—absolute sorrow. She tried to draw her hands back up, but Karen and Marta were still holding them down. They looked at the pastor who gave them a permissive nod. When they let go Tara’s hands went back to her abdomen again. No one had to ask another question. Her tears and body-wracking sobs told the story.

  Her breathing began to stutter. Tiny inhalations, like that of a little girl. She began to weep with such regret that it started to break the hearts of everyone in the room. “My little baby,” she said, just above a whisper.

  She was now inconsolable. She rolled onto her right side and into a fetal position. She could hardly breathe for the grief that poured from her.

  Jenni looked up at her husband, tears trailing down her own face. He gave a small shake of his head, indicating that she should let Tara have the freedom of this moment.

  “Oh God. Oohh God! … I killed my baby!” She wailed with such intense grief that the others gave in and began to weep with her.

  “Oh God… my little girl…”

  TARA WEPT FOR the better part of 20 minutes. No one hindered her. She poured it all out, mourning deeply, with a profound repentance that humbled everyone in the room.

  After several minutes of lying on her side, eyes glassy, Tara sat up. She crossed her legs Indian style and positioned her elbows on her knees. She held a wet tissue in her right hand. Her breathing was back to normal. The only discernible after effects were frequent sniffles and a barren stare down at the floor.

  Jenni knew it was time to move on. She brushed hair back from Tara’s forehead and gave it a kiss. “There’s freedom here, Tara. There’s compassion with every confession to God. Your baby is in his care.” Tara’s head went forward some more, chin to chest. “I am not just saying that to try to make you feel better. It’s the truth. Know this, too; there is no hate or unforgiveness in Heaven. Your child will only ever love you.” She caressed Tara’s hair and neck. “Let that settle in your heart. Okay?”

  Tara’s strawberry-blonde hair wrapped back around to cover her forehead and face as she nodded. She whispered a thank you, then said, “I’m ready.”

  Brent looked at Tara with eyes of wonder, with such admiration. She may be the bravest person I’ve ever known.

  Within a couple of minutes they were in their familiar positions around Tara. She on her back, everyone else strategically placed around her head and limbs.

  “You’re in the home stretch, Tara,” said Pastor Jonathan. “There’s nothing left for them to hold on to.”

  And there wasn’t.

  Pastor Jonathan decided to cover all of the bases again, just in case. He broke the generational curse over her life, over her lineage. He took authority over the strongman, and commanded him to come out. There was little resistance this time. Tara coughed and gagged and finally, with one large convulsion that arched her back, the spirit of rejection came out with a loud cry.

  Suicide was next, followed by demons that represented her years in witchcraft, including rebellion and divination. Unclean spirits were next—spirits of sexual impurity. The demon known as Shalinar resisted one last time, appealing to the friendship he had with Tara before the pastor shut him up and commanded him to leave.

  It was difficult to tell the total number of demons that came out of Tara that night. Some of them later estimated between 25 and 30, in all. But regardless of the number, it was finally over.

  The end result was nothing less than breathtaking for the few who were blessed to witness it. There were hugs for Tara and amongst one another.

  As everyone stood and watched, Tara made her way to the center of the room and knelt. The Presence of the Lord was palpable!

  Holiness surrounded Tara—enveloped her. Her hands extended to the heavens as if she might touch the face of God. Radiant love and peace adorned her face, as the last tears of the evening rolled down her cheeks.

  It was done.

  The battle for Tara’s freedom was won.

  The darkness, in which she had existed for years, was vanquished from her life.

  To Be Continued…

  Drosten ran. He had no choice. What else could he do? He wasn’t supposed to see. He wasn’t supposed to hear.

  But he did.

  All that he could see now were the branches just before they struck his face. All that he could hear was the snapping of twigs and the rustling of underbrush beneath his feet.

  They are dead! All of them!

  He had to stop and think. He would, but first he had to find a safe place.

  River Tay was to the west. If he could make it, he could follow it back north.

  His lungs were burning. He had to stop. He had to catch his breath. He ignored the thought.

  I have to protect the key!

  Though he tried to press forward, he could no longer take the pain. He’d been running, jumping, and climbing at full speed for too long. He slowed and tried to continue by walking, but ultimately he fell to his knees gasping.

  He tried to listen. Was he being followed? If his heart would stop hammering in his ears and his lungs would just relax, he would be able to tell.

  Drosten
, Keeper of the Bridei Key, focused to control his breathing. He stilled his body, closed his eyes, and willed his heart and lungs to slow down.

  After a few moments, he was able to hear clearly again. He concentrated on the woods behind him. He could hear nothing. He concentrated on the high grasses to his left. Nothing.

  He lifted his chin and breathed in. A scent. Water! The river is close! He got up and began to walk toward the last stand of trees that sheltered the wide waterway. Upon breaching the thick woods he released a sigh of relief. He had reached the Tay.

  He recognized where he stood. He was at a large bend that jutted eastward before heading back west. He’d been traveling northward the whole time. Good.

  Drosten walked to the bank of the river and knelt for a drink. The cool water from the highlands relieved his parched throat. After taking his fill, he stood and surveyed as much of the landscape as he could by the light of the moon. Traveling the river was both wise and difficult. Following the waterways, he would make it from river to loch to river, all the way to Loch Ness.

  He was more than a week away from completing the journey before him. But a warrior’s allegiance is to his king and his people. Because he no longer had a king to serve, back to his people he would go.

  The warrior had no illusions about what had happened. In a matter of just a few minutes the whole world had changed. Drust, king of the Pexa, was dead; betrayed by the Scot King, Cináed mac Ailpin. All seven heirs to the Pexa crown were dead, as well. The Scotti may have finally figured out a way to extend their kingdom into the Highlands without another war.

  Even before his ill-fated journey began, Drosten knew that his king—though barely a year into his reign—was already a beaten man, though the Scot king most likely didn’t know that.

  King Drust knew that the only chance that they had to keep their lands was to bargain for peace and to combine their strength with that of the Scotti to defeat the Norse. These raiders from a distant land—these “Vikings”—with their long boats were siphoning away the remaining strength of both kingdoms.

  When the Scot king sent messengers to Loch Ness to actually propose such an alliance, King Drust breathed a sigh of relief and Drosten had seen hope come back into his eyes.

  But now…

  The keeper of the key closed his eyes, replaying the events in his mind. He would be required to give great detail of what he had witnessed and why he was the lone survivor of Cináed mac Ailpin’s betrayal.

  The open grounds of Scone had been selected by both parties as an appropriate site to negotiate a treaty of peace. It had been the heart of the Pexa kingdom several times in their history. It was an ancient place, full of legend; a place that Drosten had always hoped to visit. Now it was a place of agony that he wished he’d never seen.

  When the plans had been made to head to Scone, King Drust made it clear to his advisers and the other Pexa nobles that he had no intention of a permanent treaty with the Scot king. He knew that combining the forces of two kingdoms to defeat the Norse would, in the end, leave just the one enemy with which to contend. If the treaty between the Pexa and the Scotti held after the war, it would allow for a period of peace, permitting the Pexa armies to heal and grow strong again. Then, and only then, could they rid Pictland of the Scotti scourge.

  Drust, along with the seven earls, had accepted the invitation to meet with King Cináed mac Ailpin. The royals from both sides of the conflict agreed that they would enter Scone unarmed.

  The length of time that it took to arrange for the seven royal houses to both prepare and come together for travel—in addition to the time that it took to actually reach Scone—allowed the Scotti the time that they needed to set a devilish trap.

  PRESENT DAY

  THERE ARE CERTAIN things a man tries to forget—things that speak to him from the silence of a darkened room. Things that make him afraid.

  He was reminded, again, of an old Scottish prayer that he’d memorized long ago...

  From ghoulies and ghosties

  And long-leggedy beasties

  And things that go bump in the night,

  Good Lord, deliver us!

  This was more than a bump in the night, and he had hoped he would never have to deal with anything like this again.

  IN THIS SEQUEL to Deliver Us From Darkness, twenty-four years have passed since best friends Brent Lawton, Marta Rosales, and Karen McLaughlin had their lives rocked and changed through an encounter with Tara Baker, a black witch who was bent on their destruction.

  Brent has remained in his hometown of Millsville, Ohio. A police officer now, he raises his family of five within the suburban community that he has been hired to protect.

  Not all is well, though. A number of individuals, who have been keeping their fingers on the spiritual pulse of the surrounding area, are now having premonitions.

  Something is coming; something evil.

  Re-enter Picti High Priests, Brendan Cadeyrn and Stephanie O’Leary. They have finally pieced together the fragments of a culture and religion once so powerful that it had kept the mighty legions of ancient Rome at bay. It is their intention, along with several hundred followers, to reclaim that religion, and along with it, its power. No one will be permitted to stand in opposition to their plan to unleash an evil that has lain dormant for over a thousand years.

  Yet, a single family will stand. They will confront the darkness and put their own lives on the line for the sake of their God, their community, and each other.

  With a twist that few will see coming, dive deep into the story of one family’s “furious love” for a mortal enemy bent on their destruction.

  Can God’s love win in the belly of such darkness where its practitioners want nothing to do with him?

  Find out, as you journey again into the Otherealm and engage in a war that could one day be your own!

  Otherealm – Appendix A

  Chapter 3, Footnote 1:

  “Hello, Brent” - Multiple Personality Disorder vs. Demonism

  First, let me say that I am not an expert in all things occult, nor do I claim to have a lot of knowledge about inner workings of the human psyche. I do, though, have enough experience in dealing with the “spirit world” to know the difference between mental illness and what I went through as a youth, much like Brent Lawton. I also have experience in dealing with others who have had demonic issues while practicing, and after coming out of, the occult.

  A few years ago I wrote an article for an online publication. I called it The Demonization of America. Obviously a play on words, but the point I was making was that Americans (Westerners in general) have advanced amazingly far in terms of medicine and technology. We are a “civilized” society that has turned to a more naturalistic observation of life. As a whole, we have naturalized all things that we don’t understand, leaving out any possible explanation from the spirit realm. Unfortunately, this is applicable nearly as much to Christians as to our agnostic and atheist friends.

  Let me ask you a question. From the time that Jesus walked the earth to today, how many fewer demons and angels are there? The obvious answer is that there are no fewer than were originally created. The Word does say there are some that are bound in the pit awaiting judgment, but understand that that was written in the New Testament of the Bible. And that means that those demons that were not bound and continued roaming the earth affecting people’s lives at the time of the apostles Paul and John (the Revelator), are still with us today.

  Let me ask you another question. Over the past two thousand years, have all of the demons stayed in the area we now call the Holy Land? The answer is no. So where are they? Do they only reside in Third-World countries? Or is it possible that these fallen angels, these harassers of mankind, are global in their reach?

  Today, because of how our country has naturalized all things wrong with the human mind/soul/spirit, we’ve given medical “reasons” for why people act out the way that they do. The Word of God, though, makes it very clear that demons
are going to continue hindering people from coming to Christ until the end of the age. If that is so, then demons are all too willing to hide from sight while they cause people to live with many types of afflictions.

  Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD) a.k.a. Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), Schizophrenia, Manic Depression, Suicidal Tendencies, Phobias, Panic Attacks, God Complex, etc.

  Let me qualify things here a little bit. There are some mental disorders that are based on completely physical origins. A person can be chemically/clinically depressed. There are stresses that can cause a person’s mind to “collapse”, and there are some coping mechanisms that can kick in to help an individual separate from traumatic life situations. I believe that these are the exceptions, though. And, though I believe that these are exceptions, I am not willing to assign a percentage to how many are spirit-based versus natural/physical-based.

  Dr Haraldur Erlendsson—whom I believe to be a naturalist—in his research paper, ‘Multiple Personality Disorder - Demons and Angels or Archetypal Aspects of the Inner Self,’ comes to this conclusion:

  When alter personalities are asked about whom they believe they are, they say they are: children (86%), helping spirits (84%), demons (29%), another living person (28%), dead relatives (21%) and a person with opposite sex (63%). The two largest case series that have looked into this are by F W Putnam (1986) who described 100 cases and C A Ross (1989) who described 236 cases. Even though the majority of alters claim not to belong to the individual the prevailing opinion is that these are in fact parts of the individual.1

  When the voices coming out of an individual are calling themselves spirits and demons, the medical establishment puts the patient on medication to control his delusions. Jesus and the apostles cast them out. One is a constantly “managed” disease/disorder, the other is a cure.

  Based on my experiences, and those of others that I’ve had the opportunity to speak with who have had similar experiences, I can conclusively state that demons are alive and well in the United States. They are willing to be overlooked as long as they can keep the focus of the “sick” individual off of God. If it’s a medical situation that can be managed by a pill, why trust in a God or give credence to a devil?