by BoJenn
Then, she started supposing again—“That old woman talks to someone who isn’t there, she wears an outdated dress, she smells of dingy herbs, her hair is in an old Gibson Girl style. She wears a pheasant plume in her hat, and sees the apparition of the young boy in the house. The music box goes off, and the doors are slamming when she’s outside, etc…etc… The list of Eleanor’s oddities is, apparently, endless. So why continue?” She had lost control of this situation…and now a dog?
Eleanor gave Catherine a knowing look. “You worry too much. Let it go, child, before worry gets the best of you, hmm? Let it go. Deep breaths, in and out. Just like the gentle waves of the ocean—in and out…” Eleanor subdued here misgivings with her calm voice and directions. The words, “ocean waves going in and out,” made Cat cry. With gentle hands, Eleanor mimicked the rise and fall of waves. Up and down, up and down, silently and slowly, back and forth she continued until Catherine’s panic had been replaced with calmness.
“Just trust, dear, just trust,” Eleanor’s hands rose and fell like she was directing an orchestra. Eleanor knew Catherine’s thoughts. She knew that Catherine was panicking with questions that had no earthly answer.
After a few minutes Cat was quite peaceful. She had closed her eyes. She rested and drifted momentarily into a trance state. She rationalized that her falling into a trance was also Eleanor’s spell. It lasted only five minutes, but it seemed like an hour. Then, Catherine began thinking again…when she had opened the first box and saw the little black puppy, it immediately came to sit at her side, just looking and watching her. The pup wiggled his cropped black tail and panted so happily, thrilled to see her. She could almost hold him in her hand!
“Oh, he peed on me!” Cat acted perturbed. Although animals make her happy, being controlled by an old woman she doesn’t know does—and this puppy had to be part of Eleanor’s scheme. So, Cat didn’t take to the pup right away. She shunned it.
“Come, dear, let’s take the little guy outside. Cocker’s do that, you know? They just get so excited when someone comes around. Oh, I think it's a him?” Eleanor chuckled as she lifted the puppy to check. “Yes! He is a little man-boy.”
“Him, hmm? Wonder how the little man made it here from Somerset, England without eating, drinking or relieving his little puppy self?”, Catherine quipped giving Eleanor a pointed look.
“It doesn't matter dear. What will you call him?” Eleanor was abrupt with her question.
“Don’t force the puppy on Catherine, Tadhg whispered. Time, take your time. Remember, one moment at a time. Your thinking fleshly again. Think spirit. Remember there is no time in spirit. No hurry, right?”, Tadhg reminded Eleanor.
“Yes. Thank you friend. It hurts me to see the little fellow we named “His Glove” rejected. Eleanor spoke, mind to mind, to Tadhg.
“Eleanor, I don't want a dog. Did it ever occur to you, that I don't want a pet? Look, outside! What do you see? I don’t keep any animals—neither outside, nor in,” Catherine snapped.
“What a pity! Animals come and go for a short while. They have tough jobs to do, so God makes their visits short. Otherwise our little friends would be exhausted from all mankind’s aches and pains. They carry our grief, dear. That’s why God sent them to humans. They’re a gift of his love.” Eleanor frowned, and took a minute before presenting an idea Catherine might not have thought of in all her figuring. “Catherine, what makes you think I know anything about where this puppy came from? Obviously, you think I sent the puppy, but I've been here with you all morning! How could I get a puppy to you?”
“I don't know, Eleanor, but since you've come here—in less than twenty-four hours—all kinds of kooky things have been happening. Why? Did you conjure the puppy?”, Catherine demanded, sharpening her interrogation, and not about to let up. “Hmm? Why don’t you tell me? Who are you, why are you really? And why here—why? Why? Why? Tell me now—who, what, why and how you came here, how you survived, and how you cooked my own mother’s recipes, and brought this dog right to my doorstep, without any outside help?”
“Oh, dear. You don't want the puppy?” Eleanor deliberately returned to honing in on the dog situation, putting the conversation back into her own hands. “Come on, little boy. I'll let you outside for a little romp in the snow. When we come back, I will fix you some warmed milk, and see if we can’t find something a little puppy-like you can eat. Come on, little boy.” Eleanor arose from her chair to take the little pup outside.
Cat was fuming. Eleanor simply turned to Catherine and spoke a riddle, hidden in a poem: “A little joy, a gift brought by a dove, a puppy present sent from above. But, if you resist and shove, turning dog backwards, spells God's love.”
With the poem's ending, Cat picked the little boy up and asked Eleanor his name? Eleanor said, his name is “His Glove in Heaven.”
“‘His Glove’?” I thought you knew nothing of his whereabouts, or how he came to me during this weather with icy roads?” The interrogation picked up again. Cat wanted to know.
“In time, dear, you will know some things, but not all.” Eleanor was as honest as she could be.
“‘His Glove’, huh?” Cat decided on a nickname. I’ll call him “Lovey”, for short.
Eleanor was pleased with Catherine’s naming him. Perhaps the ice of emotions was thawing. They took little Lovey outside and watched him romp in the snow. Both of them thought Lovey might catch a cold from having wet, cold, feet, so they just stayed outside long enough for Lovey to do his doggy business.
Catherine decided to open emotionally to her new gift that day. Lovey would be the first hint of love she had accepted in a very long time. It was Cat’s true love of animals and her long time missing them that weakened her self-loathing and allowed her to accept little, black “His Glove”.
Of course, she felt her acceptance was selfish. After all, she could clearly hear the voice that told her so—that accepting Lovey was selfish. She had deprived herself of love for so long, punishing herself, because she only understood that, for some reason, God was chastising her. Her belief system warped her opinion of herself—surely she was the one responsible for all the tragic and horrible things that happened in her life. She thought herself unworthy of any goodness, much less that she should ever have another pet. She, and her voices in her head, told her she didn’t deserve one; and, if she did, certainly the pet would die tragically, just like all the others. Cat bought into the lies that one of her personified entities told her; she called that wicked and evil spirit of her mind, “The Accuser of the Brethren.”
There were two other boxes left to open, but Cat was tied up with “Box One”. “I thought the boxes were yours? Isn’t the puppy yours?”, Cat asked.
“No, dear. Box #1 was addressed to ‘Elizabeth Catherine Dubois.’”
“Well, who is the sender? Is there a card, or a note attached?”
“Yes, yes, here is a note. It says, ‘From Daddy.’ Hmm. This is certainly odd,” Eleanor agreed.
He Is Your Brother
The day passed quickly with little “His Glove,” or “Lovey,” as Cat mostly called him. He had lightened things up to the point where Cat and Eleanor romped together in the snow with him, steeped pots of hot tea, made cookies from ingredients that “simply” appeared, and threw logs on the fire in the den to warm it up for a cozy, early-afternoon nap. All three of them napped for an hour, as the fire in the hearth crackled and the feeling of well-being permeated the Dubois home. It had been many years—too many to count—since good tidings of joy had settled there. Little Lovey seemed to be opening Cat’s cobweb-jammed, emotional door. “Good job, Lovey,” Eleanor petted his head and praised him when Catherine was out of the room.
And, for once, Catherine really rested during that nap. She dreamed of her mother. Her mother had made deliberate eye-contact with Catherine. Her glance seemed to speak something to her, a look that said, “All will be well. You will see; you must trust and believe, my little angel.” Then her mother’s face disa
ppeared.
“I think she’s finally enjoying herself, Tadhg. Don’t you? “His Glove” was a good idea. I’m glad now you carried out his safe delivery and made the plan for us to leave the house while you delivered the boxes.” Eleanor had spoken aloud this time, confident that Catherine was sound asleep.
“I believe Lovey was a good choice. He’s so loyal. He will love her forever,” Tadhg whispered in Eleanor’s ear.
“By the way, the Jeep was a mess. Did I go over the side?”, Eleanor asked, referring to the accident just the day before.
“No, I got you out before it went over.” Tadhg was floating over in the room’s corner again, facing Eleanor who looked up to him when communicating. She also read his lips if needed.
“Thank God, I don’t think I would have made it, falling to and fro. Thanks for your help, friend. What would I do without you?” Eleanor genuinely praised his friendship. Their friendship had cultivated over several thousands of years. Eleanor and Tadhg knew they could trust each other’s opinions. However, sometimes, they disagreed, but they always worked through the quarrels.
Eleanor sat in silence for a while, letting her mind wander. “Tadhg? Are you sill there? I was thinking about Catherine.
“I’m here. I’m floating above the desk—just enjoying weightlessness—nothing else to do.” This time, Tadhg was dressed like a Scottish golfer, wearing a green, plaid kilt as he hovered in mid-air. “What were you thinking?”
“Of how trusting and believing young Catherine was, and how time, unpleasantries and negative experiences made their way inside her. This older version of Catherine became jaded with the likes of “Anger”, “Rejection”, “Loneliness”, “Isolation” and “Despair”. It was too bad she didn’t remain like the little girl she once was, so innocent, and so brave.” Eleanor was restating what the two of them had known before they arrived at Catherine’s home, but since Eleanor was wearing skin, she thought differently—more down to earth and not up to cosmos understanding.
Catherine continued to sleep, and Eleanor signaled Tadhg to move to another room where they could mind-talk without fear of being watched, not only by Catherine, but by the other spiritual entities they knew lived there, too. She pointed to the sitting room upstairs; it was the room next to her bedroom, and two sets of doors would close behind them so the sound of her voice would not wake Cat.
Lovey stayed next to Cat and didn’t move. Eleanor stepped lightly, ascending the stairs, closed both doors and had a seat in the rocking chair. “Yes, what we learned of Catherine was right, Tadhg. The older she became, Cat embraced a different character. It is too bad that humans succumb to these devils inside them. Without help, humans are doomed. That’s where we come in—to help.” Eleanor smiled and spoke with genuine warmth.
“Help from fairy godparents, angels and spiritual guides, like us,” Tadhg patted himself on the back. “We make a good team Eleanor, but can you speed it up?”
“Why? What’s the hurry?”, Eleanor asked him.
“A golfing adventure in South Africa. I wanted to go for a day and observe the golfers,” Tadhg hinted the possibility that perhaps there would be a way for him to participate. “Hmm? What do you think? Speed it up a notch or two?”
“No, dear—patience. There is no speeding this battle up. She didn’t become like this overnight, so it won’t be a twenty-four hour process, if that’s what you’re hoping for. No, we must know who the enemies are. Any clues?” Eleanor scolded Tadhg, and yet asked for signs of near warfare.
“Well…this morning when you were outside picking flowers, when the house came alive with the doors slamming, and the music box upstairs playing, and Catherine being jittery, to tell you the truth, I was shaky.” Tadhg looked down. They are strong ones. I know “The Accuser of the Brethren” is here. He’s the big burly one, ugly too. Then, Fear’s odor permeates around Catherine. I smell his stench. I’m sure they have the battalion of hostiles here, too,” he added.
“Well, what else did they do?” Eleanor wanted to know.
“Well, they shook the plates, that’s for sure. It felt like an earthquake with the doors slamming. I wonder if she’s lived with that cacophony of obnoxious threats and blaming for a long time?” Tadhg felt sorry for Catherine. “If she has, then she must be one tough warrior. Most would be institutionalized. She must have talents to overcome them, that she is unaware of, and she should be commended. I don’t know the whole situation, but I was told that, somewhere along life's journey, her swords of defense had changed into Hatred, Judgment, and Divination of many other kinds of self-defeating weapons, instead of using her childhood Faith, Sweetness and her magical ways of Healing. The Devil’s brigade is not forthright, so they gained access into a heart, so smoothly and so cleverly—they made entry because of a festering soul. She was never aware of their actual entry or presence.”
Eleanor gave Tadhg her understanding of Catherine’s situation, “Had she known they were slowly creeping inside her, she would have vetoed their taking up residence. Only if she had known, I know she would have fought a good fight. But they cleverly disguised themselves by waving flags and banners of Strength, Courage, and Intelligence. “Self-Righteousness” and inflated “Self-Worth” are the ones used for attacks on others; but, more often than not, those are reserved by the Devil, himself, as his tempting gift for use by churchgoers.”
Eleanor continued her synopsis of the spiritual climate in Catherine’s Dubois’ manor, “You see it often happens at an early age. The subversive insurgents seem harmless, and they always present themselves honestly; however, they do their work, dishonestly. That’s what they do best. They’re so adept that they can deceive the best-intentioned of humans. Furthermore, all humans are attacked by their malevolence, one way or another. These demons are smooth operators—handsome or beautiful, at times, as well.”
Eleanor proceeded with her teaching about demons and evil spirits to Tadhg, who knew full well the history and the strategic plans the evil ones devise. “They grow just like small seeds do when planted in good soil. Sometimes they start as early as childhood. Sadly, even more so, they will begin with an attack in the womb.”
“Eleanor! What? You’re kidding? Cowards!”, Tadhg contested. Humans don’t stand a chance!
“No, none of them escape. But, all attacks are totally individualized. They send signals or spread their seeds of “Rejection”, “Fear”, “Isolation”, “Loneliness”. A fetus can pick up these demons without love and support. From “Rejection”, “Fear”, “Isolation”, and then “Loneliness” comes poor “Self-Love”, “Unworthiness”, “Self-Loathing”, “Self-Destruction” and a hating of “Self-Image”. They come inside a human when their soil is traumatically churned, and, sometimes, even without the churning. Sometimes they lurk in the churches. As a matter of fact, the demons love churches the most; that’s where they thrive and grow humongous.”
Eleanor knew she was going to have to pep herself up in a big way. A battle with the devils was a sure thing that was going to take place at the Dubois Manor; and it might be an all out war. They would have to wait and see what manifested.
The signs that took place in the home earlier that day, and the boy apparition who was so frightened, gave Tadhg the notion that the confrontation would be soon. It would have to be. “Remind me to stay out of churches. Are there a lot of them here on earth?”, Tadhg asked Eleanor, who knew, much more than he, the knowledge of the world and the interactions of the dark entities abound.
“Well, yes, actually, there are many churches on earth. There are many types of churches, and all of them have perfect manure—the human kind—to grow perfect devils—big and strong ones. Devils love and feed off judgment. If they can start just a quarrel, then they can feed for a long time. They love marriages, and they start their attack before anyone knows that anything is wrong.”
Eleanor was happy to go on about her base of first-hand, earthly experience. It only strengthened her in preparation for whatever was to happen a
t Catherine’s.
Tadhg looked at Eleanor and asked to be reminded, “So why did I decide to come with you on this earth mission again?”
“Hesitant?”, she said with a raised brow, Eleanor looked to where Tadhg might be hanging from the ceiling. She continued, “These little demonic seeds take root in a human’s life. These parasitic aliens enter the humans in an unfair way. They have the advantage, but without God, and, we, the supernatural warriors, humans would perish. Demons are foreign presences that feed off human frailties—the human condition, replete with sin and unbelief, and false beliefs.
“Sin? In churches? God’s home?” Tadhg shook his head in the negative.
“Well, man calls it that. And, be careful. You might enter sin yourself,” warned Eleanor.
Tadhg laughed. “Okay,” he chuckled.
“Tadhg, stop! You’re being affected. Make no judgments. Operate only in love. Otherwise, the enemies’ weapons are effective.” Eleanor knew they would not be leaving without a battle.
“They can take claim to anyone or spiritual entity. They use dramas, traumas, self-righteousness, pharmacia, sarcasm, doubt, and mockeries as fertilizer.”
“Please continue. So, I must be in serious trouble?” Tadhg laughed at her.
“They’re worms, not even snakes. And, if my continuing to explain is what it takes, until you know whether our conversation is being tampered with or not, one most proceed like Sacajawea.” Eleanor had a ghostly spirit in her tone of voice.
“You’re being paranoid, Eleanor. Fear. They grow off of fear, dear friend,” Tadhg scolded Eleanor this time.
“Correct. You must keep me clear-minded, unswayed by human emotions. I must keep you the same. You see how powerful our enemy is? Can we trust one another? Even friends can be shaken here.” Eleanor explained her teaching, specifically as it applied to them, as well. “This is a crash course on twenty-first century enemy tactics. It’s been a while since you visited. The strategies of battle have changed. It’s terribly different now.”