Hi.  I’m back home. Safe for now… I guess. I sleep with one eye open, just in case ol’ Larry busts outta Saldovia.  I don’t even know what Larry the Killer looks like.  This is how I picture him: 

 

 

 

 

 

or maybe

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

or worse yet…

 

 

 

 

 

 

but this is the guy that haunts my dreams:

 

 

 

 

 

Larry, Larry, Larry.  Quite Contrary.

 

When I was a youngster, I was terrified of a doll coming to life and slowly plodding its way up the staircase…”I’m on the first step….”  Plod, plod….”I’m on the second step….”  Plod, plod…. Lights go out.

And now once again, I’m sleeping with the lights on, TV blasting, doors barricaded and .57 Magnum under my pillow.

Thinking back on my lovely childhood, I am startled and overwhelmed with the fact that my sweet mama had to live with the fear of death hanging over her!  How ironic, she worked for a church and that very connection is where the threat began.  She knew too much.  And now I know too much.  I know that the pastor at The Shepherd’s Gate wanted to murder Dave out of pure old fashioned envy and jealousy.  And on the way, a few of his hired hands killed perfectly innocent people.  They got in too deep. Now they are spending their lives trying to keep this secret a secret.  And I’m trying to tell it.  And they want my blog silenced, along with my lifeless body.  But I intend to shout from the rooftops everything that Mama’s black book keeps spewing out. (Which by the way has been copied and is in a safety deposit box.)  

Back to the story.

Dave kinda went rogue, resembling a cross between a biker and a rebellious teenager.  His obsession with Sal began to shadow everything he did.  He wanted to bring Sal down, but he really wanted his whole flock to witness it.  And most certainly, he wanted Mika to see him bring her dad down.  Dave actually started behaving like Sal.  His obsession with him became his life’s theme.  He was still scared of Sal, but the fear was manifesting itself into revenge.   

It was a crazy life for Abby, living in Mika’s shadow and having to bounce around from one town to the next, sometimes running with no one chasing; sometimes running for their dear lives.

Dave’s once strong relationship with the Lord seemed to wither, taking his old demeanor with it.  And I’m pretty sure you all know where that gets you: things began to disintegrate quickly.

His long hair and beard took on a biker theme and made him look much tougher than he was.  When he had moved on from the ranch, a few ragtags followed him, forming his own little dysfunctional gang.   Sal had become their enemy.

 

Back in the comfort of his office, Sal fretted.  His insessant pacing began to get on Mama’s nerves.  Sal had gotten word that Dave was on the move, possibly heading back here.  His paranoia blossomed once again, and he slipped back into the dark pit he had recently crawled out of.   He had the service of a full-time body guard, but nothing seem to calm the fretful soul.  

After having coffee with his exhausted wife, Mama learned more than she ever wanted to know.  Through tears she recanted to Mama how Sal had gone up to Prayer Mountain to pray to God for direction, but he got nothing, and he felt his prayers hit an invisible brick wall.  He tried repeatedly to speak to God, but there was a block.  This was the final straw for Sal.   So desperate for direction and assurance, he made a fatal mistake that sealed his fate.

One late Friday night, Sal, along with his right-hand man, Rick,  left in a black van and took off into dark.  Only the hum of the engine could be heard inside as they drove through the city heading for the interstate.  Rick and him knew exactly where they were going, and shame and fear kept them locked in their own quiet anxiety.  

An hour later, the van exited the freeway.  Squinting through tinted windows, Sal watched the vagrants and gangsters on the dark streets.  The businesses were all now closed and secured behind barred windows with bright graffiti over the exterior walls.

Old and young men sat on folding chairs in stoops playing dominos.  

Beads of sweat formed on Rick’s forehead as he clenched the steering wheel at the red light.  The gangsters in the red Escalade were throwing insults and laughing at the rigid white men in the van.

Rick punched the accelerator as the red turned to green and didn’t get too far when the GPS warned him the next left at Washington was his to take.  2351 Washington Street, all the eyes in the van squinted in the dim lighting for the address.  And then there it was, and it needed no address out front.  The shock of the reality of the word “Psychic” began to sink in.  Rick was resistant to even get out.  Through squinted eyes and a locked jaw, Sal ordered him out into the dark.  Rick became more and more resistant to going in and Sal had to literally drag him into the shop.

 

 

 

The dark waiting room with the heavy drapes smelled strong of burning incense.  A young girl poked her head out through the slit in the long velvet curtains that separated the waiting area from the rest of the shop, and then motioned for the men to follow her.  

Through the curtains the men followed, Sal leading the charge, of course.  They passed through a small dark area where cannisters lined an old dark shelf filled with extracts and herbs.  A large parrot hiding on a filing cabinet startled the men when it let out a screech.  They followed the girl through several more rooms and a dark hallway whose wooden floors squeeked with every step.  Then they began to ascend the dark steep stairway, each step creaking.  Turning into the second room to the right, Sal’s heart flipped in fear when he first saw her.  The window behind her exposed the moon against the black night.  The only light in the room was from the many flickering candles.  

She sat behind a small round table that was draped in black velvet. There she sat, dressed in a flowing dark garment with a head scarf covering most of her hair.  Her eyes were heavily made up, and she looked to be in her late 40s.  Henna tattos adorned both hands and arms.  Her thin hands were riddled with gnarled knuckles amid bright red painted fingernails.   Sal wasn’t sure he wanted to stay anymore.  But at this point, things were now out of his control.

 

Endora motioned Sal to the chair in front of her and pointed for Rick to stand against the back wall.  Her big black eyes bore into Sal, never moving.  Reaching for both of his hands, she pulled them to the center of the table, resting in hers.  The thick smell of incense burning intensified the dark chilly ambiance.

“What is it that you want?” she quietly asked.

“I need to talk to someone that is … dead… deceased.”  Sal heard his own uncertainty in his voice.

“Yes, I know.  Please give me his name.”

“Sammy, please call up Sammy from the dead.”  

“You must know this is no small thing, to wake the dead.   I can try to reach your friend, but I cannot guarantee he will agree to come.  He may wish to only communicate with me.”  She slyly smiled.

In a frustrated tone, Sal blurted out, “Just get him!”

“Oh, I will try, my friend, I will try.”  She started humming and then chanting, all the while holding Sal’s hands.

Rick stood mortified in the back and stared in disbelief.

Her chanting waned and ebbed and then all at once, a hair-raising high pitched scream flooded the room.   Her proud demeanor was replaced with pure terror as she stood, slowly taking steps backwards.  

Her eyes were full of fright and her whole body trembled.  “You tricked me! You are a man of God!  I know you are.  Please go, take your God or whatever you brought in here and leave at once!”

Dave jumped up, eyes wild, scanning the dark room.  He felt the errie presence. Terror seized Sal by the throat causing his heart to race until he thought it would explode.  But didn’t he expect to hear from Sammy?  Isn’t that why he came?  It was surreal.  The whispery form raised up from the floor.  It was eridescent and see through, yet the face was clearly Sammy’s.  Sal was now kneeling on his knees and face bowed to the floor, thought he wasn’t sure if it was out of reverence or fear.

Sammy’s voice boomed like thunder, “Why did you disturb me?”

Sal, with his head still bowed to the ground, with desperation punctuating each word, he answered, “Sammy, help me, please!  Dave is now a man with many followers who wish harm on me.  God won’t speak to me anymore!  He’s silent.  I am deeply distressed.  Help me, for God’s sake, Sammy, help me!”

Sal heard the door quickly open and Rick running out.

The ghost answered, “Why are you now bothering me while I sleep, yet when I was on earth, you never once sought counsel from me?  Can’t you see that the church has been ripped out of your hands and given to Dave?  You disobeyed the Lord.  It is no longer yours.  And..”

Sal’s ashen face was twisted in fear, and he was visibly shaking, “What?  What else?”

“Tommorow you will dwell in the land of the dead.”

And then the ghost was gone.

Sal sat in utter silence, alone, with the sound of quiet weeping from the witch still in the corner.

An execution date had been set… by God.