Malevolent Chronicles: Stories 1-6

By Sonya Lee

Agnes Smith is a teenager with unusual abilities. When she seeks out the assistance of Father MacArthur, he isn't sure of what to make of Agnes. As time passes and he gets to know her he learns of her talents. Agnes comes to his church seeking his help. She tells him of her past little by little. The father is loath to believe her at first but as time goes on he comes to believe what Agnes has told him. Father MacArthur's assumption that Agnes was a teenager looking for some attention changes drastically when the mysterious Dr. Johnson arrives in his church. Now Agnes is on the run. Can the father help her before its too late? This is a compilation of six short stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sonya Lee
• Release date: Jun 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301573677

Sonya Lee

Sonya Lee grew up in Chicago, IL. She lived on the south side of the city. She taught at many Chicago Public Elementary schools before relocating to the south. Ms. Lee wrote as a child but the demands of school and work stopped her from writing for many years. Ms. Lee began writing again in December of 2011. Since that point she has published several short stories and two novellas. She is currently a Doctoral Candidate at the University of Mississippi and will continue to write books and teach.

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Malevolent Chronicles: Stories 1-6

Age of Innocence

Sonya Lee

Published by Sonya Lee

Published by Sonya Lee at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Sonya Lee

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Extraordinary Reflections

Mystery/Thrillers

Yellow Eyes (Book I of the Guardian Saga)

Menacing Eyes (Book II of the Guardian Saga)

Dead Eyes (Book III of the Guardian Saga)

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In the Beginning

Training

Schooling

Vacation

High School

Labor

Extraordinary Reflections Preview

The Guardian Saga Trilogy

In the Beginning

Chapter 1

Beginnings

St. Thomas the Apostle Church was quiet this time of day. No sounds emanated from any part of the church. Most of the parishioners, who attended St. Thomas, were at work. It wasn't very often that a parishioner would come in during the week for confession. Father MacArthur might have a lost soul or two come in but not too often.

Knowing the workings of his neighborhood, he sat undisturbed in the confessional, thinking on the many blessings that the Lord had bestowed upon his parishioners this year. A smile of joy crosses his face as he reminisces on little Marvin Sampson running into the church excitedly last week. Marvin was coming to show him his latest report card. He had finally gotten a B in reading, a subject he had struggled with all school year long. The joy that encompassed Marvin’s face was proof enough that the programs the church had set in place were helping the community.

Father MacArthur was dragged away from his musings by footsteps. The footsteps were almost imperceptible, they were so light but sound carries in old churches like this one, so he was able to hear them. Suddenly, it sounded like the person had changed his or her mind. The footsteps appeared to be growing fainter and moving in the opposite direction.

He focused his mind once again on the many blessings that his parishioners had received and were still receiving this year when the footsteps grew louder once again. Whoever was coming to see him seemed to have resolved their uncertainty. Their steps were more purposeful and sure as they neared the confessional. He decided to let go of his musings for now and sat patiently waiting on the individual to enter the confessional.

The confessional door swung open and a young lady of no more than fifteen, by Father MacArthur’s estimates, entered the confession booth. She had the freshest face of youth he had seen in some time. The world hadn't beaten her down and cast her hopes aside just yet, but he sensed the turmoil within her. He had never seen her before, so he knew she wasn’t one of his many parishioners.

Good afternoon my child, he said in a welcoming voice, settling more comfortably in his seat.

Father, forgive me for I have sinned. Oh, I’m sorry, please forgive my rudeness. Good afternoon father. This is my first time at confession and I don’t know where to begin. I’ve often heard people on television beginning their confessions in this manner, so I assumed it was okay to begin that way. I'm not catholic by religion, but I am seeking solace in this holy place of worship, she said in a near whisper almost tripping over her words.

It’s alright my child. What seems to be troubling you? asked Father MacArthur. He was curious as to what this young lady might need to confess to at such a young age.

Father, I'm not as young as you might think and I’m unsure of where to begin. There is so much that I have to repent for and I’m not sure if everything that I have done is a sin, she said somewhat unsure of herself.

Father MacArthur jumped at the realization that she knew what he was thinking. He shook off the eerie feeling she had suddenly given him and addressed the young lady once again. The beginning is always a good place to start. It will make it easier for you to tell me what you’ve done and we can determine if it is a sin or not, alright my dear, he said from his side of the confessional. He adjusted his sitting position once again to give himself time to settle down and pay attention to the young lady’s words. He was familiar with the issues of teenagers so he prepared himself to listen to the normal woes that teenagers spilled during confession. I stole some money from my mom, I snuck out of the house to hang out with a boy my parents don’t approve of, I stole some liquor from my parents’ liquor cabinet or I stole a pair of pants from Marshall Fields. He was used to these types of confessions. So he sat patiently waiting on the young lady to begin. What followed was a confession so bizarre and incomprehensible that it would cause Father MacArthur to question his own sanity for beginning to believe the tale.

Agnes began her tale in a soft yet forceful voice. Okay, I’ll start at the beginning. My name is Agnes and I am twenty-four years old. My life turned out very different from what I had originally planned. My dad used to say that In life, you will always have choices to make. Make sure you can live with them." Well, I'm currently paying penance for the choices that I made and I am learning to live with them. You must understand father, I was born with talents that turned into curses. Talents that can be wonderful, and burdensome all at the same time. Many of the choices I would make in life weren't always conscious ones.

My mother used to tell me to "be careful what thoughts flow through your head, they might end up in your subconscious. Your subconscious is the last place you want certain thoughts to end up." It turned out that my subconscious mind is a very dangerous thing. I learned this at a very early age.

*****

I was eleven years old the first time I noticed I was different. My mother would always admonish me when I thought bad thoughts, which wasn't very often.

I had a happy life during that time. I grew up on a farm and my dad was a farmer by trade. We grew corn and all other manner of vegetables. I remember the corn most of all because the stalks would grow so high that they’d block my view when Rex and I would go on our long walks together. At other times when I'd ride my horse Dixie, he’d trail behind me and I'd lose him because the stalks had gotten so high. Rex was my dog, my parents adopted him for me when he was a pup.

I had a very solitary childhood living on a farm. I didn’t attend public schools during that time in my life, my parents had chosen to home school me. I didn't have any friends but I had my parents, my dog Rex, my horse Dixie and my imaginary friend Terrie.

My normal summer days were spent doing a multitude of things. My day generally began with a Karate lesson with my father. I was such a tiny thing and my dad said it was a good thing to be able to defend yourself. He had taken Karate lessons all his life and since he didn’t have a son to pass the tradition down to, he chose to pass it down through me. We would meet in one of the rooms in the basement, across from his office.

Our basement was a curious thing to me. I was never allowed in my father’s office, so I had no idea what it looked like during that time. The room where I practiced my Karate lessons was another story all together. The floors of our practice room were padded and there were all manner of weapons hanging from the walls. I learned to use the sword, poles, and to shoot an arrow among other weapons in the very confines of our basement.

I would follow my Karate lessons with a lesson on meditation with my mother. She said the mind and body often worked as one and they needed to be in tune with one another to work more effectively together. My mother taught me to clear my mind of any thoughts and become a blank slate. She said sometimes going blank would ease my mind and calm my spirit. After I meditated with my mother I would take a walk with Rex.

On this particular day, after I had completed my lessons, Rex and I were taking our normal stroll through the fields. I meandered along at a cozy pace as Rex chased butterflies every so often through the field.

The sun was shining brightly overhead. The weather was a nice breezy eighty-three degrees. My father was letting the field in front of our house rest as he liked to say. He would replant that particular field in the fall. The grass had grown up to my knees and my father planned on cutting it down the following day.

Rex and I never had a particular destination in mind when we walked, we just followed our feet until we found something interesting to observe. I was really into science at that time and I could picture myself being a scientist one day. So as I walked the farm with Rex, I would take the time to observe everything around me.

As we were walking, something caught Rex's attention and he bolted in the direction of our neighbor's farm. I had stopped to observe a butterfly that was flitting from one spot to another so my response was a little slow in responding to his sudden absence. When he started barking, I realized he had taken off and I began to call for him.

I followed the sounds of his bark until I realized I was almost at the edge of our land. I had never strayed off of our land at the behest of my parents but I couldn't get Rex to come back to me. I followed behind him yelling for him to come back. He finally stopped in the middle of the field not quite on our neighbor’s land but close enough. He continued to bark loudly and jump up and down.

When I arrived at his location I was still trying to catch my breath from the mad dash to stop him. I hadn’t noticed what had caught his attention. He began to whimper moving closer to something I hadn’t seen. His whimpers touched a chord in me and I began to move closer to him when I noticed a bare leg. I jumped back, it frightened me so badly. Thoughts of dead bodies in a field flew through my head and I began to scan the area for more of them. Finding nothing else around me, I peered at it once again.

When I noticed it wasn't moving I tried to move closer, but Rex began to whine and he pushed at the leg. The leg began to move. I was so scared, I froze in my spot. I didn't know what to do. My mind began to race with questions. What was a leg doing in our field? And why was it still moving? I wondered, still not understanding what was happening. The little boy’s whispered plea broke my concentration.

Help me, said the little boy.

The sound of his voice sent a shiver down my spine, it sounded so small and scared in that gigantic field. I glanced around me expecting to see someone running towards me at any moment. When no monsters appeared, I tried once again to move closer and that's when I saw his hand. It peeked out from under the grass and it was caked with what looked like dried blood. I stepped closer and the rest of his body was revealed to me.

He was trying to move but wasn't able to. I was in the process of stepping closer to him to get a better look when I heard my father calling my name.

I jumped at the intensity with which he had called me. I hadn't noticed just how quiet the world had gotten around me. I turned toward the direction of my father's voice and I started yelling for him.

Dad, there's someone here and he's hurt. He must not have heard or seen me because he started screaming my name again. Then I heard my mother screaming my name as well. I started jumping up and down and Rex began barking fiercely.

My parents must have heard Rex barking because they began to move in our direction. Rex started barking even louder.

Mom, dad, we're over here! There's someone over here and he's hurt! I screamed. It seemed to take them a lifetime to get to our location. When they finally arrived I pointed to the boy lying in the field. A boy's hurt. Rex found him lying over there.

My parents froze in their spots when they spotted the little boy.

Agnes step away from him. You didn't touch him, did you? asked my father anxiously.

No, Rex wouldn't let me get anywhere near him, I replied.

My mother grabbed me and pulled me towards her, hugging me to her, checking me for injuries.

Mom, I’m okay, I say, trying t wriggle out of her embrace.

Mary, take Agnes back to the house, said my father looking at my mother.

Come on Agnes, your father will help the little boy. He’ll be okay, said my mother turning me away from the scene. She walked quickly back to the house dragging me in her wake. I could hear my father and Rex not far behind us.

Two sets of eyes followed our departure from the field that day. We were unaware of being watched as we made our way back to our house. I would see those two sets of eyes for the first and last time later on that night.

Chapter 2

Upon our arrival to our country home, I was immediately sent to my room, no questions answered. I was informed by my mother not to leave my room until my father called for me. I saw her heading towards the laundry closet before I closed my door and began wondering around my room. I loved my room with its white canopy bed and princess decorations of pale yellow and white. Yet, it brought me no solace as I wondered about the young man I had found in the field.

My curiosity began to get the better of me, so I had to find out what was going on downstairs. I raced over to the vent in my room and sat down beside it. I could hear any conversation in the house listening in at that vent. I listened closely and began to hear my father and mother talking, but they weren't making any sense to me.

My father said that the boy had been penetrated and was bleeding from his anus. I ran to get the dictionary I kept on my desk for my daily language lessons and looked up the words penetrated and anus. Once I read the definitions of those words, I still wondered how a boy could be penetrated. I went back to the vent and listened to even more of their conversation, dragging the dictionary with me for reference.

Will you be able to erase the damage caused to the boy? asked my mother.

Yes, I can, but I don't know if I should just yet. Whoever did this is still out there and they might be looking for him or simply do it again if the boy doesn't recall what happened to him, said my dad.

Let's wrap him up and get him to the hospital. He needs medical attention. We can decide later on what we want to do, once the boy has been seen by a doctor, said my mother.

What are we going to tell Agnes? asked my father

For now, let's just say he was hurt and we're taking him to the hospital. We can figure out later how to explain this situation to her and help her through it, said my mother. Bring him to me and I’ll put him to sleep.

My mother was going to rock the boy to sleep. She often did that to me when I had a bad nightmare in the middle of the night. I always went to sleep quickly when she rocked me to sleep. The nightmares didn’t come back. I would sleep peacefully the rest of the night. If my mother rocked him to sleep the way she did me, he would sleep well, I thought.

I started hearing a lot of movement. My parents were finished talking for now. I got up off of the floor and wondered what had really happened to the little boy. I sat on my bed and thought about the words penetrated and anus once again. It finally came to me. I remembered my dad allowing me to watch one of the horses give birth. He had explained a little about where baby horses came from and I was able to put some things together.

My stomach began to hurt just thinking about what someone had done to that little boy. I lay down on my bed trying to calm my stomach and my mind. I had just calmed down when I heard my mother calling for me.

Agnes, Agnes, honey, put on your gloves and come downstairs. We need to take the boy to the hospital, she called up to my room.

I grabbed my gloves and slipped them on. You’re probably wondering why I would be wearing gloves in the summertime. I always wore gloves when I was going to be around other people. I had been wearing gloves all my life.

My dad said it was to protect me from getting sick. You see Father MacArthur, I was told I had an illness when I was three years old. The illness disrupted my immune system. My immune system was still rebuilding its' self and I was always admonished not to touch people or their things because they could affect my immune system. There are some things in life that children never seem to question their parents on, this was one of those things for me.

When I entered the living room, my mother was at the door waiting on me. I could see my father outside in the backseat of our car with the little boy lying across his lap. My favorite blanket was draped over his body. As mother and I walked outside to get in the car I noticed the little boy wasn't moving and I asked my mother why not.

She said he passed out from the pain he was feeling. I had completely forgotten that she was going to rock him to sleep, so I didn’t think much of it when she lied to me. My mother got behind the wheel of our old Ford Crown Victoria and I got in the passenger seat next to her. We put our seatbelts on and she began to drive. She drove us the twenty miles to the hospital.

I enjoyed the ride to the hospital. It wasn’t often that I left the confines of our home to venture out into the city. The sights and sounds of the city always fascinated me, just as they did as we drove through it. I found that the people in the city were more colorful than the ones that I had seen on tv. I often wondered why there was such a contrast between what I had seen on television and what I saw in the city now. All too soon, the hospital loomed before us. My mother found a place to park and we exited the car. My dad carried the boy into the emergency room with my mother and I close upon his heels.

My disappointment at arriving at the hospital was soon replaced with another fascination. As I looked around the hospital, I felt a little ashamed of my excitement at being at a real live hospital. People came there to get help for their illnesses, some of which could be life threatening, and here I was fascinated by the experience of a real hospital at work.

I gave little thought to what the people waiting to see the doctor might be feeling. I just couldn't tap down my excitement at being in a hospital no matter how hard I tried. I had seen one on TV before, I had even experienced one first hand, I just didn't recall it since I was three when it happened. This was my first real experience and it was so interesting. I watched on as the triage nurse examined the boy while my father explained what had happened to him and how he came to be in our care.

Once the triage nurse had finished her initial examination, she called for a doctor and informed my father that she would have to call the police. My father told her we would remain in the hospital in the waiting room until the police arrived.

We marched silently to the waiting room and found seats close together. My parents sat on either side of me, boxing me into a protective shell. My father placed his arm around my back preventing anyone sitting behind us from touching me. We didn't speak to one another, we just sat quietly while we waited on the police to arrive.

I took the opportunity to observe the people in the waiting room during that time. There were quite a few people there waiting to see a doctor. I looked around noticing people in different states of disrepair.

A woman had a towel pressed against her jaw, it was red with blood. Sitting next to her was a man sitting in a corner anxiously awaiting information concerning his son he had brought in. His son had swallowed several pills from their medicine cabinet in an attempt to get high. At least that's what he told the woman with the bloody towel.

I scanned the room again, appeasing my morbid curiosity and my eyes fell on a little girl with a gentlemen I assumed to be her father. She was clutching a brown paper bag. Every now and then she would cough something up in the bag. Her father seemed to get more and more agitated the longer they waited to see the doctor.

I witnessed all of this just sitting and observing the patrons waiting to see an emergency room physician. The emergency room patrons were a marvelous source of information and I soaked it all up as we waited silently for the police to arrive.

I took note of something else that night. My mother and father kept looking at one another as if they were having a silent conversation that no one else could hear. They never said a word, they just looked at one another ever so often. Sometimes a sigh would escape my mother's lips or my father would nod his head as if in approval.

It took about ten minutes for the police to arrive. A male police officer entered the emergency room followed by his partner. He spoke with the triage nurse and she pointed us out to him. The triage nurse took the partner to the back where the little boy was being examined.

My father had seen the nurse speaking with the officer and began walking over to him. He explained to the officer what had happened. The officer listened to my father’s description of the incident but he insisted on speaking with me.

My father walked him over to our position. He introduced Officer Johnston to my mother and me. Then he explained to me what Officer Johnston wanted. I proceeded to tell him how Rex had found the boy in our field close to our neighbors land and we brought him to our house before bringing him to the hospital.

My father told him the neighbor, whose land the boy was found near, was out of town currently and wasn't expected back for another week. He had been keeping tabs on the neighbor's land and hadn't noticed anything unusual since the last time he had checked on the farm three days ago.

Once Officer Johnston had taken our accounting of the day's events, he told us that a boy of about six years of age had been reported missing from his backyard two days ago. He pulled out a picture of the boy and handed it to my father. We all looked at the picture.

The boy in the picture had jet black hair and light blue eyes. He was wearing a red, white and blue short set. He looked so happy in the picture. The boy in the picture looked like the little boy Rex had found but I wasn't sure. The boy Rex had found was caked with dirt and mud. My parents verified that it was the same little boy.

Before he left, Officer Johnston asked my father to go down to the station to give a formal statement of the day's events.

My father told Officer Johnston he wanted to make sure the boy was okay before we left the hospital.

Officer Johnston said that the parents would have to okay any information given out about the little boy. He excused himself from our presence and went to find his partner. Together they would notify their supervisor that the boy had been found. We sat back down to wait on word of the boy’s condition.

Several minutes later Officer Johnston returned and informed us the boy's parents would be at the hospital any moment. We could wait to see if they