The Affair With Death

By Jacqueline Trought

Tiptoe through the graveyard of the church basement to the prison cell of a beastly murderer to reveal a sinister plot of control, then climb the steeple to the high place of the city and watch darkness unfold; open your eyes, enter the spirit world and talk with the forces of darkness. Hear their shrieks of mocking laughter as they taunt and tear at the lives of their prey. Hopeless victims wishing for death, ruthless killers searching for answers beyond but finding none. Join the prayers for mercy or co-sign with death, but you will need a supernatural hand to snatch you from the permission you have given to the affair with death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jacqueline Trought
• Release date: Mar 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781483595078

Jacqueline Trought

Jacqueline Trought: Pastor, Author, and Naturopathic Health fanatic; currently serves as an assistant to her husband Apostle Winston Trought at Covenant On The Rock Family Church in Cape Cod, Massachusetts.From her rich Jamaican heritage, she migrated to the United States and earned a degree in Accounting from Bethune-Cookman University, then studied Naturopathic Health, which lead to Cytopathology, and a Masters Degree in Clinical Laboratory Science from the University of Rhode Island.Naturally gifted as a teacher of Biblical studies, Jacqueline has authored two books to bring to life practical Christian living. Blood The Currency Of The Spirit World brings together the historical, scientific, and spiritual truths on the use of blood. Each chapter is correlated with scriptural references and brings answers to questions of the heart with tools to demolish the strength of evil in the believer. The journey into the spirit world comes alive in the Christian fiction, The Affair With Death. A riveting unfolding of characters who served the dark world and the transformation that came to their lives through prayer.Her writing serves to open up the spiritual eyes of the children of God that they would know the hope of their calling and the riches of the glory of the inheritance laid up for the saints through Christ Jesus.

Book preview

What People Are Saying About This Book

Subtly we hand over our spiritual rights to the enemy of our souls, and as he tells us we have the right to remain silent, the hopelessness of doom chains our hearts to his darkness. Now, walk out of the caverns of darkness, take the keys of life in Christ, as you end The Affair With Death.

Apostle Winston Trought,

Covenant On The Rock Ministries International,

Cape Cod, MA

The Affair With Death opens your eyes to the forces of darkness waging war against you, and reveals the power and authority of God, available to those who want to win the war.

Rev. Richard Rego,

Trinity Methodist Church,

Martha’s Vineyard, MA

Copyright

The Affair With Death © 2017 by Jacqueline Trought

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Scriptures marked (NKJV) are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scriptures used by permission of The New Jerusalem Bible. New York; London: Doubleday; Darton, Longman & Todd, 1985.

Published by Jacqueline Trought.

Cover Design by Mark Neubauer

Interior Design by Jacqueline Trought.

Graphics and designs by permission

978-1-942587-08-8 Printed Version ISBN

978-1-483595-07-8 e-Book ISBN

Dedication

Dedicated to my husband Winston Trought, for his spiritual insight and great leadership ability that keeps propelling me forward; to my beloved Amaya, who teaches me the sweetness of love; to my son, Joune, who brings joy to my heart; and to my mother, Egna, who keeps me on my knees before a holy God.

Contents

The Preface

Chapter 1 The Assignment

Chapter 2 The Enchanter

Chapter 3 Valley of the Shadow of Death

Chapter 4 Ghetto Penthouse

Chapter 5 Desperate Me

Chapter 6 Puppet in the Pulpit

Chapter 7 Losing Ground

Chapter 8 The Last Drink

Chapter 9 Destroy the Evidence

Chapter 10 Shatter the Hold

Chapter 11 The Jig Is Up, Way Up

Chapter 12 The Violent Take It by Force

Book 2 A Book of Prayers

Meet The Author

Preface

We live in an age where the full measure and the pungency of evil is not done in secret. Perhaps less than a century ago, the work of detectives was highly necessary because the diabolical trails of evil were found, and the spectators were left in shock without proof. Nicodemus told Caiaphas the High Priest that the Jewish law did not sentence a man before it heard him, and even today laws everywhere bring men to the justice table of defense.

However, much is changing before our very eyes. Gun violence, the massacring of innocent children, beheadings, stranglings, and varying sorts of brutality are captured then displayed over and over so our hearts may become filled with the fear of evil and then become angry at Jehovah God, for not stepping in and curing the earth of sin.

People everywhere who have not bothered themselves with seeking the face of the Lord God Almighty are often the ones who question, ‘Where is God, and why did He allow this to happen?’ Then those who know the love and faithfulness of our Sovereign Lord are forced to provide an answer or defend our God trying to prove that God exists, that He did not really allow evil, while stumbling in our hearts as we see the gall of sin displayed horrifically daily all around us.

The reality is that when blame is to be passed, man will subtly deny truth and discard it as nonsense or figments of the mind in order to cast the judgment set in his determination. No one ever asked in the face of diabolic evil, where is Satan and why did he allow this? I have never heard anyone say, this act is from the pits of hell and we will not stop until we have erased the face of darkness from the earth. Why are we so against the Almighty God?

Why haven’t we turned our anger onto Satan: why don’t we talk about the spirit world; why don’t we look evil in the eye and call it evil; why do we mourn with agonizing confusion over death – because we know deep in our hearts that the earth is greater than man, and even greater still, is the unknown of the spirit world which will eventually swallow us all.

However, to those who have been wise enough to tap into the wealth of that which boggles the mind of intellectuals and fools alike, being swallowed up by the God we serve becomes life everlasting and an eternity to enjoy the bliss of the God we trusted in the middle of the storm.

We have learned that the wages of sin is death. Therefore, we carefully guard our hearts against evil, and in simple faith humble ourselves to seek the face of the one true God. When sin knocks at our door, we reject the call, because we know that sin brings death, and where there is no sin, death cannot have its way. It is true, in order for death to toll its bell, we must give the monster permission, and as soon as the heart gives in, or says yes by partnering with evil, death grips its prey for eternity.

Let death not deceive you with enticing words or the fear of tomorrow, but rather lend your heart unto righteousness, and partner with truth, because to as many as believed on Him, to them He gave power to become the sons of God.

Chapter 1

The Assignment

She knew it was time to go into the parlor again. Every so often her mother would fidget around the house, nervously looking over her shoulder. She could count on dinner to taste like mush baked into stale bread soup. She could count on her father being away from dinner that night, and she could count on the nightmares she would have later.

The parlor was the most lavish room in the house. It was only used to entertain important friends. Marbled walls etched and contoured for beauty, with Roman chandeliers dimly lit to reflect a hue of peaceful colors, Venetian blinds surrounded by Victorian swags and pleats, and the walls decorated with ancestral portraits. Her mother walked over to the Tudor cabinet and retrieved the family heirloom quilt with its myriad designs. The cloth was old and soiled, with a sickeningly moldy smell, but her emotionally broken mother robed herself in the treasure, knelt and wept.

The mantle seemed to possess strange powers as her sobs ebbed into chants. Soon she would circle the room placing her right hand on the portraits and reciting their names. Charles Buckenshide of Toulouise, Mary Buckenshide of Toulouise, Janey Elsmire of Wendaroke; on and on it went. She had explained that the ancestral control of their towns left them with, not only inner powers, but also territorial dominance, which was now part of their names and their acknowledged power. They were still there; their souls kept watch, and she would draw from their powers in her darkest moments.

Just before the parlor session ended, her mother would fetch the glass jar on top of the Tudor and carefully arrange its contents in a circle on the prayer mat before them both. After her familiar chant she would prick the tip of her first finger on the right hand and press the blood into the quilt.

It did not take long for her to realize she had been gifted with strange powers. She remembered the day Eienster Shambly wanted to take the lizard-shaped pencil her mother had brought back from her trip to Italy. Her lips released the growl, I dare you! and scared not only Eienster but also herself. She was excited about the thing and wished and begged that she could have it again. Many times she just pretended she had it, but soon it came back. At first she became the envy of her class, but weird activities began happening, and then she became the eyesore. She was the only girl in her class without friends. Of course, several girls felt sorry for her and shared lunch with her on occasion, but that usually lasted only a day. Some gruesome unexplainable sound or action would end the session, and she would be alone again.

Angelique was different. Her heart-shaped lips and bewitching smile could quench the raging of a mad dog. Often Angelique was at her side, saying quiet words she just could not understand, but words that warmed her on the inside and made her feel like Heaven had come to Earth.

Sadly, Angelique’s musical charm was not around for her crowning moment at the gymnasium locker room. On that day a few of the boys, led by Mockale Samson, decided to have a romp with her imaginary friend. As usual, she was the last one to use the locker room because it was the painless route from the insults and the taunting gossip of the other girls.

She was stuffing her gym shoes into her bag, but they fell to the floor. Mockale had grabbed the bag and emptied her books onto the floor. Stick-Boy Charlie grabbed her hair, pulling her to the back of the room. Fatso Brown ripped at her blouse and pushed her onto Charlie. The boys erupted into laughter.

Show us the monster. Mockale could hardly get the words out between his laughter.

Is he in your shorts? Fatso’s eyes were glaring with the glint of evil. Let’s strip her.

He rushed towards her while Stick-Boy Charlie yanked her towards him. Mockale grabbed at her hand but collided with Fatso because Stick-Boy had shoved her from the back. Each boy took his turn, pushing and shoving while grabbing and loosening her clothes.

Her heart bled with helpless cries of mercy: her lips stuttered with pleas of pity: and her head, spinning out of control, became lighter with each passing second. Fatso’s laughter morphed into the bellow of a raging bull as he skidded his heel into the tile, pivoted, then wielded his knees into her gut, pounding her onto the wall. Shock melted her brain into numbness and when her head hit the mortar, everything went black.

Her mother’s account was that each of the boys was taken to the hospital for treatment. Fatso had a broken arm, Stick-Boy Charlie’s leg was sheered on the wall, and Mockdale’s jawbone was broken in two places.

School held nothing for her; she dropped out a year before graduation. She had no friends and she learned nothing. Everyone knew her as the girl with the friend. Her mother and father were now divorced, and he did not acknowledge that she existed. Her mother was ill and frail, and they lived off the wealth of the estate.

To ease the boredom of her days, she would take long trips to the country, sometimes returning home days later. At other times she would sit and meditate, traveling miles in her meditation and doing things she dared not tell, perfecting the art of manipulating minds.

Her shop was in the center of the business district, and she exerted mental control over her territory. She lured people in and emptied their wallets with telepathic control. The heart of her readings were to capture the soul of each client and chain it beyond its will to function outside the realm of her supernatural wisdom. Hundreds were served up and marked for life. Her tongue was like the ink pen of destiny, she spoke and the future came alive. She attended to the lives of the affluent all the way through to the homeless. She had cured a homeless man with words of compassion, and now he owned the barber shop three doors away.

She had bonded with every demon in hell, but now he had the honor of coronating her, he was chosen to escort her to the throne of the one she served, to be reserved in chains for breaking the Heart and Mind Code. The first rule is that the heart belongs exclusively to the master. It shall not be engaged to bring goodwill to mortals, and the mind must channel the knowledge of darkness to establish its powers over men. She had turned soft, exerting control to build her territory, not her master’s.

It would change everything—rank, authority, territory. Many were outwitted, or would it be better to say, disfigured for this placement to be handed to him. It was hard work, in fact it was a miracle to conjure such guile; the secret was consistency, never break stride. Today would crown the countless patterns of managed misdirection, watching the senses twirl with ecstasy and the heart thump with a tune that rocks the mind into a frenzy. Certainly, for this coronation, a beat must be produced that will have the whole earth singing.

Compared to outwitting the others to gain this rank, the assignment was easy. There was not much in the way of persuasion left to accomplish. She was already a basket case. Great show, but each day claimed so much effort; and the pills, she never forgot the pills. They contained the life she needed. The only bright spot was seeing his face, and the sparks danced in her eyes. Every plan had been rehearsed—the time, the location, the emotions, and even the ring would be there for additional support. They had better be there, his support had advanced their rank. Not to worry, it was nine o’clock and he must be at his post.

Tick, tick, tick, his heart bounced to the rhythm of the clock. Just a gut feeling that it would not go as planned. It was a bleak day and the atmosphere was dense with a morbid sense of blackness. But that’s how it is; the foul odor of his person oozed like a mist, announcing his presence, while dampening the senses of each passerby. He wished it could be controlled, but how else would he mark his turf?

Tick, tick, tick. The wait was unusual, upsettingly unusual. She has the discipline of angels.

Urgluged. A gurgle erupted from his gut, and the foul smell of a million rotted gobies filled the air. Then he remembered that he had made himself visible. Quick, a cigar. He felt around in his pockets. Quick, mask the black air with smoke. Foul language flowed over and over. It was not just the fumbling for the non-existent cigar that produced his anxiety, but he remembered the phone call she got last night. Something was wrong; he knew it. Time! She was late. She was never late.

His rage was building, bubbling, overflowing. Someone must pay, anyone. Slouggge, glub, glub! the rage poured over the miserable homeless man near the gutter. The ring that controlled him was a group of amateurs, they always got it wrong. It did not matter that he messed up their plans. The homeless man began cursing as he felt rage pouring into him, the pain in his heart becoming unbearable. It felt like death.

He floated silkily through the air. He knew he was seen, but that was the least