The Terror Scrolls

By Ferdinand J. Delery

Well, take a deep breath if you are about to open the cover of this book. Unless the author is totally nuts, the reading experience that you are about to buckle your seat belt for will be one unforgettable ride. Hopefully, you will have taken your pressure pills before entering the world of THE TERROR SCROLLS. You really have to snuggle down into your favorite recliner to hear some of the "cosmic" messages that the scrolls will reveal. The climate the world finds itself in this millennium is one in which all of the spiritual elements that have been brewing since the earliest of times are beginning to culminate on the world stage. Man is whipping up the perfect storm. From the smaller things in life to the monstrous deeds happening in Iraq and the Middle East, man is rushing to the destruction of the world. Knuckleheads are running things.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 30, 2003
• ISBN: 9781462074747

Ferdinand J. Delery

Ferdinand J. Delery was born in New Orleans, Louisiana. He graduated from the University of New Orleans. Mr. Delery's early career in journalism included: city hall reporter, society editor, and a man-on-the-street column. He was married twice, and has three daughters; and two grand-daughters.

Book preview

PART I

BEYOND THE THRESHOLD

CHAPTER 1

AT THE THRESHOLD

In the 1970’s, my brother and I rented an apartment together. This apartment was on Paris Avenue in New Orleans. No one in the entire world in the early 1970’s had more fun than my brother and I had at our apartment. I don’t care what kind of movies you saw or what you’ve heard about other areas from that period, like Haight-Ashbury, the Riviera, Hollywood, or wherever, no one had as much fun as my brother and I had on Paris Avenue. I think I know what heaven must be like. In fact, I was in heaven. I did not want to be anybody but me. Paradise itself could not be any better. I felt like I was living as large as Elvis Presley or the Beatles. It’s all in your mind anyway. Isn’t it? You pretty much are what you think. The mind is a powerful tool.

I am reflecting back to this time because back then I was on the threshold of embarking on a career which has all the import on the story that I want to tell you. As of this writing, post-9/11-attacks on America, I find myself in a much more imposing time than in the 1970’s. To me, looking back on it, it was a much rosier stage of the world. All of the rioting, war protests, and cultural changes of the 1960’s were slipping behind us. The divisions in the country over the Vietnam war were disappearing during the times that my brother and I lived on Paris Avenue. In fact, a number of our cousins and friends were just arriving back into America from Vietnam. Our returning friends and cousins were part of the flavor that added that extra spice. They were bringing back to the States a whole something new that was much different from what we non-veterans were experiencing. There was a pure wildness to the times. I knew that I was totally off the wall, but that was just the tip of the ice-burg. I was a monk compared to some of our relatives and friends who started visiting with us at the apartment. Believe it or not, our apartment became famous in certain circles in New Orleans. You did not have to go to a club or a night spot on weekends or weekdays. Our apartment was it. It was on.

Females began climbing in through our windows if we weren’t home, just to be there when we knocked off work. They started bringing bags of groceries in through the windows, cleaning the dishes, and mopping the floors. I really don’t remember ever having to go to the grocery store for food while we had our apartment; and we did not need millions of dollars to live any better. Our rent was $65.00 per month (so, figure $32.50 a-piece), my car note was $33.00 per month, gas was 27 cents per gallon, and I had no idea where I was getting all the clothes that I had. Wow! I really was living in the BIG EASY.

Females who were not there when we left for work were cooking and cleaning up when we got home. Even though we locked the door in the mornings, we had company waiting for us when we got home. One day in particular (as an example), I walked into the apartment after work and found my brother watching TV on the sofa.

There is a surprise waiting for you in the shower, he said very car-ingly. His eyes were filled with a brotherly desire to be helpful.

Hunh? I queried.

Walk into the bathroom, and look behind the shower curtain to see what’s waiting for you. It’s a surprise. Go on! It is something you’ll like, he edged me on.

I walked hesitantly toward the bathroom, not knowing what to expect. There was something behind the curtain all right. A silhouette was eerily moving behind the curtain. I opened the curtain oh so slightly. Behind the curtain, wet and slippery with her hair hanging over her eyes, was a voluptuous hunk of golden female, delicious and round in all the right spots. I don’t mean to go into a complete blow-by-blow description, but oh she had some curves and slopes. What a surprise!

Come on in, she beckoned from the heavenly showers. Your brother told me that you were about to get home, she said. Close your mouth. Take your clothes off, and come in, she invited, her wet, golden skin shiny in the droplets.

Ooooh-weee! She had a pair of big, pretty legs; and butt. Well, like I said, I won’t go into all the blow-by-blow details; but I just wanted to describe what it was like when my brother and I had our apartment in the 1970’s. And, by the way, he was engaged to his future wife through this whole apartment period. I was always jealous of how my brother was such a people person. Here he was, engaged and spoken for, and there was always a flock of women hovering and circling the apartment. His fiancée never had a clue.

I was the desperate one. I was the unlucky one. I could not seem to narrow it down to one. I had three girlfriends at the time, and one of them was not the most peaceful person in the world. It was not easy trying to juggle three girlfriends. One of our friends nicknamed me MODSQUAD. He said that he’s never seen anyone with such a crop of multi-national girlfriends like I had. Out of the three, he said, I had my choice of flavors. Any particular night, I could choose from vanilla, chocolate, or almond flavor. Yeah, but I wanted to be spoken for like my brother. I was playing a dangerous game. Any day, one of the flavors could flare up and wreak a whole lot of havoc in my life, get some kind of revenge.

I was walking a tightrope, but it was the ‘70s. Who cared? I was too young to care. My payback was just a few years down the road. God had justice waiting in a little Cajun town not too far down the road from New Orleans. God knew just the ingredients needed to show me a thing or two. These ingredients were probably just riding her little, ole’ bicycle along the levee of the River Road when I was having all my fun. These ingredients also had a name. Her name was: MY FUTURE F*%KING EX-WIFE. But, Paris Avenue is too early in my story to introduce this wild, bohemian woman.

Now that you met me a little bit, turn the page and let me tell you a little bit about the story that I want to relate to you. Of course that is the main reason we’re here together anyway. Isn’t it?

Book of Revelation 10:7-8

…in the days of the trumpet call to be sounded by the seventh angel, the mystery of God, as he announced to his servants the prophets, should be fulfilled.

And the voice which I had heard from heaven spoke to me again, saying, Go, take the scroll which is open in the hand of the angel who is standing on the sea and on the land.

CHAPTER 2

THE TRUMPET CALLS

Winter, 2003

The scrolls that I have enclosed in Part II of this book were originally published by me in 2002 in another work. I used to write for the local media here in town, which is the connection that led to my introduction to these terror scrolls. An old college friend of mine, who is in the law enforcement and legal field locally, introduced me to the scrolls because he was seeking help in a case. He remembered a series of articles that I wrote concerning some murders in town in the 1970’s. As a good professional, he wanted to look at any angle that might help in his case. He thought that the enclosed writings might be evidence in the case that he was involved in. The law enforcement authorities were trying to connect the writings to an accused murderer.

I have studied and dissected the manuscript, enclosed in Part