The Eyes of Innocence: An Incident on Endearing Lane

By Lecy McKenzie

If the eyes are the portals of the soul see what happens when they are seeing for more than one soul. A nightmare came to Endearing Lane and the tranquil life as everyone knew it has come to a horrifying end. Terrorized and terrified Nicole Rogers is about to find out reality might just be more than what the eyes are willing to see. She will soon realize that trying to ignore the visions from the past that are haunting her might not be something that she could or should do. Afraid of the darkness and the shadows creeping up on her, she eventually will have to face her greatest fears or lose the ones that she loves most. A mysterious stranger from her past may be the only thing that can help her find the abilities that she will need to fight a battle that no one could possibly win. Evil is stalking an innocent victim who will only need to open her eyes to see what is standing right in front of her. Horror is on it ways so don't close your eyes or you might just miss the signs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491864135

Lecy McKenzie

Author Lecy McKenzie was born and raised in Bastrop, Lousisana Lecy's great passion in life was always writing. As a young girl, she gave away hundreds of short stories. She remembers always having a notebook in her hand, with one great novel or the other in various stages of completion. She would write her inner most thoughts, and she was thrilled when people told her they were really good. Lecy's favorite stories were those about super natural and ghostly encounters. Lecy credits her mother of instilling that passion in her by telling her of hauntingly scary tales regarding her travels across the country when she was a young girl. My mother would have been a great author, Lecy writes, but a young marriage, and raising her children dominated her life, and never gave her the chance to prove that talent. She could tell amazing stories better than any book I ever read, , and she was truly my mentor. She always had faith in me, and now, I hope I honor that faith and her memory.

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© 2014 Lecy McKenzie. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/20/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-6412-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-6413-5 (e)

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This Book Dedicated to: Leo Porter–My Hero

Contents

Chapter 1   The Portals of the Soul

Chapter 2   Visions From the Past

Chapter 3   Sights from a Dark Life

Chapter 4   Looking into the Eyes of an Evil Soul

Chapter 5   A Second Set of Eyes

Chapter 6   Glimpses into a Demonic Soul

Epilogue    The Blink of an Eye

Chapter One:

The Portals of the Soul

Chapter 1

The Portals of the Soul

I have always wondered why we are so afraid of the darkness. From the time we are little children we cry out for the lights to be left on as not to fear each sound that calls out from the darkened corners of the room. We want to see what each shadow is creeping up on us in the night. It is amazing that we feel this way as from the time of our conception until the day of our birth we are immersed in it, comforted by it, and nourished in it. We are all alone but not afraid, feeling protected, shielded from any danger that is looming, only seeing what is right in front of us, as the darkness was the only realm we had known.

Are where we really? Were there things even then that terrified us, but yet we have no memory of it. I have a dream, ones that fills me with the utmost of horror, one in which I am amerced in a darkened abyss, trying desperately to see what is out there, not sure what the sounds are that invaded the silence that surrounded me, when all at once, the eyes are staring into mine, touching my soul, and then as if only there for that brief moment in time they are forced away.

I died on the day I was born. My soul left for a brief moment, floating away as if it was never meant to me and then was allowed to return. I can remember hearing the cries of a new born baby girl as if I was hearing them from someone else and not me, but then it was gone, all memories of that moment taken away. Sometimes now I remember that I was not alone, more of a sensation of someone being there with me, watching what was happening as if watching the forces of nature moving us from one entity to the next. Somewhere between death and birth I crossed realms with my destiny and that was the beginning of my life.

Why can’t we remember our first days of life? Questions left unanswered lost in the abyss as we crossed from the quietness of our journey moving from one form of existence to another, our beginnings are the forgotten parts, our ends are always alone.

Do you remember your first moment of life? The first time you could feel the things that made up what was to be you, or hear your ears soaking in the sounds that surrounded you, frightening at first, but then rhythmic, awe inspiring, and totally spectacular. Can you remember what it was that made you come to life and take in the world around you, and realize that you are you? It wasn’t at that moment of birth, the scary moments when you are forced from the darkness into the light, that first breath of air to fill your lungs, or the first touch of human hands. It wasn’t the soothing sounds of your mother’s voice, nor her first soft kiss against your still moist flesh. It wasn’t that first taste of the nourishments that would sustain your body, feed your brain that willed your heart to beat and your body to survive. It wasn’t your first steps, or your cries into the darkness of the night pleading for things you could not possibly know nor comprehend what it was you needed or wanted. No, it wasn’t any of those. Not the first touch or emotions that would make you want, need and love that caused us to come to life. It was that first moment when you opened your eyes and the soul allowed you to remember what it was you saw. It was the first memory of sight; a place you were that enamored you so that it stayed there as a moment embedded deep inside of you. The eyes opened your mind and ignited your senses. You saw something that became your very first memory, as if your soul finally opened your mind and at that very moment you existed. You took in the world around you all the sounds, touch, and colors, emotions that reached from inside you fulfilled some inner longing that you were you and with a sense of what was to be. What if that sight was so ingrained in your soul, that it would haunt you over and over? What if sight were your soul showing you what was good and what was bad. You close your eyes when you are frightened, you open them when you are happy or sad. You use them to help you know what is right or what is wrong. The knowledge you gain is in what you see and what you see is left as an imprint upon what you were to be.

What if your eyes were trying to be used by an entity that had invaded without reason or cause? Totally against your will it would consume you, take over and you would not be able to control the visions that would end up causing you to see things that were not there nor could they possibly be. It would turn your life into a hulking nightmare that would invade your thoughts day after day and year after year, drawing you back to that memory; even though you did your best to keep it away, buried deep within the abysses that you had so long ago garnered it to, trying to will it away, praying that it would never come back to haunt you again.

Well that is just what has happened to me. My eyes opened my soul and the memory of it kept invading my thoughts, willing me to relive it like a pendulum that swung back and forth forever. No rhyme or reason just meant to be for some inane purpose that only the creator of you could possibly know.

It was a sight, or more like a scene played in my mind like a recorded event, spinning over and over, round and round like a beautiful red top that moves so fast it is as if it will never stop and at first you glorified in but then it becomes such a part of you, it was as if your very existence depended on it to help you survive. The first memory of my being that would remain with me all my life. I remember, and I remember it well. That first memory, how innocent it seemed at that time. Devoid of emotions, immersed in discovery, my eyes opened my soul, and then I was alive.

She came onto Endearing Lane like an aberration, one minute she wasn’t there the next she was. She wasn’t like the rest of us who were born there, our destiny beginnings there, but at first more of a foreign enigma that came softly, quietly, like a delicate breeze of fresh air, that startles you at first, makes you gasp to breath, but then fills you with such pleasure you just know it is so right and meant to be. You belong to her and she belongs to you. Was it her or was it me that had the memory of that day that is the one thing I can never be sure of. Who’s memory or whose existence it opened up?

It was a cold day, as I remember it now, or maybe it was hot, of that I am not sure either, but I do remember it because shivers shook my body with a vengeance as something deep inside of me seemed to be trying to come out. I could see the orange truck easing slowly into the too narrow paved street that formed Endearing Lane. My home, my place to belong, the haven of my life is the memories I gained from Endearing Lane, a street not much unlike many others but one that seemed to exist just for me. A quiet tree lined street that spoke of the few souls that lived there and painted a picture of them in such a way, that it became a part of them, and they became a part of me. The houses were all neatly painted and like the beauty of a portrait where the sun is shining bright, with a soft breeze blowing the trees, they were all adorned with nature at its finest with beautiful flowers that formed an embrace of the love by those that planted them for all to see. I had never take notice of anything like this before, but this scene was absorbed by my mind, as it held me mesmerized in its grip, I was in absolute awe of it. The screeching brakes of the big truck whined and cried out, moaning with the weight of the load it was begrudgingly carrying trying to stop; interrupting the sounds of the chimes that had been singing a mournful tune in the soft winds as if telling me that change was coming, and Endearing Lane would never be the same again.

I watched as the huge man slowly opened the door of the truck. He had a black parka coat covering him from head to toe in an almost ominous way, announcing an evil had departed that truck and seemed to be coming my way, for I was so small and he was so large and somehow I knew, I just knew. I was captivated by his appearance, wanting to look away, to close my eyes, to make the sight of him go away, but somewhere deep inside of me there was a force, greater than any emotions I had ever felt, that had such a tight grip on me I was unable to force him away. He looked around copiously, as if making sure no one or nothing was watching him, turning his head in my direction slowly, dark piercing eyes looking into mine, taking my breath away, and making the shivers that shook my body convulsive now, moving me unwillingly from side to side. Realizing that I was no threat to him, he stepped swiftly onto the ground, a low growl echoing from his lips like that of a wounded beast.

Get out! His deep booming voice bellowed out, the air billowing from his lips in puffs of white, that seemed to hang in the air long after the words were said, and then vanished high above his head.

Was I frightened? Of that I am not sure because through the years I felt many emotions about the first sight of him, and as I remember now, none of them were good! However, at that very moment in time, I still could not get a grasp of the feelings that were now filling my body, sensations that seemed to all rush together at once, trying to force one another back into the depths from which they had come. I was immersed in this sight, soaking it in, languishing into the discovery of it. I was waiting with growing insightfulness, amerced in this sense of wonderment, and then amazed at the next sight that stepped lightly out of the dark blackness of the interior of the truck. Maybe she floated out, that is a part of my memory that became flooded in indecision through the years, but she was the one memory of that day, of which I am totally sure of because at the moment she seemed to become a part of me, one that excited me in such a way I could never explain.

She was young, with long blond hair which covered her face as she stood staring off into a distantness that was known only to her. She moved only slightly, as if waiting for another command, statuesque and immobile. One moment she was standing at the truck door, and then the next she was on the ground, there in the blink of an eye. I had not seen her move even though I had not taken my eyes off her; it was as if she moved faster than my eyes could see. I watched as she turned her head, or maybe she didn’t move her head, maybe some almost enigmatic reflex was directing it for her, as if she knew that someone was watching her. She seemed to be looking for something, I could see her face clearly now, but it was so devoid of human characteristic, like a beautiful porcelain doll that was so wonderful to look at but made of fine glass, stone faced in its expression but breathtaking all the same. Suddenly, her eyes met mine and I was transfixed by them, lost in the immense depth of them. Dark eyes that seemed to glow in a burning fury, and they locked into mine, reaching deep inside of me. It was as if she knew I would be there waiting for her. I was hypnotized by her, by the new sensations that made my mind race. I could see movement all around her, but I was transfixed on her, almost holding my breath in anticipation of her every move, but she did not move, she continued to reach out at me with feelings I could not fathom nor understand.

I see you. I heard a hauntingly low voice whisper in my ear that made me turn my head sideways in confusion. Open your eyes and you will see me.

Unable to shut off this new sense of revelation, it took a few moments before I realized someone was calling my name.

Nickie, where are you? I heard the familiar sound of my mother calling out to me.

I’m here Mommie. I responded.

I could hear the sound of our screen door open, and then I could feel my mother sitting down beside me on the top step of our porch where I was perched still lost in the depth of the new strangers’ eyes. She took her hand brushing my dark brown curls that encircled my too round face behind my ears. What are you looking at Pie Face?

My father called me his little Pie Face, because of my perfectly round face, and that is the only name he ever called me by for the rest of his life. It was the name that I came to know, and the one that I really loved. My mother would chastise him for calling me that but I could tell she really loved that name too because of all the love that she had for him and from the knowledge that it came from the absolute adoration he had for me.

Oh my goodness, Nickie, look at that dirty little face. She said with a smile; looking down at me the love shining in her eyes. "That is too pretty a face to keep it so dirty.

What are you doing? She said looking across the street, as a deep frown creased that top of her head; her arm gripping me tighter. Are you watching the new neighbors? You need to come in side, Baby; it must be too cold out here because you are shaking.

I could hear her gasping, when she saw the big man grab the little girl roughly by her arm. He looked over to see my mother watching and then it was as if he could not take his eyes off her and I could feel her body stiffen as the sight of him looming over the little girl frightened her and the disgusting leer of his face as he was looking at my mother.

What’s a matter with you, you blind cripple, and you can’t hear either? He said tersely, his voice a harsh hissing whisper, so deep in foreboding that it carried through the air. When I tell you to come, you better come. He said as he grabbed the girls’ shoulders now; pulling and dragging her toward the door.

It was at this time we saw there was a pale thin woman following them quietly and obediently, holding tightly to a small baby, and funny but this was the first time I had any noticed of her or the child. It was as if my focus was meant only for the girl and the man.

What is it Mommie? Why did you gasp? I asked innocently as I reached up to take her face, turning it toward me.

Oh, that poor little girl. I heard my mother almost cry out. I just; I guess I need to take them some cookies or a cake. She said, looking into my eyes; a look that I now know had concern written all over it, but at the time was to me the first time I really remember seeing my mother’s face realizing how beautiful she was. We don’t want to make them think they are not welcome here.

Why is that little girl poor, Mommy? I asked.

Because she can’t see baby. My mother whispered, empathy etched in her words.

Yes she can Mommy, her eyes are open. I said innocently, looking over to see they had gone into the house now.

Sometimes Baby, things happen to people that just don’t seem right, and that is what has happened to her. Her eyes are open, but all they see is darkness. My mother tried her best to explain blindness to me. They can’t see with their eyes baby, but they are blessed with the ability to not judge things by sight alone, so maybe we are the poor ones. God never takes one gift away without giving us another, so she has to be very special in Gods eyes.

She talked to me Mommy. I whispered. She’s scared of him.

Who talked to you? My mother said.

The little girl she’s afraid of the big man. I said lifting my hands in exasperation and shaking my head from side to side.

You went over there Nicole. My mother said in a chastising voice as she shook my shoulders very lightly. You know better to go over to strangers’ houses. I do not ever want you to go near that man again!

No I didn’t Mommy. I began to whimper not wanting my mother to be angry with me. She talked in my head, and she told me she is afraid of him.

I could see the confusion at first in my mother’s face, and then I saw her smile. Are you visiting with your imaginary friend again?

Nicole! I looked up, my thoughts suddenly brought back to the present. What in the world are you thinking about?

My beginning. I snickered turning to see my roommate Sydney standing in our dorm room door. Back when I was a little girl living on Endearing Lane.

Oh, scary! She barked sarcastically. You are ten minutes late for your next class, in case you want to come back and join the present. Now, that is a nightmare

Great! Professor Lancaster will have my head. I screamed, jumping to my feet.

Better your head, than your other end. Sydney said with a laugh; a statement I chose to ignore as I ran out the door.

Professor William Bill Lancaster was a big brute of a man, whose stint of twenty plus years as a marine, ten of them as a colonel made him a complete disciplinarian, who not only demanded perfection in himself, but required it in everyone who crossed his path. He was easily fifty years of age, something he would never reveal, but he had the body and physic that was the envy of everyone at Taylor University. He stood over six feet tall, with dark blue eyes, that could pierce though you like you were an insignificant afterthought in his very structured life, and there was not an inch of that man that was not muscular and toned to perfection. His dark salt and pepper hair, long and flowing like a rock star, encircled his strong chiseled face in a way that gave it dignity and grace. He was so handsome; my heart would skip a beat every time I walked into his class and saw him standing there. Of all my professors he was the one who brought the most out in me, I loved his lectures on ancient history, his voice so smooth and soothing, and his words would make me drift away; I would feel as if I were there, living it myself. He was also the one who could make me feel the most passionate about what I wanted in life as he was always telling me I reminded him of him when he was my age.

Well, Ms. Rogers, it is so nice of you to take time away from your busy schedule, to honor us with your presence. He said; as I tried to sneak in the door as quietly as I could, and take my seat while his back was facing away from the class. I could feel a wave of embarrassment wash over me as he was also the one that demanded the most of me. I tried to avoid his eyes when he turned to look at me. Class starts at seven, if you want to be a part of it I suggest you make it a point to be here at that time from now on.

Yes Sir. I am sorry. I responded weakly, lowering my head so I would be unable to see the disappointment in those eyes staring at me.

Today, He said immediately removing me from the focus of his thoughts, I will be talking about reliving the past. History, my dear ladies and gentlemen, has a way of repeating itself over and over again. It is as if, once it is engrained as a memory, it recycles like a caterpillar morphing into a beautiful butterfly, same results different place in time.

I looked up with a start. I couldn’t believe that just moments before I had been lost in my past. It was as if some part of me, that part that seemed to be replaced by the very essence of time, for some reason had come back to me, as if drawing me back to a time that for reasons unknown was beckoning me back again. Memories that I preferred to keep from coming back again as they were confusing and frightening at times.

I will be taking you back to the Roman Empire. The greatest of all, they had it all. Power, knowledge, leadership, there was nothing lacking in their dynasty. It was perfection at its finest, greatness that had no boundaries. It should have lasted forever, and I am quite sure they for one thought it would, but history tells us that it fell. Why did it fall, and is history repeating itself in our times. Not only is it repeating itself now, but the same has been repeated time after time. Now, I wonder, if history tells us of these falls, and the reasons for these falls, then I ask you, why does generation after generation let the same things happen over and over? Ms. Rogers, could you try and enlighten us as to your guess as why lessons from history are ignored?

Well, I guess because each generation was sure they had the answers for all those past mistakes that had destroyed those before us. That there was no way they could fall into the same trap that had destroyed those before them because they were so much smarter than those previous generations. I said. I guess we can call it man’s inability to learn from past mistakes because of our vane nature or our grandeurs of glory over those before us. Unwilling to learn from the past, we just repeat it over and over again, never seeing what is right in front of us, that we are making the same choices and the same mistakes.

Exactly! He said; for one moment a soft smile crossing his face, and then the same stern look replacing it almost immediately. I knew how much he admired me and I did so admire him. Man is always striving for greatness, but refusing to learn from the mistakes of others; always so sure that they know everything, never learning from the downfalls of those who came before us. Life lessons ignored over and over again my dear Ladies and Gentlemen can only lead to the same conclusions. The only way to stop history from repeating itself is to stop the way we approach it. We can only stop repeating the same mistakes again and again by using a different approach in the way we live it. From the day we are born until the day we die, the past will come back to be relived by us, and we can either ignore it, sure we have all the answers this time, or learn from it, and do things differently the next time around. Now, my sermon over, back to the Roman Empire, and my lesson today will be about Julius Caesar. One of the greatest leaders ever, and my personal favorite, he is the one man in all of history that came close to ruling the world. He was a small man, with major imperfections, but a brilliant leader that never let his vanity get the best of him. Only death could end his reign and it came at the hands of those he trusted most. Who will ever forget Et Tu Brute!"

I turned my head to look out the window; I was listening to him, but my mind drifting back to my past. I had not thought about Endearing Lane since I had left there for the last time two years before with the death of my father. It was as if lately memories of my childhood had come flooding back to me. Sensations of expectations, insights into evil that seemed to be surrounding me and everyone I knew and loved came rushing back. How long had it been since these feelings of desperation had taken over my soul? Since the day I left, swearing never to go back again since the void of him left such an empty place for me there, the memories of pain and suffering that inhibited Endearing Lane on that day that she came sheltered deep in the far reaches of my mind.

I really felt bad that I had not gone home to see my mother,