A Sense of Evil

By Dana Descalzi

Dani ORielly is a stay-at-home mom who possesses a unique ability to sense evil in people. Its not just mischievous evil; its pure, noxious, dangerous evil. She is threatened by an incidental confrontation, which turns into an obsessive and perilous game between Dani and this dark figure. Meeting this fiend turns her ordinary life upside down. Involving her loved ones is far too dangerous, so in the end, she must fight this demon on her own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481706209

Dana Descalzi

Dana Descalzi is a registered nurse from New Jersey. She is married with four boys.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

His smile makes him irresistible to me. The deep dimples on both sides of his mouth make up for every facial imperfection he may have. His lean, toned physique—which, happily for me, lacks that older-man, popped belly that so many his age tend to get away with—would make any man half his age envious. He knows exactly where to touch me, causing my body to feel as if it is electrified and edging toward explosion. The comfort in knowing each other thoroughly allows us no embarrassment and therefore no inhibitions. These thoughts always stimulate a desire for more.

After a delicious dinner and wonderfully tasteful wines with our faithful friends, we are both uninhibited. I am a bit uncomfortable naked, with my imperfect body. It’s not what we started out with when we first met, but he doesn’t show any signs of disappointment, and it’s nothing that low lights, removal of contact lenses, and slight intoxication can’t cure.

These Saturday-evening and early-Sunday-morning love-making rituals are probably one of the things I miss most of our relationship. We have all the privacy and intimacy we want, now that our two sons are away at college, but we are both alone.

I stumble on a pinecone and am brought back to reality. Sparky tugs at the leash as a woman walking her Lab comes near. Sparky barks his head off like a lunatic. The Lab just gives him a look like he is a dope, a lower-class type of dog, and he can’t waste his voice on such a peon. The Lab doesn’t even bother to give him a second look. Either he’s a very mature dog or he is as uppity as the people in his affluent town.

Sparky has no qualms about what any of them might think of him. He just keeps screaming his head off till they are out of sight and continues his strut down the road. What a self-assured creature! He would make such a great warrior, since he would probably choke himself to death before he would give up. He is comfortable being himself, and I envy that.

The canines share only a few human characteristics, such as the need for love, food, and elimination. Their simple brains make life so much easier: no need to look good, excel, or keep up with the next one. But people still try to press their dogs into more human behaviorisms. The pet stores encourage this eccentricity by marketing such things as doggy-ware and dog treats in the shapes of our favorite delicacies. I remember seeing a doggy cupcake one time that looked so delicious that I was tempted to buy and taste it.

A dog’s unconditional love and acceptance must be comforting for many people, or maybe such people just can’t get along with anyone in the human race.

Many times dog-walkers want to stop us to let our dogs socialize. Being that Sparky isn’t a friendly dog, at least not with other animals—he loves humans, but maybe he just realizes that they have much more to offer than sniffing his behind—I always avoid these confrontations and inform them that he is fresh. But some won’t take no for an answer—like their dog will be devastated if he can’t say hello.

Like this woman, one day, walking her friendly and happy retriever, who was still at that puppy stage. She insisted on them mingling, even though I warned her of Sparky’s malice. I let them sniff each other, thinking that it was not possible for him to be fresh with such a cute and happy dog but always forgetting who I am dealing with. Of course, Sparky bit the dog on the nose, which led to the dog bleeding for twenty minutes. Sparky didn’t have to worry about being socially stigmatized, but I was embarrassed and tried to talk doggy-talk with the woman to make her feel better. I guess she couldn’t believe that such a little, white, fluffy dog had such capabilities.

Dog-walking is my time to vent, not socialize with the other four-legged beings.

Sparky is supposed to be a bichon frise, but I call him an Italian bichon. He has a rather large and long snoot, unlike other bichon’s that have cute, stubby features. He is often mistaken for a poodle. His obstinate behavior and endurance make for an ill-mannered dog. I think if he was human rather than animal, he would be a rather obnoxious person, not well-liked; but as he is a dog, I adore him.

I am able to release my grip and continue my evening walk, which is part of my routine of sixty strenuous minutes of exercise in the morning and a forty-minute walk in the late afternoon with my dedicated, unconditionally loving and faithful dog. He looks at me with such admiration. At least someone in my life finds me deserving.

It’s amazing the muscle I found under that twenty pounds of fat I’ve lost. I knew it was there all along, waiting to reveal itself. Being a fat exercise-fiend, I may have been an oddity. But now I am proud of my newfound body. I catch landscapers taking a twice-over while I am walking, but most of them would look at anything with four cheeks.

At the age of forty-five, it feels great to look in the mirror and be happy with what you see. It’s too bad it took a marital separation for this to take place. At first I think my marital commitment led to less desire for food, or a need to watch my weight, for my partner. Then, when I felt like I was safely into the relationship, my boredom was cause for continual over-eating.

My mind runs rampant when I am walking. My mind is most lucid during these walks, which must stimulate some kind of chemical surge to the brain. Some of my clearest thoughts come during exercise. I keep a pen and a small pad in my pocket, ready to jot down these thoughts as they surface, for they are like my dreams: as time goes by, they are forgotten. I also find conversation with myself rather enjoyable, being that I am agreeable, forgiving, and understanding with myself. But then again, I have no choice. I am stuck with myself, day in and day out.

Since I am a stickler for routine, I always walk the same route every day, so much so that Sparky knows the way and makes every right and left turn without me showing him. He doesn’t care about the upper-class neighborhood we walk in, with the old Tudors and colonial mansions. His only interests are the smells and animal sightings along the way. This must be heaven to him. How nice to be so easily satisfied.

My imagination and the sights make for a very enjoyable and entertaining walk. As I pass them, I love to marvel at the old, vast Tudors with their decorative timbering, steeply pitched and slated roofs, prominent cross-gables, tall, narrow windows, turrets, and massive chimneys. There are also beautiful English country-style homes made of brick, stone, or stucco. Each is more beautiful than the others, and their charm is exquisite. Up the hill on my left is my favorite house. It is a gothic home with pointed, leaded-glass windows, five chimneys, a four-car garage, and beautifully manicured grounds. An extra garage or two would have come in handy when the boys were younger and playing every sport the town had to offer—to hold all the equipment.

The colossal home resembles a cathedral. It is covered in stone, beautifully aged. I often wonder about the occupants. Are they both successful surgeons, or is one spouse a CEO of a large company? What stands out most is that I never see any people connected to these homes. They remind me of rock stars or movie stars: you know they exist, but you never see them. The children in these homes must have to be driven all over, going to so many activities that they don’t have time for normal play. The only people I ever see are the mail carriers, UPS drivers, nannies, landscapers, and other home-maintenance and service people. The female mail carrier and UPS driver I recognize, being that I see them in the neighborhood every day.

I often think a mail carrier would be a good occupation; like an exercise instructor, you could work and get your exercise routine done at the same time.

This is Ridgewood, New Jersey, home of new and old money. I live across the road in Glen Rock, which is more middle-class to upper-middle-class. Some more wealthy people choose Glen Rock over Ridgewood to avoid dealing with the snobby and competitive attitudes. I myself enjoy being more grounded. The road that separates the two towns is a busy main street.

Today is a beautiful fall day. With the drought we had this past summer, the leaves aren’t near peak for October. The air is crisp and dry. I love the smells of fall and spring the most. In the fall I inhale deeply the crisp, clean smell of leaves—before they are wet and decaying on the ground, smelling old and soggy. Spring is more like a fresh bouquet of flowers from the many tree blossoms that give forth their own personal scents.

I entertain myself by stepping on the acorns while I am walking. For some reason beyond me, I like to crush the acorns. My pleasure at the feel and the snapping sound baffles me, and I entertain the notion that the little things in life are what may bring us the most pleasures, which evokes a small grin.

I am not the only one who enjoys the acorns. The squirrels are gathering up the acorns on the front lawns and darting back and forth across the road. Sparky must have given up on their antagonism a long time ago, realizing how impossible it is to catch them. He doesn’t even seem to notice them. If it were any other animal running near him, he would go berserk.

The squirrels are noticeably much fatter. Maybe they develop a winter coat, or they are fattening themselves up for winter by eating as many acorns as possible—when they can’t get into a garbage can. Or maybe they’re beefy from all those decorative pumpkins they’ve devoured on unsuspecting front porches. Whatever. I have my own food dilemmas.

They must be the bravest of all the rodents, being the only ones that don’t run and hide on us. To the contrary; they seem to enjoy playing mischievous games like finding clever ways to consume all the food meant for the birds, or testing our brake systems and often traumatizing us with their unintended assassinations.

Sparky is in his own world, stopping to pee for the hundredth time on a pole. I don’t think he misses an object during our walks. Even when he is on empty, he still lifts his leg nonstop. I draw the line when he goes to pee on recyclable containers or the wheels of a Mercedes.

When I look up, I see a person walking toward me at such a distance that it resembles a black speck. As we walk a bit closer toward each other, I am able to guess by the stride that it is a man. He has on a dark coat with a hood pulled over his head, which is odd, being that it is unseasonably warm out and I am sweating with only a T-shirt on. Apprehension causes a slight pause in my movement—but why?

This black figure is all I see in the distance. There are no other people around, as if we are the only two people left on earth. This thought is just plain silly, but I can’t help but be intrigued by this form and watch it as it moves closer and clearer. It is hard to make out a face on this person, since the hood is pulled way down over his forehead. As I approach him, I still cannot make out his face, but he appears to be staring at me. I slow down my pace slightly, not feeling good about a confrontation with this person, and not wanting, for some reason, to get closer to the approaching figure. But this throws Sparky off, and he starts tugging at the leash. His will is worth double his size, so it feels like a fifty-pound dog is tugging at the leash.

I begin to get a familiar chill up my spine, one that I have felt before and never wanted to experience again. I am unable to look toward him anymore, and I dare not look at his face, for I have seen those piercing eyes filled with hatred before.

He is now within ten feet of us and seems to be stopped or barely moving. I am frightened and looking desperately around for other people. Why is there never anyone outside in this neighborhood? Maybe everything they need is in their expansive mansions, and they have no reason to leave.

He is right next to me now, and without his saying or doing a single thing, I am terrorized by him. I am sure he sees my sudden, panicky reaction to his presence.

While my head is tilted down, Sparky starts an unfamiliar growl, which is not his usual out-of-control barking. Maybe he senses the evil too, or he may sense my reaction to the evil aura.

I begin to pick up speed again and am almost in a jog, my heart pounding. My only concern is to get away from him, but I can still feel his evil existence as I jog in what has to be an increasing distance between us—unless he has turned around to follow me. I don’t want to trip over Sparky, but his little legs are moving as fast as mine, as if he has the same plan in mind: to just get away from him! This thought only makes my heart beat harder, as if it will jump from my chest at any moment. I dare not turn around, for I know he is still watching me, trying to figure me out. He must be aware of my clairvoyance, for I can sense his unfaltering glare and a peculiar smell, like sulfur, emanating from him: his evil subsistence.

I quickly turn the corner and am heading down the hill to cross the main road into Glen Rock. I reduce my pace and slowly and fearfully turn around to find, much to my relief, that the road is empty. I cross over Lincoln Avenue and feel even more relief at putting the main road between myself and this demon. My heart has begun to calm a bit, but with the thought of him fresh in mind, it will probably take a while to resume its normal rhythm.

My senses of sight and sound may be deficient, but my sense of smell makes up for the other two, and it is not the ideal one to be most powerful. I also have a special ability; I can sense evil in people. This is not the type of evil where someone has done something wrong and is feeling guilty. There is no guilt in the type of evil I perceive. Rather, it is a murderous, torturous, unrelenting type of evil. I truly did not believe there was such a thing as the devil until I encountered this type of evil person. The first time, I didn’t even need to meet her; the foreboding feeling while she was in the room penetrated my entire being with fear of unthinkable magnitude.

This special sense is more frightening than anything I’ve ever experienced. It happened to me only once before, and I hoped I would never experience the feeling again.

CHAPTER 2

We were away for the weekend at our vacation home in the country with some friends and our kids, back when our kids enjoyed our company. Being only fourteen months apart, the kids enjoyed each other’s friends, which made it easier for my husband and me. At the time, Matthew was fifteen, and Andrew was fourteen. Andrew could keep up with Matthew, and they got along well, even going to the same college.

My husband Matt and I always got along well when we spent time with friends and with our kids. It was after they went off to college and we were alone that we couldn’t stop fighting; or more accurately, I couldn’t stop fighting.

Our friends Jeannie and Bob have a son Billy, who is Matthew’s age, and another son two years younger than Andrew. Most of our friends from our hometown have boys. When the kids first started school, we tended to gravitate toward the adults that had boys. That’s how we made our friends, based on our kids. It made it easier for everyone. Ali and Tom have one son, Brandon. When all the boys were together, they would have such a blast.

Since the boys kept each other busy, the six adults enjoyed relaxing in the sun with fun conversation