Darkness

By Phillip Jones

Avery, a young girl, has the perfect life. She has a lot of friends at school, a loving family, good grades, and a great boyfriend. That is, until it all comes crashing down after the death of her boyfriend, Bryce.

She begins to experience a darkness that once may have been a part of Bryce's life. Experiencing demonic oppression, suicidal thoughts, anxiety and depression, she does everything she knows to overcome this struggle; some things good, some things bad.

This Christian based book is meant to help victims and family members of suicide and mental health disorders to educate, find words, encourage, and give hope in the daily struggle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Jun 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483452364

Phillip Jones

Phillip Jones OBE is Emeritus Professor of Architectural Science at the Welsh School of Architecture, Cardiff University. For over forty years he carried out research, teaching and design in building environmental design and energy efficiency fields. He practices through Zenergy Design Ltd and Jones Kopitsis AG. He chairs the Welsh Government’s Building Regulation Advisory Committee and Community Interest Company, Warm Wales. In 2020 he was awarded an OBE for services to Architecture and Decarbonisation.

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DARKNESS

PHILLIP JONES

Copyright © 2016 Phillip Jones.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5230-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5237-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-5236-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016908175

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 5/27/2016

Contents

April 5, 2011

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Letter from the Author

About the Author

This book is dedicated to the fallen, the fighting, and the victorious.

You can beat depression; don’t give up.

And to those who helped me fight my own battle, thank you.

Inspired by true events.

April 5, 2011

I t happened again last night. It started as I lay paralyzed in my bed, either by sheer dread of the unconscious reality that had stricken me or by external phenomena weighing me down. Either way, whether being internal reality or external force, the fear never ceased.

With all the strength my stiff body could muster, I turned my head to the side in an attempt to release myself from this prison that I had experienced before. As I did, my eyes locked with the eyes of it, staring at me from outside my window, peering in just underneath the pane of my window. Its face white as a painted clown, but scarred as if it has been recently released from a burn ward. Its eyes were black, as was the smile that stretched quite literally from ear to ear. I was unable to turn away, as if somewhat drawn to it as a distant friend yet terrified by what it might have to say.

My mind rushed with every possibility of escape that may be accessible to someone who can’t move a muscle. I remembered my friend sleeping on the couch in the other room and wondered if he was experiencing the same devastation that I was. After I blinked, the face happily smiling at me from under the window had vanished, but the presence remained. I felt it, no longer in vision but in every fiber of my being knowing it was there.

As if a horror movie brought to reality, I watched as a darkness, tangible in nature, crept in from the corner of my room. It soaked up the light that it encountered and in its place left an empty void, or perhaps it flooded the area—either one I could not rightly decipher.

The darkness crept in, inching to every corner of the room. It touched the edge of my bedposts, and I could audibly hear the deep ambience it released. Soon I felt it grip onto my leg like hands and then pull itself on to me. It gripped again and inched higher up my legs until it lay on my chest.

The ambient noise rushed over me like a waterfall, and it lifted me off of my bed and stood me upright inches off the floor. The door creaked open, as if a kid were trying to sneak out and not wake his parents. The sound of chains and wind intermingled with a violent symphony in my ears. Was I a prisoner, or was it a dream? One or the other didn’t matter, because both resulted in the same outcome.

It walked me, or dragged me, out of the door and into the hallway where I got a glimpse of my friend sleeping on the couch, undisturbed by my nefarious encounter. The glimpse lasted only a short time before I entered into an even darker void that I recognized as the hallway. Through the hallways shone a light that might have been heaven, only the fear that gripped me at its sight would prove the opposite. Into the back corner of my house, into the room with only a TV and a bed, I was dragged and placed. The light was coming from the TV as a black-and-white screen buzzed with intensity.

I couldn’t move from my spot, stuck in place as if caught in a trap. The ambient sound of chains and wind had intensified significantly, as well as added to it the horrific sounds of the roaring of a lion and faint screaming of pain. Out of the frenzy of sounds came the most terrifying voice my ears have ever captured. Two voices in one—like fire and ice, torture and paradise—spoke to me from the television screen.

Hello, it said.

Words eluded me, and its greetings brought a violent frenzy of fear throughout my body. I shook with anticipation for what it had to say next.

I’ve known you for some time.

Though I couldn’t see it, I could tell it was mocking me relentlessly.

You’ve known me too, haven’t you?

It was right. I had known it. This wasn’t the first time I’d encountered this dark king. Terror to the point of death filled me with the knowledge that no matter what I tried, with all my endeavors toward Christ that I may make, it wouldn’t be the last encounter.

I believe we first met when you were but four. I used to watch you outside of that same window. Sometimes I would even come in to say hello. I know you better than even that girlfriend of yours, who you know you’re continuously lying to.

It filled my mind with memories of it haunting my past with seemingly perfect clarity. I saw myself as a child in bed staring at the wall. It had stood sinisterly in the corner with the same smile it was tormenting me with fifteen years later.

It allowed me the ability to speak, though I had to fight to spit the words out.

What do you want? I managed to ask it. The sounds continued to whirl around the room and create a vacuum that sucked all air out of my lungs. I could feel anger burn in its eyes, though I couldn’t see it.

You need to face the reality that I’ve been creeping in the back of your mind since you and I first met. The reality that no matter what kind of preaching you preach, speaking you speak, or inspiration you give to others, I will never leave you. I’ll be in your dreams, in the corner of this room, every night, closer than that God you pretend to believe in. However, I come to you with a proposal.

The anger that filled the room eased up, and the darkness seemed to dissipate just enough for me to feel peace in whatever might be said next.

I won’t leave you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t leave me. I’ll gladly torture you and nurture you with my presence until your life runs its natural course, but do you want that? Take the best way out. It will be easy, and it won’t hurt. Besides, nobody is going to miss you anyway. Think about it.

I suddenly shot out of bed, and fear in the form of sweat dripped off of me, not fully knowing if what had just occurred was a dream. Time stood still as I came to my normal senses. What kind of nightmare was that?

Leaving my bed, I quietly walked out into the hallway where I had previously been hovering just above the ground and caught a glimpse of my friend who was no longer asleep. His eyes were wide open, frozen in terror. He looked past me straight toward the hallway I had been taken through to the room with the TV.

I walked up to him, but he still silently ignored me.

What’s wrong? I asked him nervously.

Something was going on back there. I could hear it. He had a shake in his voice that seemed odd for someone as big as him.

What did you hear?

Some kind of sound, like chains and I’m not sure what else. It woke me up out of my sleep.

That obviously wasn’t as much of a dream as I’d thought.

And more than a sound, he continued. I could feel it. I’m not sure what, but I know something was back there. His eyes grew even wider and welled up with tears as he turned toward me. What the hell is going on, Bryce?

I left him, as I was also in shock, and entered back into my room. This experience had been much more vivid and haunting then they’d been in the past. As I crawled back into my bed, I reached for the covers until my eyes caught glimpse of something I hadn’t previously noticed.

On my desk, sitting perfectly in the dim twinkle of the moonlight, was a pen and paper. It was most peculiar, but an inevitable, undeniable, and vivid clarity hit me, and right then, for the first time in my life, I knew exactly what I had to do.

CHAPTER 1

W hat are you? he asks me in that little voice he does when he tries to be cute.

Bryce, don’t make me answer that, I say, feeling almost distraught. Avery, he says, staring at me with his stupid grin, what are you?

His grin gets me every time. I give in with a sigh. Your half-Chinese-but-all-yours princess.

That’s right, he says as he happily chuckles and then kisses me. I love you.

He is already in his car and driving off before I have the chance to tell him I love him back. He is a tall and lanky dork. His arms seem too long for his body and devour me completely every time he gives me a hug. He loves to act. He loves to sing obnoxiously loud just to annoy me. And he dabbles in what he calls street art, which in reality is graffiti—the one thing my mom does not approve of. Talent seems to seep out of every pore of his body, yet because of his modesty and lack of confidence, he has never attempted to make a living for himself. He is the most annoying and distracting boyfriend I have ever had.

I couldn’t live without him.

He is as gorgeous as he is tall, born and raised in Oklahoma. I have never met a guy more honest and sincere than he is. We don’t live in the same city, so we don’t get to see each other every day like most of the couples in my high school. Whenever we do get together, though, it is always special. It also makes our good-byes incredibly hard, because I don’t like not knowing when I am going to see his dorky grin again.

I am barely over five feet tall and half Chinese and half Caucasian, which is where he gets his half-Chinese-but-all-mine nickname for me. My ethnicity gives my skin a creamy, smooth look that’s almost like coffee when you add a little too much milk. My dark hair is thick and comes down to my waist, and he can’t keep his hands from playing with it. I do nothing special. I am not on the track team, I don’t lead the cheerleading team, and I have no particular hobbies. I’m also not boring. I have friends whom I spend a majority of my time with, and I am the manager of the basketball team for my high school, although I have no athletic talent that would give me even a glimmer of hope to actually be on the team. I like my life.

Walking back to the house from Bryce’s car is normally an eerie experience at night, considering I live out in the country with no house within three miles of mine. This time, however, I can’t stop smiling, and I am in the front door before I know it.

My dad is sitting on our old, deep-mahogany-colored, broken leather love seat when I walk in. He has a quiet, soft voice, which you wouldn’t think he would have considering his size and stature.

You’ve been kissing that boy again, Avery? he asks in a soft, serious tone.

No! I say desperately. I was … He … well, actually … Like this stammering is really helping my case.

My dad stands up and starts walking toward me. The sound of his heavy steps and slow stride is enough to make me shake. He comes close, blank faced, and stares into my eyes. I am wondering what I will have to say to get out of this mess, and then he puts his hands on my shoulders and smiles.

Avery, you’ve been dating him for more than a year now. You don’t think I know you may have possibly kissed him yet?

My dad actually likes Bryce. A lot. Every time we come back from a date, my dad is the one to ask me how everything went. Whenever I smile and tell him the details, he always listens intently. He asks questions, I answer, and he ends the conversation every time with, Avery, I think you may have found him.

The first time he said this to me, I was nervous. Am I too young to actually be in love? How will I know if I can be with him for the rest of my life? I had wondered. I could only ask questions, but now when my dad tells me, I warm up and think to myself, Yes, maybe I have found the one.

Every time Bryce comes over, my dad asks him if he has done any new street art. My dad seems to have fallen into Bryce’s argument of, It’s not vandalism. It is art. Mom still calls it vandalism. Bryce’s response stays the same each time my dad asks: If I told you, I’d have to kill you. My dad just narrows his eyes and looks at Bryce until he laughs and then shows him the pictures he took of his latest street art creation or tag. I never understand their jargon. To me, he puts paint on walls where it shouldn’t be, and it looks amazing.

Are you two looking at that vandalism again? my mom asks. She always sounds like she disapproves, but I know she secretly wants to look as well.

My mom likes Bryce too but thinks he is too old for me. He is a sophomore at the university, and I am in the middle of my senior year of high school. To most people, that isn’t a big age gap, but with my mom’s more traditional views of relationships, she thinks it was a mistake from the beginning.

When Bryce goes back to college, you are stuck here without him again. What are you going to do? That is Mom’s famous question, which I have heard countless times before. She also doesn’t like that he has had to take this semester off of school due to financial issues. Sometimes mothers can’t be reasoned with, I suppose.

The truth is I am scared when Bryce leaves for college again, but he always reassures me that I am only an hour away from him, which is only thirty minutes farther than where he is living right now. I trust Bryce more than I have anyone else. Besides, we have already lasted through his freshman year of college. I think we can do it again.

I try to get ready for sleep. It is a school night, but my unfading smile is making it hard to brush my teeth, and my cheeks are beginning to hurt. Bryce always does that to me, and I think he does it on purpose. It makes me so angry, but the angrier I get, the more I love him. The more I love him, the more I smile. The more I smile, the more my cheeks hurt.

He is an evil genius.

I walk into school unusually happy the following morning, and my friends notice. I am not a huge fan of school, but getting to see my friends makes it worth waking up. Also, I remind myself that another day of school is another day closer to seeing Bryce.

Classes go smoothly, which is more than I expect, as the usual routine on my good days ends abruptly with my third-hour teacher handing back my trigonometry homework. Whenever I look at it, I try to make a picture out of all the red check marks he puts next to almost every question I attempt to answer; however, today when I get my graded homework, there are almost no check marks. I am surprised and almost disappointed; there are no pictures to be drawn today.

The bell rings, but I am in no hurry to get home, because I’m sure tomorrow won’t go as smoothly as today.

Avery! The clear, kind sound of the voice is very familiar, and I instantly know who it is.

Haven! I shout back at the voice.

Haven is the only other girl in my grade who is as short as me. I think that is what made her and me best friends from the start. She has long, naturally curly blonde hair, the type that makes every girl jealous and every guy do a double take. She has looks and talent and is incredibly nice. She has it all.

"How was your weekend? Did you get to see your man?" She says man like the deep sound a jazz singer uses to sound a bit grungier.

I have to giggle at her tone. Of course I got to see him. It wouldn’t be a weekend without him.

She looks at me with a smile like I am hiding something.

What? I ask, utterly confused.

You have been together for a year now. Haven’t you two … She doesn’t finish her sentence, as if she is expecting me to know what she is implying.

"Have we what?" I shout, wondering.

Grunting loudly, she yells, You know! She wiggles her eyebrows up and down. It takes me a moment to finally figure out what she is trying to get out of me.

Of course not! I reply in a loud, surprised voice.

Why not? It’s been over a year. Most couples nowadays don’t even last a month. What is stopping you? She has an honest tone of wonder in her voice.

Well, it is not like we haven’t talked about it. The thought is definitely there, but I think that is what separates us from other couples. We stay together because we actually love each other, not because we are … I struggle to find the right words. "You know … active with one another. I need something better to say than that. I fish through my mind for reasons that will end this conversation as quickly as it started. Also, he is trying to be a leader at his church. He doesn’t think that will send the right message to people." Even I am surprised by how honest that answer is.

"I see. So your boyfriend is a preacher who also does graffiti." Her sarcasm is extremely thick, and even I can’t help but laugh at how that sounds.

Haven. No retort is coming to mind.

She smiles and laughs. I’m just messing with you, Avery. It’s actually encouraging to see a couple out there our age who is genuinely in love with each other.

Still smiling, we walk away together after I grab what is left of my books.

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I have just walked out of the door of my school when I feel a firm grip on my hips. I instinctively scream and spin around. To my surprise, Bryce is right behind me laughing. I want so badly to hit him for making me scream out loud, but the sight of him instantly takes my breath away, and I immediately give him the biggest hug I can.

What are you doing here? I ask, pleasantly surprised.

I just couldn’t wait to see you again, he says smiling.

I see a small glint of sarcasm in his smile. I have a slight bit of laughter in my voice. Yeah, right! Tell me the real reason why you’re here.

He seems disappointed that I caught his sarcasm, but he doesn’t hesitate to give me the real reason. I want you to come eat with me tonight at my house.

This opportunity doesn’t happen often and I am not going to turn down a chance to spend time with him. I also love getting to see his parents. His mom took Mandarin in college, and we always enjoy sharing short conversations in a language Bryce doesn’t understand. He honestly hates when we talk about him in another language, but it is the only time I am able to get under his skin. He deserves it.

I squeeze him as hard as I can, looking up at him while he simultaneously looks down at me. I’d love to eat with you. I say as I tiptoe up to kiss him.

Well let’s go.

He has that stupid grin again as we start walking toward the car hand in hand. He teases, You’re not going to speak in Chinese all night again, are you?

I’m not promising anything, I say nonchalantly. I can already tell that this is going to be a good night.

We pull up to his house, which is a little, humble home. It has tan bricks with white windows and a clean-cut yard, which his dad takes pride in. His dad reminds me of mine. His mom keeps the house very modern in appliances and furniture, and the house is riddled with different paintings that Bryce has done.

Bryce goes to his bedroom for a moment, and I drift over to the biggest painting of his in the living room. It has to be at least four feet long and three feet wide. It is very simple—a white background textured with sponged acrylic paint and a silhouette of a man with red balloons on one side, which seems to be done in spray paint. I forget how talented he really is sometimes, but I love being reminded by seeing his work.

"Ni hao, Avery!!!" A kindhearted voice rings down the hallway. I love Bryce’s mom.

I reply, "Ni hao, Darla!"

She turns the corner and gives me a warm hug.

"Ni hao-bu-hao?" I ask.

She replies in the best mandarin she can. "Wo hen hao, ni ne?"

I am in the middle of my foreign-language reply when a desperate voice from Bryce’s bedroom interrupts us. Will you two stop that Chinese crap?

You shut your mouth, you uncultured redneck! Darla jokingly yells back in a stern tone. Her eyes snap back to mine, she smiles and says, I don’t know why my son doesn’t like us speaking Chinese!

It’s a mystery, I reply laughing. But, I do know speaking Chinese is the only way I can get back at him for making me put up with all the stuff he puts me through.

Bryce walks back into the room, and both Darla and I look at him.

"En, women jiang jiang zhongguo geng jingchang," she says quietly, not taking her gaze from her son.

"Hao de," I say in the same manner.

Bryce’s eyes sharpen and then he sighs and relents. I can tell my plan for giving him a taste of his own medicine is working wonderfully.

Dinner is ready—a warm plate of lasagna, whole green beans, dinner rolls, and pineapple. Bryce’s dad, Tony, walks in, and we gather in prayer. This is another thing I love about his family: they are very strong in what they believe but are not judgmental toward what others believe. They always make me get the first plate, which I hate because I feel rude, but they insist. I get the smallest portions I can, but when I am through, Tony grabs my plate and adds a second helping of everything.

You eat up, Avery, he says. This is fresh from the frozen-food aisle.

Tony is always joking. He only has one leg due to a struggle with cancer, but he pounded that cancer back down to the hell hole it came from, as he always says. He is now working on his master’s degree in psychology at the same time Darla is working on a master’s degree in special education. They have to be the sweetest couple I have ever met. Dinner is amazing. It is customary to be laughing at Tony’s cheesy one-liners, and we always thank Darla for heating up the meal for us.

"Huilai bu jiu chi!" Darla yells as Bryce walks me back to the car.

I laugh and reply happily, "Hao de. Xie xie ni!"

She she knee! says Bryce in a mocking tone. I don’t hesitate to give him a shoulder to the side. He pushes me away and then laughs and pulls me closer, wrapping his mile-long arm around me. He is warm, and I feel like I fit perfectly in the space between his shoulder and his side. I cannot imagine being anywhere else.

He opens the car door for me, which isn’t unusual for him, but it is unusual for most guys our age. The first time he ever did this, I had to ask why.

It’s just polite—common manners. And if it impresses you, I’m going to do it.

I thought the last part was a joke, but sometimes I am not so sure with him.

I have something for you, Bryce says.

I am expecting a gift, but he inserts a cd into his stereo and lets it play. Our song.

For once, he doesn’t scream it in my ear, but he sings it. When he is just being himself, he actually has a good voice, and I wonder if there is anything he isn’t good at. He sings along softly to our favorite song. I know every word by heart, and his voice sounds so much sweeter than the actual singer. Not because he is better, but because the words are coming straight from him to me.

We call it our song because it was playing when we had our first kiss. He must be thinking what I am thinking, because he looks straight at the road and asks seriously, Avery, do you remember our first kiss?

How could I forget? He got so nervous that his neck turned red and blotchy. He didn’t even have to say anything for me to know what he was thinking. He was too scared to make the first move, so I broke the awkward silence and kissed him. You mean the one you were too afraid to go in for? I love joking with him about it.

He just smiles and says in his defensive joking voice I wasn’t scared! I was …—he looks at me while he is thinking—pausing for effect.

Liar.

What about it? I ask to keep the conversation going.

When we had that first kiss. He stops again. "Never mind, that