Oppression

By Danielle Rodriguez

Rachel is only a child when her nightmare begins, but she
carries it through her life. Tempted and tormented by dark
powers, she makes one bad decision after another - until
the light of Jesus breaks through that darkness and changes
her.

But that is only half the battle.

Even after accepting Jesus, Rachel struggles to defeat the
demons she has allowed into her heart and her life.
It is a battle she cannot fight alone. She needs God's help.

Based on a true story, Oppression is a told in both
the physical realm and the spiritual one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312023284

Book preview

Oppression

ISBN: 978-1-312-02328-4

Copyright 2014

Danielle Rodriguez

Foreword

I would like to say two things to the reader of this book.

The first is that this book is fictional, though it is based on a true story.

The second is that the point of this book is not to give any glory whatsoever to the enemy. The story that is told here contains many references to drugs and witchcraft and worldliness, but the point is to show them realistically, as well as the devastating effect they had on this woman’s life. This book was written to give all glory to Jesus Christ and Him alone.

"For we ourselves were also once foolish, disobedient, deceived, serving various lusts and pleasures, living in malice and envy, hateful and hating one another. But when the kindness and the love of God our Savior toward man appeared, not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to His mercy He saved us, through the washing of regeneration and renewing of the Holy Spirit, whom He poured out on us abundantly through Jesus Christ our Savior, that having been justified by His grace we should become heirs according to the hope of eternal life." – Titus 3:3-7

"The people who walked in darkness

Have seen a great light;

Those who dwelt in the land of the shadow of death,

Upon them a light has shined." – Isaiah 9:2

To Erica, Ali, and Betsey - My Sisters, With Much Love

Special thanks to Erica for all of the proofreads, and to Jesus, my Lord and Savior, the Great Deliverer from all bondage!

Chapter 1 - A Child Haunted

Rachel could almost feel a breath over her shoulder. She shuddered, suddenly chilled. She was not alone. She knew it.

She turned slowly, fearing the worst. Nothing.

The window rattled. The ceiling fan whirred noisily. There was no way she was leaving the couch. She could feel the hand of fear, stroking her hair. She could feel her heart race. She couldn’t move.

Dear God, she prayed. Please make this go away. Protect me, please.

Then it was gone. As if it had never happened. Was it real? She knew it was. She’d seen too much to believe otherwise.

1988, autumn

Rachel looked at her family, sitting around their large dinner table, eating chicken and playing games. The air was filled with laughter and the squeals and giggles of little girls. Her father, Dwight, sat at the head, still in his blue work uniform. He was a handsome man, with dark brown (almost black) hair, a moustache (very popular in 1988), an impish gleam in his eye, and a genuine kindness that showed through his deep brown eyes.

At the other end of the table, her mother Bette was laughing, her head thrown back in abandon. Rachel loved her mother’s laugh; it was a deep and hearty laugh that was quite contagious. Bette was absolutely beautiful. Rachel would often imagine growing up to look like her. She had dark brown hair with red highlights. It was permed and short, very fashionable. It was her eyes, though, that really captured people. They were a light blue-green color, with flecks of gold in them. They sparkled with light.

Next to Bette and across from Rachel was Alana, the youngest child. She was four years old, with light blond hair that was mostly straight, but had a few ringlets of loose curls. Her eyes matched her mother’s. She was dressed in a white, long sleeved shirt covered in small brown flowers and brown corduroy overalls. She sat on a big yellow phone book so that she could reach the table to eat.

Between Alana and Dwight was Meg. Meg, age five, was the middle child. She had very light brown hair, which Bette had done in two braids. Her eyes were big and brown like Dwight’s, and she had inherited his impish smile and kind brown eyes. She was in the process of dissecting her chicken leg, placing the pieces in piles of skin, meat, and sinew.

Rachel herself was nine years old, and a mixture of her parents. She had pin straight black hair and green hazel eyes. She looked very much like her father, but the eyes were definitely from her mother’s genes. She was always watching people, and at this moment she was watching her family as they talked and laughed. They were playing a game that they often played at meals.

It was a fun game. They called it Who am I?

The rules were simple. One person was It. They thought of someone who the whole family knew. Then the family would take turns asking questions like What kind of car would this person be? or What season is this person?

At this particular moment, Meg was It. So far the family had learned that the mystery person would have been the color pink, a birthday party, and Princess Peach. Now it was Bette’s chance to ask. Meg, what piece of clothing would this person be?

Meg thought long and hard about her answer. Finally, she giggled. A tutu, Mommy!

Ooh, Ooh! Rachel yelled. I know who it is! She raised her hand up high in the air.

Who do you think it is, Rach? Bette asked.

Alana!

Meg laughed. Nope.

Okay, Rachel said. I give up.

Do you give up, Daddy and Mommy? Meg asked.

They both nodded.

It’s you, Mommy!

They all laughed. It was funny to think of your Mom as a pink, birthday party Princess Peach in a tutu, even if she was a fun Mom. Good job, Meg, Bette said, patting her back. I had no idea you saw me like that!

They all laughed again, and then got up to clean the table.

Sometime later that night, Rachel lay asleep in her bed when something woke her.

Rachel.

She tried to ignore it.

Rachel.

She turned slowly, not wanting to leave the warmth of sleep or the happiness of dreams. I don’t want to get up, she whined. Leave me alone. She pulled the blankets up tighter around her neck and turned to her other side.

Rachel.

What? She was very annoyed now. Who was this that was waking her? She scooted herself up into a sitting position, trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes. Finally, she opened them.

The light in her room was strange. It looked speckled, almost like blue static. The air was a strange cold. It didn’t feel like morning yet. At the foot of her bed, she saw the figure of a man. She found herself thinking that he was not a normal man; at least he didn’t seem to be. He was odd, and her child’s mind couldn’t quite figure out exactly what it was that was odd about him. She felt frightened by his presence; though she knew he wasn’t there to harm her. He was just standing there. He had a chiseled face, neither plain nor remarkable. His clothing was like robes. Like all of the pictures of angels she saw at the church. His hair was brown.

She turned to look outside and see if it was dark or light. It was pitch black, with a few stars scattered around. Why wasn’t her room dark? She turned back, and the man was gone. The room was dark. The house was still. Had she dreamed it?

The next day, she woke up and drew a picture of the man. It was pretty close, for a 9 year olds drawing. (He looked a little more like a Ken doll than the man, but the Barbie book she had looked at to see how to draw a man had probably influenced that.) She showed it to her mother. He was in my room last night. I think he was an angel.

Her mother had no idea how to respond. Rachel had quite a vivid imagination, but she honestly didn’t know whether it was true or not.

Spring, 1989

I’m going to get something from the fridge, Rachel announced to her cousin Susan. Do you want anything?

Susan, two years older than Rachel, was very pretty. She had straight brown hair and brown eyes, and she was always smiling or laughing. Her parents allowed her to do many things that Rachel was not allowed to do, like going to the movies unsupervised or staying up all night. She also wore makeup and heels sometimes. Rachel thought she was just about the coolest person in the world, and she stayed over her house as much as possible.

Susan’s mother Mona, Rachel’s aunt, never treated her like she was odd. Her house and her heart were always open to Rachel. She loved staying there.

Susan, hearing Rachel’s question,looked up at the clock. Rach, it’s 2 in the morning. I can’t eat this late!

Okay. Rachel walked into the kitchen.

Whenever she slept over there, Rachel would enjoy a late-night snack of bologna with mayonnaise. No bread, though. (That would have just ruined it.)

She opened the refrigerator, grabbed the mayo, and reached for the bologna.

Rachel! a voice yelled loudly. It sounded a lot like her Dad’s voice.

She dropped the mayonnaise jar and jumped back.

She looked around. Nobody was there.

Hello? she asked.

From the other room, she heard Susan say, Shut up, Rachel. You’re going to wake everyone up!

She put the mayonnaise back in the fridge and closed the door. Then she walked back into the family room, where they were sleeping that night.

She looked at her cousin. Did you hear that too?

Hear what? You throwing something and then yelling hello?

No, not that. She was confused. How could Susan not have heard it? You didn’t hear anything else?

Like what?

Rachel decided that telling Susan might make her look immature or foolish. Nothing. I guess I was just imagining things… Or maybe Joe was messing with me.

Joe was Susan’s brother. He was older than Susan, and he had a strange sense of humor. Earlier that day, he had taught the girls how to build a guillotine for their dolls. Rachel thought it was really cool. Susan had walked away.

Rachel thought he was a pretty cool cousin, even though she often entertained the thought he may secretly be a serial killer.

Susan laughed. He probably was. Where’s your sandwich?

Rachel shrugged. Eh, I’m not hungry anymore.

Susan threw a pillow at her. Dork.

Both girls laughed as Rachel ran over to smack Susan back with the pillow.

December 31, 1989

Rachel dragged the razor’s silver blade across her leg. The cut opened slowly, pale skin separating and filling with liquid crimson, which quickly pooled up and began to run down into her white sock. This was a deep one. She winced little at the initial pain, then smiled, satisfied by the release.

Good, a voice whispered to her. She knew it was the voice of the man from her bedroom. He often woke her, and she’d been hearing his voice a lot lately. It sounded just like her father’s voice sometimes.

Let it out, he whispered.

She cried silently, releasing the hurt, the loneliness, the fear.

Do it again.

She again took the razor and slashed through her skin. It was a quick slash, violent. This cut was just below the other one. It didn’t hurt as much, so she made a third cut. This one hurt very badly. She sighed in relief and wiped a tear off of her cheek.

Rachel, the voice said. Nobody will understand this, you know. They cannot understand you. You must put on your happy face and be the perfect child they want you to be. Promise me you won’t tell them.

I promise, Rachel said. She wrapped toilet paper around her calf as a makeshift bandage and put on a pair of jeans.

I’ll take care of you, Rachel, the voice told her. I understand you. I’m the one who loves you. I’m the only one who wants you here. I have no other children to get in the way.

Rachel could feel his hand stroking her hair, the way a parent does. She leaned into it. She was comforted. She felt safe.

The demons were practically having a party in the girl’s room. They jumped and danced around in glee. Deception, the one Rachel had seen, laughed loudly. It was a vile cackling noise. He transformed back into his true self, a small, grey, gargoyle-looking creature, dripping greenish-grey venomous ooze all over the room. He began to dance around the small girl, laughing still. It’s too easy, he bragged. Just too easy!

Depression laughed with him. This one is ours!

And then she is our master’s! cried out Bloodthirsty. Forever and ever!

The danced around her in a circle, laughing, spitting, growling, shrieking, and dripping venom. She had no idea.

Nearby, an angel stood watching the scene. Neither the demons nor the girl were aware of his presence. He looked on in sadness, watching as the Master’s creation destroyed itself willingly, choosing to believe the lies of the enemy. He straightened his ruffled wing feathers and stood up tall. One day, he would get his chance to fight for this girl. One day, the Master would allow it.

Not long after the New Year, Rachel’s parents divorced. Her mother was busy all of the time, working as many jobs as she could to take care of them. Her sisters were too young to talk to. Her Dad lived close, but he wasn’t the same anymore. So she made these beings her friends. And sometimes, they appeared to her. Some of them lived inside of a blanket her grandmother had made her. Those ones came to life every night. She couldn’t explain it if she had tried, but they really did begin to move and speak and even sing when she would light a flashlight and go under the blanket. Others were kind of like fairies, but the size of real children. She made them a secret room in the side of her closet, and would leave food in there for them sometimes.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have any friends at school. She did. But they bored her. They acted like children. She didn’t want to act like, or be treated like, a child. Her made-up friends acted like adults, and they treated her like one as well.

By the summer, Rachel was pretty far gone from reality. She was having a hard time telling truth from fiction. The two had crossed for her. She was confused and scared. She believed that her friends were good, but she was also smart enough to know that the things they told her to do were wrong. She had become a thief and a liar. The worse it got, the sadder she became.

She would often take walks to local stores, filling her pockets and shoes with whatever she could. She would take things that she didn’t even need or want, just for the thrill of it. Her mother often asked her where these things came from. She would say she found them on the train tracks. Occasionally, she would bring her sisters with her, then drop things on the way home and let them find them, just to ease her mother’s suspicions. She also liked to steal wine while her mother was sleeping. Every once in a while, she would steal money from her mother’s purse. She didn’t do that very often, though, because she always felt badly afterwards.

When she stayed at her father’s house, she would steal beer from his refrigerator and hide behind his couch, watching the movies that her father and his roommate watched. She would lie and say her sisters were doing things that she did just to get them in trouble. One time, she scratched her own arm really hard and made it bleed. Then she ran to Dwight, crying hysterically.

Dad! she cried. Alana scratched me!

When Dwight questioned Alana, she answered, I don’t think I scratched her, Daddy. I don’t memember. Alana couldn’t remember scratching Rachel, but she saw the marks and didn’t want to lie.

She got spanked.

Rachel went outside and hid under the porch steps, laughing.

Her mother eventually put her in therapy, hoping it would help her. Some truly awful and traumatic things about her past came out, but they scared her so much that she shut down. She became bratty and arrogant towards the therapist. There was nothing more they could do to help her.

Rachel, what am I supposed to do? Bette asked her. They were driving home from the final appointment with the therapist.

Maybe you should just leave me alone, Rachel said, glaring at her mother.

You know I can’t do that, Rach.

Rachel scoffed. Why not? Are you afraid I won’t look perfect enough for your friends?

What? Bette had no idea what she was talking about.

You know, so you don’t have to keep telling them I’m a bad kid. So you don’t have to wish I could be more like Meg and Alana, your perfect little girls.

Bette remembered saying that she wished Rachel would behave like her sisters, but she had said it to her friend, and Rachel had been at school at the time. How did she know? Rachel, I…

Just stop! Rachel screamed. Stop trying to pretend you care! Just leave me alone! I hate you!

You don’t speak to me that way, Bette answered. She didn’t know what else to say.

They arrived home, and Rachel ran up to her room, making sure to pound her feet extra hard on every stair. She slammed her door, and ran to her bed. AAaaaahhhhhhhhh! She let out a guttural scream.

You have to stop this pain, the voice told her.

Rachel looked around her. There were no knives or razors. All she could find was a bottle of peroxide. She picked it up and