The Observer

By Brian Andrew

What are the principalities and powers that exist that we cannot see or comprehend? Do these spiritual entities really exist? And is there a cosmic game being played out in the universe all around us? Is there more to this physical world in which we live that influences our daily lives, actions, and thoughts? In Brian Andrews thought-provoking work of fiction, one is left wondering if, indeed, it really was a work of fiction. Are angels, demons, and other spiritual forces real and at work in a cosmic battle of good and evil for the souls of men? These questions all come into play within the pages of Brian Andrews compelling novel, which is guaranteed to leave you wondering if indeed there are answers to questions about why this world is the way it is.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Nov 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781489710093

Brian Andrew

Brian Andrew lives in Cody, Wyoming, where he enjoys the beauties of God’s creation. He enjoys horseback riding, camping in the backcountry, fly fishing, hunting, and wildlife viewing. He has traveled the globe both for business, pleasure, and ministry work. He continues to be involved in multiple businesses, both domestic and international.

Book preview

1

IT BEGINS

T HE DAY HAD BEEN an extremely full one for James Evans. He had spent the entire day riding his bicycle and exploring his neighborhood. It seemed to James that the only time he had any peace in his life was when he was alone and riding his bicycle or playing a board game with his mother. The day had passed quickly, and before he could figure out where the day had gone, he found himself in the one place he was learning to hate: his bedroom. Now, he found himself lying awake like he had so many previous nights.

He knew every inch of the bedroom where he was now trying to sleep. The room was small, not like the room he had when his dad was still alive. Boy, he missed his dad. His father had died almost two years earlier in a parking lot, of all places. He had been on a business trip in Chicago when some crack head robbed and then shot him. After the man shot him, he stuck his gun in his belt where everyone could see it, walked over to the bus stop, and waited for the bus to come and pick him up. Several witnesses tried to help his dad as he lay there on the asphalt in the ever-growing pool of his blood. When the cops got there, people told the cops what happened. The man was still standing at the bus stop. He just stood there when the cops went over to arrest him. It took a year before the case went to court, and the trial was over in a day. The man was now in prison, but that was no consolation. The episode had changed his and his mother’s lives, and the chain of events that followed was devastating for both of them.

James thought about how his life had changed since his father’s murder. His mother couldn’t afford the payments on the house, and his dad’s life insurance wasn’t enough to cover much more than his funeral and bills. Since his mother could no longer afford the house payments, they moved to Red Bank, South Carolina, from Jefferson City, Tennessee. That area of South Carolina was where his mother, Adele, had grown up. By moving back, she would be closer to her family. They could help her until she could get financially and mentally stable again. They moved from a large house to a much smaller house. James’s bedroom was so small that, in order to open a dresser drawer, he had to sit on the bed. With his single bed in the room, he had to turn sideways, blindly reach into the closet, and try to extract the item of clothing he desired to wear.

He didn’t really mind the close quarters. He was right next to his mom’s room, and that made it great, as far as he was concerned. He often heard his mom crying on the many sleepless nights he had experienced since his dad’s death and the move away from all his old friends. He understood why his mother wanted to be near her family, and he loved them. But he was born in Tennessee, and back there was where all of his friends lived. Here in South Carolina he didn’t have any friends. He was the new kid, a stranger to everyone.

He loved his mom more than anything, and hearing her cry made him feel awful. He never seemed to be able to comfort her. He never knew what to say. He wanted to talk to her, but he couldn’t. They would hug, but there always seemed to be a wall between them that would not allow them to communicate on the level James wanted and needed. His greatest fear was that he would come home one day and be told someone had killed his mom.

The doctors said that a fear of losing her was part of the reason he couldn’t sleep or eat right. Since his father died, James had almost stopped eating. The doctors told him that if he ate better, he would be able to sleep better. He knew that wasn’t the problem; his problem was that he slept too well. If he ever drifted off, he slept so soundly that it felt as if he was actually living in his dream world. He would even see, hear, and taste things in his sleep. The dreams were so real, in fact, that he could often remember them for weeks. The problem, however, was that they were usually extremely frightening—so frightening, in fact, that sometimes he would not fall asleep for a couple of nights in a row for fear of having a bad dream recur.

This night, James felt as though he would never be able to sleep again. For the past three weeks, on the nights when he had been able to sleep, he had the same dream. The dreams weren’t identical, but they were close enough—so close, in fact, that he started referring to them as the dream. Most of the time it involved one of the girls apparently from his school and several of his other classmates. At least that was the implication in the dreams.

James hated living in South Carolina, and he hated the school. Back in Tennessee, he had lots of friends, but here at the new school, he didn’t have any. He especially hated the way the other children treated him. James felt so alienated. His physical appearance had deteriorated so much that he didn’t even recognize himself. The children teased him at school and called him the monster. James really didn’t blame them for making fun of him. Since his dad died and the terrible dreams started, he had lost a lot of weight, and his eyes were so sunken and black that he looked like something out of a horror film.

He was glad that spring was here and that it soon would be summer. Summer was the time when his mother promised that the two of them would go back to Tennessee and visit some of their old friends. James was excited about seeing his old friends, but he was more excited about spending time alone with his mother. Lately he wanted to spend all the time he could with his mother. He was worried about her health and safety, but he always felt reassured when she was around.

He lay there, fighting sleep. Tonight he was not going to allow the dream to take control. He didn’t know how long he could fight off sleep, but somehow he would. James determined that he had to endure one more night of staying awake to ward off the dream. As he fought sleep, he still thought about the dream, in which all the kids made fun of him. Several times it almost escalated to physical violence. As the children continued to taunt him with cruel sayings, their physical appearances began to change. The taunters became monstrous themselves. The conversion of the children, however, was not a simple, quick process. It was almost like James could see right into the children and into the very core of their existence. It was as if he had been given the gift to see not what was on the outside of a person but what was on the inside.

The transformation was awful. It was not the type of thing he had seen in the movies, where one image faded away as a new one came into view, or the person’s hands got hairy and grew claws before he or she turned into a wolf. James’s dreams were different. He knew that what he was seeing was real, and its implications frightened him.

Morning came, and James realized he had fallen asleep and had not dreamed anything. He felt invigorated and excited about getting a good night’s sleep. This day was going to be different for him, and he would make sure it was the start of a series of great days. After all, he was in control of his attitude. He was the one with the power to make a difference in his own life. If the kids wanted to make fun of him, and no one wanted to be his friend, he could choose to either let that depress him or move forward and shake it off. He was determined not to allow the words and actions of others have the power to make him feel miserable.

He could already tell that his new attitude was a positive improvement in his life. After breakfast he got on his bike and began the ride to school, but this morning it was different. He noticed things he had never noticed before on the route he always took. Various trees and bushes were in bloom. Yards were neatly mowed, and sprinklers sprayed water that hit the ground and projected a mist of many colors as it faded away into nothingness. His bike ride that morning was an enjoyable experience and a reflection of his newfound attitude.

James arrived at school with a smile on his face and the determination that no matter who picked on him, he would simply ignore them. As he walked into the school and headed down the halls, happy and positive, he kept thinking about the girl. The girl in all his earlier dreams seemed to be the one constant. She was the only person who had not changed in all his dreams. The other children were always different. He never knew who they were as he was dreaming, but this girl never changed. He always knew it was her regardless of how crazy things got in the dreams or if her appearance was different. She was always the one he knew was the girl. Sometimes he caught just a glimpse of her. Other times she was the object of his attention. He could hear her at times, but no matter how loudly he called out to her and tried to get her to hear him, she simply acted as if she heard nothing. Yes, he kept coming back to the girl, and he would never forget what she finally said to him the last time he had one of his terrible dreams.

As the week continued, James had a few good days, but every night he still feared falling asleep and having another nightmare. It seemed to him like he was in a constant state of anxiety as he went from clarity in the daytime to foggy uncertainty at night. The one constant that he experienced was uncertainty. He never knew when he went to bed if he would fall asleep and suffer a nightmare or if he would sleep peacefully. He continued in his effort to exhibit a positive attitude. His mother insisted that he needs his sleep but as with other nights he struggled to stay awake but hoped that if sleep did come it would come easily and the morning would arrive peacefully with no nightmares.

Well, he thought as the alarm went off, I made it through the night, and it is now morning. His struggle to stay awake had failed him, and he had fallen asleep but didn’t dream. He actually had gotten a great night of sleep and had awakened refreshed. He was feeling exceptionally well now and was actually looking forward to another day of being at school. He had noticed in the mirror as he washed up that he even looked better. His new decision to improve his attitude and keep it positive must have been working. As he rode his bike to school, he thought that he could get used to this area. Each day things seemed to get better and better. He noticed the beauty of spring and appreciated it. Even the little things he saw, such as a squirrel darting back and forth trying to decide if it was going to cross the street or not, made him laugh. He thought that one of the best things that he had done was determining that he was in charge of his attitude. As such, he would not allow others to control his emotions. That mental thought process was positive, and it was changing his life for the better. He even thanked God for the great sleep he had gotten and was determined that this was going to be his day. He had slept well, he didn’t have any of those horrible dreams, and he was refreshed, healthy, and happy.

Once at school his happy mood was dampened by what he saw as he rounded a corner in the hall. It was a group of children standing there, waiting for him. They had gathered by his locker, so he knew they were there for him, and he was sure that it would not be to tell him they were sorry for how they had treated him. As he approached, they began to taunt him, and he noticed the girl in the background. He had to do a double take, because he never actually had seen her in real life; he had seen her only in his dreams. Had she always been at the school and he just subconsciously had drafted her into his dreams? He determined that before the day was over he would make it a point to speak with her.

He couldn’t believe that it was his girl—the girl who had been in his dreams—but it was definitely her. He noticed that she stood against her locker, hugging her books and watching in horror at what the children were now starting to do to him. He wondered how come he had never noticed her before. The way she seemed to stand there at her locker and stare but not move made him wonder if somehow she had his ability, and it also allowed her to see what he was now seeing. That had to be why she seemed to just stare at everyone with a trancelike gaze. He was now more determined than ever to speak with her as soon as he could get away from these terrible students who now mocked him.

The bodily transformation of those who taunted him came quickly for some and slower for others. The taunting continued, and it was like something deep inside the person would emerge—not a monster but a human, a twin being (only this twin was very distorted and evil in appearance). It didn’t seem to matter how one of them looked on the outside; as their inner images emerged, they all looked repulsive.

Whatever the horrific changes were, there seemed to be a similarity in the transformation. The skin on the emerging figures was wrinkled, damaged, and hanging limply on their bones, and they looked like something out of a science-fictional movie and not human. Most of their lips were almost nonexistent, and their teeth were filled with rot and decay. Their hair was sporadic and in small clumps on different parts of their bodies. As the transformation continued to take place, their clothes mingled with their flesh until James could see the decaying flesh literally absorb the clothes. The image was horrifying. Now not only were they vile-looking, but they were also naked, and it wasn’t a pretty naked either. No sexual features were visible on their distorted bodies; the rotting mangled flesh mostly concealed those features. It was as if any good in them disappeared and was replaced with hideous rot of both a physical and spiritual nature.

From the change in their behavior it was obvious that the being within took total control of the outward person. In some children the battle for the inner being to emerge to the surface was rapid. In others the battle itself was as frightening as the result of the inner thing taking them over. The worst part of it, however, was the stench of putrefied flesh. It assaulted the senses to such a degree that regurgitation was the natural response. The problem, however, was that he was unable to throw up. He wanted to, but it was like the bile of his stomach would creep up his throat and pool in his mouth but not go out. For some reason he could not open his mouth. The mixture of food and stomach acids burned his mouth and throat, and as the pressure grew it slowly dripped from his nose with an agonizing burning pain. Then just when he felt like he would suffocate if he couldn’t relieve himself of the foul, burning, smelly bile that was building up, the entire process would reverse itself and the pressure would ease, but the aftertaste lingered. As the children continued to taunt him, the cycle continued, and the pressurized bile would once again build up in his mouth and seep from his nose. When it reversed he would catch his breath and try to scream, but to his dismay he was not able to open his mouth or make a sound. As he attempted with all of his might to open his mouth and cry out for help, the bile once again made its way back into his mouth and ooze out his nose. It was an agonizing cycle that had him on the verge of losing consciousness.

He kept trying to look past the taunting children to the girl. What was it about her? Was she somehow able to see the transformations that were taking place, which showed the children going from innocent in appearance to horrible monsters? The more the children ridiculed him, the harder she seemed to hug her books. She did not change her position. It was as if she was frozen in fear, as he was frozen, and unable to move or cry out. Her physical appearance always stayed the same. She looked like she wanted to run, but she couldn’t because she was frozen in place. She stayed in that one position pressed up against her locker, just like he had seen her in some of his previous dreams. But this time was different. This wasn’t a dream; this was real. Had his earlier dreams somehow allowed him to see into events that would take place in the future? He was confused, in pain from the bile, and fearing for his life.

The children now had become violent. The beings within each of them now took total control of their hosts, and they started to strike at him. As blows began to land on him, he cried out in pain. At least he was now relieved of the horrible buildup of bile and was able to scream. As he screamed, the bile flew from his mouth and hit many of his attackers, but it did not faze them. They continued their assault, and he, now relieved of the bile, was able to cry out at the top of his lungs. He felt relief, even during the pummeling, now that he was able to breathe and scream, but his screams were ineffective in summoning any help.

Then, in a moment of absolute fear, he noticed that one student pulled out a knife and started for him. He tried with all his might to evade the attacker, but he could not move. He was like the girl, frozen in place, and he realized that his commitment to having a good attitude in all situations was not going to help him out of this predicament. He knew that he would be sore and bruised by the hits he was taking, but he also knew that if the attacker landed a blow with the knife he would die right there in the halls of his school.

Just as the attacker was about to strike him, the girl—his special girl, the one frozen by her locker hugging her books—cried out. She screamed out for the attacker to stop. Everyone froze; every evil, wicked child now turned and faced the girl. She said to them, No more. You have gone too far. That was all she said. Then she walked toward him. As she approached, he reached for her, but she extended her arm and put up her hand in the stop position. She said, I can help you, but not yet. He watched as she walked by, and as she passed him she faded away into thin air and was gone.

He fearfully turned around, expecting the onslaught to continue, but what he saw next was totally unbelievable. Right there in the center of the hallway, between the rows of lockers, all of the children were coming together. They weren’t coming together by holding hands and singing Kumbaya. This was totally different, unlike anything that he could imagine in one of his wildest dreams. It was as if there was one central purpose that now unified the children. It was so powerful that he could almost feel its power. The children were discussing the girl and what they could do about her and how to deal with her. He could not hear them say anything; it was more like he could feel and sense what they were discussing. What he was experiencing was very frightening. He was sure that their objective had switched from him to the girl.

One by one the children melted into one another, becoming a single unified mass of grotesque flesh. Before his very eyes he saw the combined mass of deformed beings begin to rot away. He tried not to watch, but he was unable to close his eyes. He tried to move, but his feet were solidly planted. It was as if he were stuck in concrete. He was unable to close his eyes to shut out the horrible sight. The previous transformations were bad enough, but this was much worse. As the bodies intertwined, they began to gyrate in multiple directions. He was unable to move any part of his body, including his arms and hands. Again the onslaught of vile odors assaulted him, and he wanted to pinch his nose to try to prevent that putrefying odor from violating his senses. The smell was the worst part, and once again he began to regurgitate.

He rocked, heaved, and began shaking. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. All he could do was shake violently, and he felt his skin become wet, as if drops of blood were splashing on him. Then he saw it, as well as felt it. On his cheeks were drops of moisture, and he knew the reason for his frantic shaking. It’s over. I’m all right. He could hear now, as well as see, the reason for his recent experience. As he continued to shake, his mother’s tears continued to drip onto his face. She continued to shake him out of his dream, and he could see the concern, fear, and love in her eyes. It would be all right now. He was safe, and his mom was with him. Since he had fallen asleep during the night and he wasn’t at school yet but at home in his bed, he would be rested. He could make it for a night or two without sleep by using caffeine pills and energy drinks. That, at least, would give him a break from his horrible dreams.

2

THE HOOKS

T WO HOURS SOUTH OF Red Bank, South Carolina, not far from the coast of the Atlantic Ocean, in a rocking chair on a dock that extended into a deep-water brackish creek, which flowed into the Ashepoo River and from there into the intercostal waterway that eventually serpentined its way to the great Atlantic Ocean sat Matty Hooks. This dock had not been there when she and her family had lived here together, but her little Kenny had worked his influence and made a deal with the state of South Carolina, and here she now sat at one of her favorite places in the world. Matty often would walk down to the tidal creek, and her three cats would follow her. Those cats following in line behind her as she walked were a humorous sight if one was fortunate enough to observe it. Matty looked like a mother hen with her three little chicks following her. The cats had their own pecking order and stayed in line until Matty would turn and tell them to go and explore. The cats would then act like they understood her comment and break off to go about their antics. As she sat there rocking and watching the grasses yield to the outgoing tide and the once-covered mud, things seemed to spring to life. She laughed at the various exploits of her cats, and she especially enjoyed watching as the cats caught fiddler crabs on the exposed mud of the receding creek. The newest cat had wandered in only a few days ago but joined right in with the rest of the cats and copied whatever they did. The new cat’s only problem was that, unlike the other two, it was continually getting pinched. Matty would hoot and howl as she watched the cat leap into the air, clawing at the dangling crab that was hanging on the edge of its mouth. As she watched the cats she reminisced about her husband, Marcus, and little boy, Ken.

When Ken was a boy, he had a dog that was so smart you would think that it had the brain of a human. The dog was just a stray, but it was one smart animal. Little Ken had taken his cane pole, gathered up some crickets and worms, and gone fishing one hot summer day. As he approached his little sheltered fishing hole, he saw a dog scavenging for dead fish, trash, and other edible things that the receding tide had left on the bank. As with most small boys, Ken tried to befriend the young dog. The dog was so wild that Ken couldn’t get close to him. Finally he tossed part of a peanut butter sandwich to the dog, and very apprehensively the dog approached the thing that he had seen the boy throw in his direction. The dog sniffed the morsel, snatched it up, and ran off. Little Ken was amused at the way the dog had gobbled the small piece of sandwich in one gulp and then scurried off, as if he had been kicked.

The dog turned around and continued to watch the boy, but little Ken had eaten the rest of the sandwich, and the dog understood that there would be no more treats for him. The dog started to bounce around and became a ball of energy. The dog ran toward Ken, ran off, and then turned around again, facing him with its front legs down, its rear end up in the air, and its tail wagging. Ken tried hard all afternoon to get the dog to come to him, but he could never manage to get closer than a few feet. Little Ken finally gave up trying to pet the dog and resumed what he had come to do: fish. When Ken stopped fishing and headed home, the dog, at a safe distance, followed him. Ken tried every trick he knew, but the dog would not let anyone touch him. The dog stayed around, and Ken adopted it and worked with it, teaching it to listen and follow him, but he still could never touch it. Ken could tell that dog to go, come, sit, jump, or lie down, and the dog would listen to him, but the dog would never allow Ken or anyone else to get closer than a few feet to it. Ken ended up naming the old dog Mutt, because his father always told him that the old mutt would never amount to anything worth keeping.

One mid-September morning, a hurricane was predicted to hit that evening in the part of South Carolina where they lived. There was a mandatory evacuation, and everyone had to leave the coastal areas between Charleston and Beaufort. Ken, his dad, and his mother had loaded the back of the old pickup truck with some precious belongings, clothes, and food and were heading to Mr. Hooks’ brother’s house in Walterboro. After things were tied down so they wouldn’t blow out of the truck bed, the three of them—Marcus, Little Ken, and Matty—crowded into the front of the old truck. Walterboro wasn’t really a safe distance from the storm, but it was far enough away to avoid any storm surge damage that might occur. Mr. Hooks hollered for Mutt to come, but the dog just stood by the side of an old shed and watched them. Mr. Hooks got back in the truck and said he guessed the dog would be all right. He was sure that it knew how to find shelter if the storm got too bad. Little Ken was afraid to say anything to his dad. His dad was a hard man, and he had taught little Ken better than to show weakness or be emotional. He had to be hard to get by in the world of the whites and not show his true emotions. One of the first steps when learning to be hard was not showing anybody that losing something you cared about would mean anything to you.

His mother, however, was more concerned with her little Ken and his feelings than she was with the lessons her husband was teaching the boy. Matty knew her little Ken, and even though his dad couldn’t see it, she saw the hurt and concern in his eyes. He feared for the dog’s safety. She said in her soft but firm tone, Marcus Abraham, let’s stop this truck and let Ken see if the dog will come to him. Her husband understood that as You listen up and do as I say.

That was all it took for Mr. Hooks to stop the truck. His first clue that there was more to the statement than he initially realized was the fact that Matty had called him Marcus Abraham. She never used his full name unless she was serious, and when she used it he knew that it was a command and not a request. He knew if he didn’t stop he would receive a lot of grief over the next several days. Most of the grief would be subtle in nature. He could think of nothing worse than to be stuck in this crowded old truck or his brother’s small house with Matty in one of her you-didn’t-handle-that-right-and-now-you-are-going-to-pay moods.

Mr. Hooks stopped the truck, looked down at his little boy, and told him to give it a try. Go ahead and see if you can get the dog to come to you. The smile that Mr. Hooks saw on little Ken told him that Matty had been right, and he had to smile to himself. He was proud of the boy. The boy had sat there stoically, not showing his true feelings. Marcus had been fooled, but Matty, the ever-loving and caring mother, had seen right through the boy’s facade. Little Ken ran to the shed, calling for Mutt to come to him. There was a standoff once again. The dog would allow Ken to get within only a few feet of him and then run and bounce back out of the way. It was as if there was an invisible force field between Ken and the dog. Every time Ken moved in any direction that field would either push the dog away from him or draw the dog to him, but the field never collapsed enough to allow the boy to grab the dog. Mr. Hooks finally shouted at Ken to come on, that the dog would just have to fend for itself. He wanted to get to Walterboro before it got dark and the rain started up again. He didn’t want the items in the bed of the truck to get any wetter than they were, and he especially didn’t want to drive in the dark in a blowing rain.

Ken sat down and with tears in his eyes began to talk to Mutt like the dog was his brother and not just some old mutt that his father said would never amount to much. Mutt, do you know what is about to happen? There is a real bad storm a comin’, a storm dats so bad dat this old shed you be a hidin’ in might just be blown to bits. If that happens, when I come back to get ya, I might not find ya, or I might find out ya been blown to bits with the shed. Ken cried as he spoke to the dog.

Matty was standing at the truck and couldn’t hear what the boy was saying, but she could tell by the way the dog was now standing straight and tilting its head from side to side that it understood the boy. When Matty saw that her husband was about to again call for the boy to get back to the truck, she simply held up her hand to him, and he hushed and stood there, watching without saying a word.

Marcus knew he was a hard man, but he loved his boy and his wife. He was glad that Matty was sensitive, and he also was a bit afraid of her and her strange powers. He knew that the mix of the African witch doctor and voodoo magic that she practiced was real and that if she wanted to she could control him or worse. However, that wasn’t a real fear of his since he knew Matty was a good woman and would never harm anyone, especially him, but he still respected her and her strange abilities. She had pretty much given up practicing the activities of their earlier married days, but he had seen how she had worked her magic in those early days. He would never forget it. She was a powerful priestess of her strange mix of witch doctor and voodoo practices but had decided after little Ken was born to strive to work her magic only for good. When she made her decision to back off of curses and strive to do only good, some tense times ensued. He saw spirits materialize out of thin air and heard voices in the wind in strange and eerie tongues. Doors would slam, and dishes and books would fly off shelves. The demonic spirit she historically channeled was the one that her mother and grandmother also had channeled. The spirit was attached to Matty, and she also had been addicted to the powerful feelings she experienced when the spirit entered her.

She knew there was a thin line, and she could tell that the more she channeled the spirit, the more she came close to total submission to it. She found that just trying to use her powers for good after so many years of yielding to the satanic prompts of the demon spirit was a near-impossible task. She had determined that she would never channel that particular demon again, and that was what had caused all of the frightening experiences that Marcus had witnessed. If Matty had not been so powerful and well trained, she would never have been able to resist and eventually break away from the spirit’s hold on her.

It was during the time that Matty was conjuring up and calling on new demons to channel—demons she could use to satisfy both her physical desires and her spiritual needs—that Marcus noticed just how dangerous being involved in that realm was to a person. Matty learned the hard way that attempting to disassociate from the demon her family had historically channeled was no easy task; in fact, it was dangerous, but over time she succeeded and was able to claim victory. The new demons she would conjure up were easier to control since she had no familiarity with them, and they were not familiar with her. She could use her magic to control and manipulate them for her causes, and she would never again build up a relationship of familiarity with a particular demon. Matty had shared with Marcus that it was when the demon and its host were familiar with each other and acted in a more united manner that a person could get in serious trouble.

Any person who was untrained in the arts could conjure up a demon. Demons were always open and looking for ways to influence the world, so even when kids played around with the dark side of the spirit world they often did not realize the danger they could be facing. If people were not experienced in the arts, they often would be instantly possessed, and the demon would be able to control their actions and thoughts. However, with a talented priestess like Matty, it could take a demon years to rule the person. Marcus had talked to her about giving up the spiritual channeling altogether, but she helped him to realize that it was worse than being addicted to any drug. She tried to explain the feeling to him, but she never could really put it into words. It was almost like an adrenaline rush, but on a spiritual level and not a chemical one. When she was channeling, she was on the edge of losing control all the time, yet she was able to remain in control. She said that it might be like being a race car driver going two hundred miles per hour in heavy traffic, dodging in and out of cars, knowing that at any second there could be a deadly crash, yet somehow having just enough control to avoid that crash. She knew that saying it was exciting, yet she was usually just sitting there in a trancelike state. It didn’t make sense to Marcus, but it was as if there was an inner battle taking place the entire time. Never knowing for sure if she could stay in control gave her the on the edge of losing control feeling, and it was addictive.

It was called voodoo because that was simple and that was what the white folks called it. But it was really a mixture of old African witch doctor practices combined with some old black slave practices and Indian religious practices from the Caribbean, with some rituals from those same Caribbean and African voodoo beliefs thrown into the mix. Over the years this strange mix morphed into a unique to the southeastern United States. The witchcraft died out over the years as Christianity took a more important role in the lives of the people, but the spirit world aspect of the old practices never seemed to go away. Marcus had seen a special on television about how witchcraft, voodoo, and other religious practices were still taking place in Benin, West Africa, and many other African countries. The special documented people turning into animals and all types of crazy happenings. It was so totally off the wall that he thought of the show as more of a science-fictional program instead of a documentary. The documentary claimed to show black magic taking place, but Marcus could not accept it, knowing the truth about Matty. He never allowed himself to believe it. He was sure that it was trick photography. Matty’s particular religion probably was not practiced anywhere other than in their little corner of South Carolina. As far as he knew, this voodoo (or whatever it was) had lost popularity with the slaves themselves during the slave trade near Charleston, and very few people continued the practice. People of all races feared those who knew how to wield the powerful spells, and Matty came from a line of females who passed down the knowledge of the practice to each generation, ending with her. He knew from experience that her practices were powerful.

She had already developed a dependency on it, knowing she could never totally leave it. She would take the practice to her grave. She didn’t have a daughter, and she certainly wasn’t going to teach any of the ways to her little Ken. The chain had to be broken somewhere, and she figured that it might as well be her who ended the practice in her family.

Somewhere, deep inside, Matty knew that there was a better way, but she also knew that there was not a way to escape the practice that she had learned from her mother. All she could hope to do was resist the channeling and conjuring of spirits until the urge was so strong that if she didn’t delve back into the spirit world she would not be able to function properly in her daily life. She was the one who was cursed, and she knew it.

Little Ken stood and said, Mutt, this is it! My dad a call me, and I has to go. I be axing you one last time to come with me. You be the best friend I gots, and I’s hates to lose you since if you a stays here, you may not make it through da storm. I’s treated you good over da last few months, and I’s never hurt you. I’s don’t want to lose you, so you come with us, please.

With that, Mutt crept over to Ken with his tail between his legs. As Ken reached down to pet the dog, Marcus said, Well, I’ll be dang, who’da have ever thought such a thing?

With tears in her eyes, Matty watched little Ken petting the dog that was now bouncing around and wagging its tail. As Ken picked up Mutt and headed for the truck, Matty looked over at her husband and saw what looked like moisture in his eyes. For some reason that Matty could not explain, nobody said anything. Little Ken, still holding Mutt, climbed into the front seat, as did his parents, and they drove away in silence. That day was the day that a dog, by the name of Mutt, officially became a member of the Hooks family.

As Matty sat there at the water’s edge, she continued to watch her cats and thought about how proud she was of little Ken. He had grown up to be a fine young man. He had a big heart for what he referred to as his people and wanted to see them taken care of. He had purchased a new car for Matty and bought a home for her in Charleston, but she just couldn’t get used to that area. It was too busy, noisy, and crowded for her. Oh, things were convenient like Ken had said they would be—she could walk to the store or anywhere she wanted to go—but the city life just wasn’t for her. After trying it for a while, she told Ken that she wanted to go back to the old house. So they sold the new house at a profit and used part of the money to do some internal upgrades at the old house.

Matty couldn’t believe that her little boy had grown up to be such a well educated, successful, and hardworking young man. She really never doubted his ability, but as he was growing up she feared that he loved his dad so much that he would just hang around the area and help his dad be a handyman, picking up odd jobs wherever they could find them. That husband of hers had been the hardest-working man she had ever known, and he instilled that independent work ethic in the boy. Her husband never made much money, and people often took advantage of his lack of education, but he never held a grudge or had a bitter bone in his body. He performed every task with the same degree of dedication and quality for both people who treated him well and those who didn’t.

He never allowed little Ken to have idle time or waste time hanging around his young friends who just wanted to drink or smoke pot. He told Ken that those boys and their parents had been ruined by the government and all of its giveaway programs, and if they didn’t change they would just keep passing down the attitude of dependence from one generation to another. You just wait, he would tell him. It won’t be long before the government is paying people not to work just so the politicians can get their vote. I want you to love those friends of yours, and any of them are always welcome to come to the house or go on jobs with us and earn some honest money, but you make sure that they understand that if they come to this house, they’s a gonna be working on something, and they’s gonna be respectful.

Ken grew up knowing what it meant to work and earn a living. It felt good to be independent, earn money, and not depend on some government program to survive. As he grew older, he understood the value of hard work, and he became somewhat of an evangelist, sharing his views about how hard work and personal efforts were the way to get out of the flats. (The flats were the marshland brackish river communities where they lived.) His friends and their parents eventually ostracized him for his views, and as he got older, even with people criticizing him, he knew he was right, and he was able to see the wisdom in what his dad had taught him.

Big developers had bought large tracts of land along the rivers, similar to where he lived, and people like his family got rich, at least according to their old standard of living, by selling their land and moving out. In other areas where the development came in next to poor communities, entire communities lost land that had been in the family for over a hundred years due to the fact that they could no longer afford the taxes to keep their property. As the land around them developed, their property value escalated, and with the increased land value the taxes also went up. There was no regard for the fact that these families had owned this same land for generations or the fact that many of them lived on a fixed income or social security.

Ken felt developers initially didn’t offer to buy some of the poor homeowners’ land because they knew their development would raise the taxes on that adjoining land and the people would not be able to afford to stay there. Those developers figured they would be able to buy the land for back taxes on the courthouse steps or at reduced prices once people figured out they could no longer afford the land. They would either get a little money for it now or end up losing the land and getting nothing. It was a sad truth, and that was exactly what happened. It happened so many times that it broke Ken’s heart to think about it. Land that had been in people’s families for generations—land that at one time nobody wanted because of the mosquitoes and inability to use it to grow anything more than a small garden—now had become the most valuable asset in all of South Carolina. Ken felt sure the problem was happening all over the country wherever there were ocean-side or marsh-side developments under way. It wasn’t right, and Ken tried his best to help the displaced families, which eventually became his career path and morphed into one of his several businesses.

Even with all of the development taking place, Ken felt comforted knowing the area in which he grew up had become a protected sanctuary, due in part to the efforts of some good-hearted influential individuals. These sympathetic individuals didn’t want to displace the few residents who had owned their small tracts of land for generations. For this reason his mother was able to continue to live in her house. The land surrounding the sanctuary now escalated in value, but the few existing home- and landowners like Matty didn’t suffer tax increases from their land value escalating. Not only could the land not be sold, but also there was nothing that could be done with the land or buildings on her property, including improvements or transferring of ownership. The government did not exercise public domain rights either since the houses were so few and far apart; there was no benefit in having them removed. As long as they kept the property in the family name, with the current owner, they could