Spirit of Mania: Meant for Evil, Turned for Good A Novel

By J.V. Sithole

A young professional in New York City, Sam feels chosen for greatness and aspires to become a top marketing executive. Yet through his adventures in the city, he discovers real enemies animated by intelligent evil.

After a bizarre experience with his girlfriend, Delia, and her dance troupe, Sam’s world comes crashing down in a spiritual emergency. He lands in a psychiatric facility, where he receives a diagnosis of bipolar disorder during an involuntary hold. Once released, he quickly learns that the spiritual realm and his mind are inextricably intertwined. Sam finds himself called on to wrestle spiritual forces of darkness. Can he fulfill his greater purpose and destiny with the help of divine providence? If so, what price will he pay?

Inspired by the story of Samson, this novel follows a young man facing a spiritual crisis who must fight for redemption in a dark and unjust world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Jul 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798385000630

J.V. Sithole

J. V. SITHOLE wants nothing more than to hear his Creator say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” He has served many different groups of people, from college students in dorms to people experiencing homelessness in Guatemala. His experience with suffering has led him to serve in many leadership roles at various nonprofit organizations. He and his wife live on the US West Coast.

Book preview

Copyright © 2023 J.V. Sithole.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

844-714-3454

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 Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

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

ISBN: 979-8-3850-0064-7 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-3850-0065-4 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-3850-0063-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023911219

WestBow Press rev. date: 07/24/2023

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 Young, Wild, and Free

Chapter 2 Between Delusion and Reality

Chapter 3 A Beauty to Date

Chapter 4 The Queen of Clubs

Chapter 5 Insects and Monsters

Chapter 6 Another Day, Another Dollar

Chapter 7 Dance with the Dead

Chapter 8 Fresh Air

Chapter 9 A Fresh Start

Chapter 10 Living the Dream

Chapter 11 New Level, New Devils

Chapter 12 Suit Up

Chapter 13 The Dark Hour

Chapter 14 Superior Power

Chapter 15 A Dark and Dangerous Goodbye

Chapter 16 Death Brings Life

Chapter 17 This Is How We Fight Our Battles

Chapter 18 These Streets

To Yahweh, his son Yeshua, and the gracious Spirit of Truth, Thank you for saving my life and giving me the inspiration to write.  To my beautiful wife Yaa; you encouraged me, providing feedback and prayers - Thank you.  So many family and friends to thank.  Without my tribe this would not have been possible.  You all are appreciated. 

CHAPTER 1

SpiritMania_title%20pg.JPG

Young, Wild, and Free

What the …?

Sam jumped up in alarm. His heart pounded as, once again, he felt a shudder on his right outer thigh. Logic reasoned it was his phone vibrating in his jeans pocket, but it felt … different. After the terrible night he had endured, with barely any sleep, he figured he might just be a little on edge. He rubbed his eyes and looked for somewhere to sit.

It happened again. Bewildered, he glanced down at where he felt the sensation. His blue jeans appeared to be vibrating even though he was standing dead still. He plunged his hand into his jeans pocket—no phone. Just an empty pocket. Where is my phone? he wondered. His eyes grew as wide as dinner plates as he watched his pants literally quivering.

Panicked, he looked around to get his bearings. The sign overhead read Terminal 3, JFK Airport. The vibrations quickened and then began to spread. He yelped as the sensation crawled up his body—from his thigh to his hips, to his stomach, up and around his torso. It crept rapidly—spreading, covering, engulfing—until it finally came to rest on his chest. His body was now dripping with perspiration, and confusion quickly gave way to terror. Is my mind playing tricks on me?

Nothing was visible on his clothes, yet they trembled. The vibrations were as real as the terminal around him, but it was more than just vibrations; it was deep darkness. He realized why he was so unnerved—he couldn’t shake the sense of some evil energy inhabiting his shirt. Occupied with this thought, he felt an ethereal darkness slowly enshroud his entire body.

Horrified, he tore off his shirt and flung it to the floor. Abandoning his luggage, he dashed toward the airport terminal doors. He sprinted until he burst through the glass doors and into the parking lot, where a redheaded woman staggered sideways, hastily trying to get out of his path. She stared at him in surprise and confusion. Clearly, this was a no-shirt, no-service kind of establishment.

Panting, he paused for a moment in the frigid New York air, checking to see if the sinister energy had remained behind with his shirt. He heaved a sigh of relief when he felt no vibrations, but his heart was still racing. Unsure of exactly what was happening and scared out of his mind, he waited in the freezing cold while he tried to catch his breath. Then it was back. Both legs began vibrating with a dark, dreadful energy.

Stop, drop, and roll is only for fires, he thought frantically. He had learned the slogan and technique as a child in school, and it was the first thing that came to mind. Rolling won’t help because it’s on the clothes! his mind screamed. Whatever was on his remaining clothes was so utterly terrifying that, in a moment of bold desperation, he did the only remaining rational thing he could do—he ran for his life.

Buck naked.

He ripped off his shoes, then his jeans, and then his boxers, and he ran through the parking lot, past an elderly lady who hurried between two parked cars and began dialing what he suspected was 9-1-1. He laughed at her irrational fear of him, and in a moment of pure euphoria, he suddenly didn’t care. He was young, he was wild, and he was free of that spine-chilling energy that saturated his clothes.

His long, black dreadlocks whipped in the wind as he sprinted, the crisp air filling him with positive vibes. Suddenly, he envisioned before him a giant cross that beamed with brilliant, guiding rays, so bright that they appeared tangible in the air. As he ran toward the glorious light, he found it was always before him but somehow just out of his reach. Though he could never fully grasp its brilliance, something told him that, as long as he kept moving toward the cross, he would be alive and free. He knew intuitively that if he stopped running, his downfall would surely follow, so with his eye on the prize, he sprinted even faster, never once looking back. He ran and ran and ran, knowing without a shadow of doubt that he could do literally anything.

Why not run all the way to Santa Cruz? he thought. He knew the California city’s name meant holy cross in Spanish, so maybe this was a sign. Besides, college kids run around naked all the time over there. I would fit right in.

The feeling of invincibility turbocharged him. He ran out of the airport parking lot and into the streets, where he dodged honking cars and shouting pedestrians. He ran past restaurants full of wide-eyed patrons and stores with baffled shoppers. He ran and ran and ran until a car with flashing red and blue lights swerved in front of him, making him skid to a stop.

Freeze! the officer barked.

"Guess I won’t make it all the way to Santa Cruz after all," he chuckled to himself.

He didn’t know whether to put his hands up or use them to cover his manhood. For a split second he considered resuming his New York–to-California marathon, but it was too late. He had already been tackled and handcuffed.

SpiritMania_title%20pg.JPG

Dr. Magos peered at him intently through his thin, wire-rimmed spectacles, his pen resting on his mustache. What did you think when you were arrested, Sam?

I don’t know, he said with a shrug. Sam shifted on the couch. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exceptionally comfortable either. It all happened so fast. Honestly, I kind of thought wrestling me to the ground was a bit unnecessary. I wasn’t trying to hurt anybody. I clearly was unarmed, and I didn’t resist arrest. But yeah, it could have ended up a lot worse. I believe I did think about how I was likely going to be in big trouble and end up in prison with a record, or worse.

Dr. Magos nodded thoughtfully. So at that point you became somewhat aware of the full gravity of your circumstance?

I guess.

What happened next?

He breathed in deeply and exhaled. The cops were eventually sympathetic, given the situation. When I told them why I was running naked, I think they could tell that I was more scared than anything and needed help. They seemed to relax after I was handcuffed and in the back of the squad car. They went back to the airport and fetched my suitcase so I could put on different clothes. Then they took me to the psychiatric facility, where I was admitted on an involuntary hold for two weeks.

He shifted in his seat. The office couch was now giving him a bit of a backache. Maybe it’s the meds, he reasoned. He could tell Dr. Magos had been intentional about making the setting conducive to sharing, but the couch’s comfort was clearly an afterthought. The freshly vacuumed carpet created a sort of neat visual illusion, complemented by everything in the office having its own specific place, down to the pens in the holder. Grand paintings loomed over the room, reaching to the top of the tall ceilings of two of the office walls; the one that mesmerized Sam was of Central Park—a place he would often visit in order to get away from the bustle of New York City. He found the painting soothing and peaceful, yet talking about his trip to the psych ward was still traumatic.

He pondered his airport shenanigans as Dr. Magos took notes. He was an unemotional man yet had a way of making Sam feel okay, even in the midst of dread. He had to admit he felt a bit foolish. How could I have run around naked in the streets? What exactly was I thinking? He was quietly thankful that nobody had been hurt and he hadn’t ended up in jail.

Dr. Magos looked up. Right, he said. That brings us to today. Was there anything stressful prior to the airport incident? You mentioned that you had not slept?

He had indeed not slept before the incident, which was out of character for him. He normally didn’t have much trouble sleeping, but now he was almost sleeping too much after the medication the hospital staff had injected during his stay.

Yes, I didn’t sleep well the night before I went to the airport, he explained. I don’t know if I would call it stress or if I would call what happened that night just straight bizarre.

Dr. Magos frowned.

You see, I am dating a girl who is part of a dance troupe, and she and her friends wanted to show me their dance moves. But I got weirded out. When we arrived at the dance studio, my lady friend started acting very strangely. She said one of her other friends—the leader of the troupe—was ‘in control.’ Other dancers started arriving, and eventually her entire dance troupe was there.

The therapist’s green eyes felt as though they were gazing into his soul, searching for something—studying him almost. A thin smile cracked across his lips as he offered a slight nod, encouraging Sam to continue.

Sam cleared his throat. "They started the dance with some spooky-sounding music, then they began to grunt and huff and chant. Next, they performed some dance moves that were frankly disturbing, and so at some point I stopped looking directly at the dancers. But I was still watching out of the corner of my eye, and that’s when it happened. They started floating! I mean it looked like they literally defied gravity as they danced."

Interesting, Dr. Magos replied as he scrawled some notes onto his pad. Do you think it was a hallucination?

I don’t know. He looked at the carpet. Honestly, I feel odd admitting it, but I think it was some sort of magic. Which I know sounds insane and up until last weekend, I didn’t really believe in magic. But I know what I saw, and I’m not really sure what to believe now.

Dr. Aubrey Magos wore a slightly puzzled expression but appeared to be intellectually unmoved. He was a tall, thin man with neatly combed hair and a close-cropped graying beard. He sat with one leg draped over the other, and when he wasn’t talking he had a generally grave demeanor. He took a few brief notes on his pad before looking up and giving another slight nod, signaling for Sam to continue.

They wanted me to join them in the dance and ‘worship the gods,’ but it was too weird for me. I got the feeling they are into some wild stuff.

He shifted in his seat. The dance was more than wild; it was spiritually dark, he admitted to himself. He was raised in a Christian home, and he trusted and believed in Jesus Christ. He reflected on the night, remembering the walk to the studio and having no idea what he was in for. He remembered that he had decided to skip church that weekend to visit with Delia and her dance troupe.

He thought back to a time in his life when he would never have missed church, but lately, work and friends seemed to have taken priority. That week was no different; he had decided to skip church for something he found far more interesting. She had long, beautiful, black hair; almond eyes; and an infectious cherry-lipped laugh, and her name was Delia. Missing church did feel like a compromise of his values, though. He liked to think of himself as a committed follower of Jesus, so he had quickly rationalized his absence: Nobody can be in church every week.

What did you do after the dance was over? Dr. Magos asked, interrupting his daydream.

He swung his head back to the therapist. I said I had to leave, and I went home. It was a bit much for me. And I was scheduled to fly out to California to see my parents the next day, so I packed my bag and went to the airport.

I see. Anything out of the ordinary happen on the way to JFK?

Sam knew he had to tell him about Wendell. He bit his lip and continued. After the dance, I did feel a bit strange. I stopped to grab some fast food, then I met a homeless man on the corner who asked me for some spare change. For some reason I felt a deep compassion for this guy. His name was Wendell, and he said he was a disabled veteran. I went to the bank and gave him all the cash in my account.

"All the cash? Magos asked, raising an eyebrow. How much did you give him?"

Around seven grand. I felt like Wendell needed it more than me.

Dr. Magos paused before he spoke. "How are you going to support yourself?

I have a paycheck coming in soon. Aside from that, I’ll have to continue working, I guess.

I see. The therapist looked down and scrawled a few more notes. Then he set the pad and pen on the side table and looked him squarely in the eye.

"Sam, do you want the good