EIGHT

I PULLED THE WHITE SHEERS BACK, then slapped a hand over my mouth. A pair of muddy bare feet were pressed against the glass, climbing the windowed door. They looked human—female—Caucasian and petite. But how could any human, man or woman, climb the side of a building?

They couldn’t. This had to be demonic.

I ran downstairs and outside into the afternoon drizzle, then stood in the damp grass, facing the balcony and scanning the brick exterior of my room, including the space above—a storage room, I’d been told. I didn’t see anything, and as best as I could tell from ground level, there was nothing looming on the roof. But there were whispers that sounded like they were coming from up there—whispers just like the ones in my nightmare, come to think of it.

I looked behind and above me, searching the air, but all was clear.

“Lord, what is this?”

The voices got louder, but I still couldn’t make out what they were saying.

I stayed outside until my clothes were soaked and I was chilled—a response to the frigid presence of evil, not the summer rain. I ventured back inside, content to dismiss the unnerving whispers for now.

Why would the church building suddenly draw this kind of paranormal disturbance? The only reasonable answer was me. It’s not like the satanic kingdom was going to ignore a person marked by Heaven as a defender.

I traveled the narrow hallway toward my room, wishing I could go see my friend Betty, the closest thing I’d ever had to a grandparent. I needed her advice and, I admit it, one of her reassuring hugs. Unfortunately, her grandmother Dorothy’s health was in a steady decline, and some weeks ago, Betty had driven her to Louisiana, where they were spending time with family—for as long as Dorothy had left, I imagined. So, this wasn’t exactly the best time to bother Betty, even when, for example, a whispering Creeper disguised as a woman had climbed up my balcony door.

Then again, she of all people might have some advice for me.

I called her, and the sound of her hello instantly eased the tension in my shoulders. I asked her how she was doing, and Dorothy too, resisting the habit of making our whole conversation about me and my always-urgent dilemmas. But after she explained that Dorothy was living out her final days pain-free and at peace, Betty invited me to confide in her.

I told her everything that had gone down in the last two days. All of it, including the weirdness outside my window minutes ago. “What do you think is happening?” I asked her.

She reminded me of the significance of my life calling and that I was bound to meet fierce resistance. Then she encouraged me, “Stay focused on Scripture, especially the red-letter text.”

Jesus’ words were printed in red in some Bible translations, I knew.

Maybe it was juvenile of me, but I didn’t want to hang up. Betty and her little old lady friends had majorly come to my rescue when I’d entangled myself with demonic deceivers. They’d supernaturally barricaded my apartment against intrusions from the Lord of the Dead himself—and even came back and redid it after I messed it up.

But maybe I needed to learn to stand on my own now. Wage war without a mother figure holding my hand, doing the work for me.

I thanked Betty for her time and reluctantly told her goodbye.

I changed into dry clothes and sat on the hard floor, leaning against my bed. I felt lonely in this room, somehow more so than when I lived alone in my apartment. And my spiritual ears were still picking up on those grating whispers. It sounded like they were drifting into my room from the storage room overhead, but instead of charging upstairs and inspecting things, I took Betty’s advice.

I opened my Bible to where I’d left off in the book of Mark, working to tune out the unnerving audio interference. As Betty suggested, I focused on the red-letter text.

As I read, it occurred to me that Jesus was kind and merciful and all, but what I liked the most was how he didn’t put up with religious elitists’ hypocrisy and garbage. And he cast devils out of people on a daily basis and told the guys who followed him to do it too.

I used to agonize over how to free people from Creepers, whether they were just bound to them or completely possessed, but I was fairly confident I understood now, based on how Jesus dealt with demoniacs—possessed people.

I finished the chapter, then closed my Bible and straight up asked, “God, give me a chance to try casting a Creeper out of someone.”

That got me thinking . . .

Why didn’t Ray Anne’s pastor, Gordon, ever do a sermon that exposed the tactics of our evil opponent? He only spoke of demons metaphorically, like, “Don’t let the demons of your past steal your joy today.” How about, “Don’t give demons open doors to infiltrate your mind and chain themselves to your soul so that your thoughts and words and impulses are dominated by evil and ruin your life, wounding the people closest to you in the process”?

While I had a decent amount of appreciation and respect for Gordon, I had yet to claim him as my pastor. Sure, I went to church here every Sunday now with Ray Anne, but it still felt like her church, not mine. The kind of church I envisioned didn’t seem to exist. I was hard-pressed to describe it, except to say, it would have been less regimented and formal—no stiff pews, for sure—and the pastor would teach about prayer and spiritual warfare and helping hurting people instead of spending half the sermon reminding us how badly we needed to pool our money together to pay for a bigger, more modern building—with a 3.5-million-dollar price tag. And if it were up to me, anyone battling demons could get them cast out if they wanted, on the spot.

Just thinking about it stirred the unwelcomed hostility that had been quickening my pulse off and on since the night before. The intermittent, high-pitched whispers weren’t helping.

But it wasn’t up to me how Pastor Gordon ran the church, and it’s not like I was going to start my own.

Pastor Owen Edmonds.

Ridiculous.

I may not have been the pastor type—and yeah, I’d also passed up the opportunity to go to med school and become a doctor—but I was as committed as ever to helping heal people. Treating invisible wounds of the soul. At least I wanted to. I had a lot more to learn.

I tried to take a nap before it was time to meet Ray in the woods at dusk, but it’s kind of impossible when devilish whispers are seeping through the walls. The more I prayed for them to shut up and go away, the more voices I heard. I didn’t like that at all.

Ray Anne and I hid behind the same wide cedar we had yesterday, spying on the Caldwell Cemetery in the setting sun, waiting to see if any Rulers showed up. The air became overpowered by every kind of rancid smell as a host of base-level Creepers converged on the scene. Ray and I braced ourselves, holding tight to one another.

I could have stayed that way forever.

Too bad she wasn’t ready to hold on to me forever. It still pained me that she’d turned down my marriage proposal, even if her reasons were fair.

I hadn’t seen him yet, but I knew which Ruler was coming by the weight of exhaustion that bore down on my body and soul.

“Spirit of Slumber,” Ray Anne uttered, “you have no authority over us.”

Done.

And here he came, stomping through the woods—my woods—as if he owned every square acre. The spectating Creepers stirred like MMA fans watching a prizefighter take the ring. There was no swirling earth or spirit-world portal this time. Instead Slumber loomed in front of the cemetery, ranting to the surrounding Creepers in a spirit-world language—scolding them, it seemed.

Either he didn’t realize Ray and I were there, or he was powerless to do anything about it. Still, she and I stayed hidden, content to steal quick glances.

I’d just squeezed her hand, assuring her I was by her side and all was okay, when a certain mental picture barged into my mind, vivid and detailed. I recognized it as the first pornographic image I’d ever come across as a kid while searching something random online—a picture that woke something in me that day. I’d vowed to Ray Anne never to look at that stuff. She had zero tolerance for porn, and, duh, I knew it was wrong—a pathetic portrayal of manhood and totally disrespectful to women. That’s someone’s daughter or wife or mom. But all of a sudden, right now, it was like I had to have it. Even a peek.

Here came a giant being—another Ruler—clawing its way out of the earth, then standing next to Slumber. Never, in my most outlandish imaginings, did I ever think something like this could exist.

It was too dark at night to see his facial features or garment color, but all that mattered were his eyes. They radiated dim light and were twice as big and elongated as any Creeper’s I’d seen. There was no pupil or misshapen iris or anything remotely typical about them. Instead, both eyeballs were, like, display screens, streaming pornographic images.

Ray Anne pressed her eyes shut and bent over like she might barf. As for me, I intended to look away but only wanted to stare. Desperately. And I felt drawn to the monster, like an overpowering suction was tugging on my arms and legs, coaxing me to walk to him and stand as close as I could. Get as close of a look as possible.

I wasn’t sure how long I could stand there, leaning away.

Ray Anne stood upright again and gazed at the tempter. She stayed that way, and I knew, innocent as she was, she was enduring her own battle.

I didn’t see Custos, but I sensed he was near, his peaceful presence clashing with the filth trying to invade my soul. I heard him whisper the Ruler’s name, his all-consuming assignment. I wish I could say I acted immediately, but it was an all-out fight. A vicious war between good and gross throwing punches inside me.

God must have given me strength, because finally, the words came tumbling out: “Spirit of Lust, you have no authority over us.”

The crushing temptation lifted, and there was instant relief, like soaking in a bathtub after having climbed out of a dumpster. At the same time, I was super agitated, enduring the misery that arose when something I really, really wanted was withheld. I’d seen base-level Creepers named Lust before, and even messed up and drawn them to me, but this Ruler had evoked something far stronger—an utterly depraved hunger that had snagged me in an instant, like fishhooks plunged into my soul.

Ray Anne faced away from me, hunching over again like she still might barf. I focused on breathing slow and steady.

The two Rulers—Slumber and Lust—spoke back and forth in English again. Their tone grew harsher and more aggressive as they accused each other of breaching one another’s territories, staking claim to various neighborhoods around Masonville. They mentioned certain streets, including the last names of specific households they both insisted they owned.

Slumber named a family, the Carters, and Lust raged, “I built the dwelling there!”

I had no idea what that meant.

It took Ray and me both off guard when Lust reared back and shoved Slumber, sending him sailing backwards, passing through trees like they were mere shadows. Slumber roared from somewhere in the distance, and Lust fled the scene, clawing down into the same patch of earth from where he’d emerged, as best as I could tell. The spectating Creepers began drifting away, and we knew then the ordeal was over—for now, anyway.

Seated behind me on my motorcycle, Ray Anne clung to my waist as I started the drive to her place, both of us fighting drowsiness—the natural kind, from needing sleep. While traveling the road that ran alongside Masonville High, mostly vacant at night, we spotted a remarkable radiance a short distance away. Ray tapped fast on my shoulder, signaling for me to gas it—both of us fully energized now.

I pulled off the road in front of Masonville High, and we could hardly jump off my bike fast enough.

We were just in time.

My girlfriend and I stood hand in hand at the curb, smiling as wide as we could. One armored Watchman after another came exploding out of a shimmering oval in the sky, sprinting to the ground at an astounding speed, then filing shoulder to shoulder across the empty Masonville High parking lot, facing the school building. They were as tall as the lot’s streetlamps, and the circular platinum-looking shields they held at their chests formed a perfectly straight row.

There wasn’t a Creeper in sight. They’d all hunkered down inside the school and underground, fleeing like defeated cowards.

There was a pause, then another armored platoon came charging down from the night sky, forming a second line in front of the first, only this group lowered to one knee. It was an archery battalion with bows and arrows strapped to each warrior’s back. I held my breath, knowing that any second they’d launch arrows into the school, aiming for Creepers’ unprotected heads and chests.

There had to be fifty Watchmen present by now—more than I’d ever seen gather at once.

As the supernatural soldiers held their positions, a beaming-white horse as big as an African elephant charged onto the scene, galloping over Masonville High toward the warriors. A mighty rider sat tall on its back—a robed Watchman with a hooded cloak over his head and back, as bright as a meteor storming the atmosphere. Without any use of reins, the Watchman stopped his warhorse and dismounted in front of the militia, then strode up and down the line, rallying his troops in their poetic, heavenly language. I could see now that under his shining silver cloak he wore armor, with an ornate helmet beneath his hood.

I could hardly wait to watch the warriors storm the school, pulling Creepers out of hiding by their long, scrawny limbs, then flinging them miles away. Or better yet, maybe they’d march right past the school and confront the Rulers in the woods, engaging them in a heated battle.

I wasn’t sure what had triggered the Watchmen’s arrival, but all that mattered was that they were here. And from the look of things, ready to charge.

Ray Anne was as speechless as I was.

The commanding Watchman faced his men—colossal Watchmen, perfect in stature—and slid his hood back so that it piled around his armor-clad shoulders. I breathed a disappointed sigh when he removed his platinum helmet and rested it against his hip. Hadn’t they come here to do battle?

But as I continued watching the one in charge, I let go of Ray Anne’s hand and stepped forward, my mind reeling.

The commanding Watchman—the one leading the radiant troops . . .

I knew him.

Knew him well, I liked to think.

Who would have thought my God-assigned keeper, Custos, was a general in the most sophisticated, dominant military in all of creation?