Grimhaven: The Devil's Playground

A supernatural thriller involving 14 unique individuals, human and otherwise, who share a divine fate involving the evolution or destruction of mankind.

 

Chapter 7

Los Feliz Village, California. Jan 11^th. 2009

 

     Sam sat on a pillow in the center of his room, breathing to clear his mind, struggling to focus.

He spent most of his time in his room, studying, reading, meditating, doing rituals from passages he had read in books, but mostly from the various keys, affirmations, mantras, and symbols that had been handed down to him in the lapses of lucid clarity gained in dream-time and meditation.

Every night was different, sometimes he would see random images reflected through his subconscious from events of the days past, followed by a single word, other nights he would connect on deeper levels, astral projecting to different times, planets, and dimensions, meeting various beings and masters from each who would give him clues and insights to his purpose.

Through every experience Sam endured, he was better able to connect, focus, and channel his thoughts. He was better able to discern which beings were truly of the light and which ones meant only to trick him, to send him on wild goose chases that did more harm than good, though even such experiences as these were lessons he could learn from, no matter how disastrous they ended up, still lessons nonetheless.

 

     It was as if he was building a muscle, only instead of biceps, gluts, and thighs, they were of intuition, divine connection, and psychic abilities that grew stronger through every lesson and trial.

But he had to admit that it could be very dangerous and difficult at times, for there was no one to guide him but his own visions, and though with practice he became better at venturing safely with the protection rituals and spells he had learned, he was still alone in it all, and even his own mind sought to trick him at times.

That was the one if only thing he missed about the coven, that there were at least other mentors, peers, and students going through the same experiences with him, and the sense of community and fellowship made it that much more assuring. If he was uncertain or afraid he could simply ask someone, if he were going through changes he could find comfort in that he was not the only one.

It was that lack of comparative feedback that discouraged Sam at times; for now he truly was the only one, there really was no one else that he knew about to get advice from, share stories with, gather feedback.

 

     But he knew in his heart that he was not truly alone, that the hierarchy of light was always with him, to give him support and to guide him, though physical they were not.

And now his life was a collage of all the knowledge and spiritual wisdom he had gathered and managed to piece together over the past three years into one grand puzzle, with minor gaps and holes still yet to be filled from his own physical life experience.

After all, only 3% of wisdom could be found in books, the rest was found by experiencing life for itself, for that was the point of even having a physical existence, wasn’t it?

     As Sam focused his mind, using a breathing technique he had acquired from a Tibetan master of light he had met in a dream of his, he began to open each one of his chakras, or energy centers, and felt a golden white light descend down through the crown of his head and fill him completely, cascading through out him like a platinum waterfall of pure love.

It gathered in a ball just below his belly button, and then grew till it filled the entirety of his room; a glowing white sphere with golden flakes surrounding him in a force field of energy.

     It flowed through his walls and the mandala cloths, intuitively channeled drawings, and Da Vinchi paintings he had hanging upon them. It flowed through his numerous bookshelves standing against every wall, stacked with books like “The 21 lessons of Merlin,” “The Dead Sea Scrolls,” “The Essential Golden Dawn,” “The Koran,” “The Egyptian Book of The Dead,” “The Holy Bible,” “The Hermetica,” “The Holy Kabbalah,” “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” and dozens of other books of the like from various times and places of the world.

It flowed through the floor on the Chinese, African, and Celtic rugs laid out across it with patterns, weaves, and designs pertaining to their culture.

It flowed through the roof and the quartz crystals he had anchored to the corners of the ceiling with copper wiring, a technique he had learned from a meditation on how to grid and seal his room.

It flowed through the molecules in his DNA, through his physical, astral, mental, emotional, soul, and spiritual body, and every layer of his aura.

 

     And then he heard a slight knocking at the door, and a voice behind it, saying “C’mon honey, it’s time to go now.” And all his focus was lost in an instant, leaving his room as calm and quiet as it was before.

Sam pulled a pair of beige converse shoes over his feat, wrapped a brown fur-collard corduroy coat around his arms, and blew out the candle upon his altar, exiting his room and shutting the door behind him.

Carmen stood in the hallway, wearing a white cashmere sweater, her face heavily detailed with bright, colorful makeup, and her hair tied up in a French bun, held together solidly with hairspray.

Sam shot a glance at her before making his way toward the front door and popped open his eyes for half a second. “Gees mom, is the opera in town?”

He said in jest, hoping she wouldn’t take the remark too seriously.

“What, is it too much?” she asked, knowing that she wouldn’t remove any part of her ensemble even if he said yes.

He only shrugged his shoulders, throwing his palms skyward as he walked through the front door, and hopped into the front passenger seat of her 2008 Crimson Toyota rav-4.

 

     Carmen checked her reflection religiously through the side and rear view mirror as they drove, as if at any moment her appearance might change.

Sam could tell that she felt nervous, and that she was anxious to make a very good impression with Xavior.

She hadn’t been in the dating game or even considered another man since her husband had spontaneously skipped town 8 years ago over some intense gambling debts, abandoning Patrick and Sam when they were 13 years old and leaving her to deal with the uprising of their adolescence, a full time job, and overcompensating for the lack of a male presence in their lives as they began to reach manhood.

But now that things had changed, now she was having a “fresh start” as she called it,

She insisted that things would be different, and she had longed for the intimacy of another even before their father had left, for he was never a very affectionate or caring man.

 

     As they pulled into the parking lot of the reception hall, she checked her appearance one last time, and then asked Sam if he was ready, as if they were about to begin a serious competition of Olympic proportions.

“Don’t worry, mom, you look great.” He said, reading easily the trepidation in her eyes.

She smiled partially, pretending not to know what he was talking about, and made her way out of the car and into the building, her high heels clicking against the pavement like a metronome set on presto.

 

     There were about 40 or so people inside, mostly over the age of 50, with the exception of however few children, or possibly grand children, agreed to tag along, such as Sam.

The noise level was that of a library, if everyone were reading a book that was moderately funny.

The loudest sound by far of the night was the “Aha! You’re here!” Xavior made as Carmen and Sam entered the room, his face lit up like a jack-o-lantern.

He started with a warm handshake and moved in for a stiff and ill-practiced hug.

Carmen made a slight noise as if just being tickled and he guided her over with his hand on her shoulder, like the segue into a ballroom dance, to a long fold-up table covered with plastic blue cloth, damp from spilt punch, and bags of half eaten chips to offer her some refreshments.

 

     Sam stood where he was, taking no offense that Xavior had hardly noticed him, and spotted a decently attractive young girl sitting by herself at the other end of the room in a plad blue dress with a matching blue ribbon tying her curly red hair behind in a pony tail.

He stared on for a bit while she looked at the empty white cup in her hand as if in a trance, noticing the freckles on her face, hoping that she wouldn’t look up anytime soon, so that he could just keep admiring her subtle beauty, she didn’t.

He had forgotten what it was like to find attraction in another girl of his age.

Ever since the theatrical “cult” incident involving a schoolteacher of his, Carmen insisted that he be home schooled, feeling that the influence of the public school system was not to be trusted.

Because of this, and the devotion he put forth towards his spiritual growth, dedicating countless hours of reading and meditating alone in his room, he had inadvertently reclused himself from the outside world.

It was not that Sam didn’t like people, or was afraid of them. It was simply that his particular ambitions did not require the company of others, in fact it was necessary in other parts of the world for individuals, of a much higher degree and rank than he, following a similar path, to seclude themselves in total isolation in order to achieve the highest quality results.

     At last the girl did look up, and his eyes were the first she saw. Now that his presence was known, he wondered how he would approach her, and what he would say.

He was not shy, just, out of practice.

In other corners of the room sat groups of elderly people, some in priest robes, talking fondly of golden days and such. There were some who never moved from the punch table, hording the last of the refreshments, and the rest were aimlessly scattered about, moving as if a concert had just ended and they were searching for the exit.

There were a half dozen rebel balloons hiding behind the legs of tables and chairs, a few blue and white streamers hanging across the punch table and through the pipes in the ceiling, and a large stereo sitting at the foot of the stage at the bottom of the hall, playing what sounded like old polish slow dance music.

     In the middle of the hall, surrounded by a majority of the group, sat the man of honor, father Frederick, wearing a pink paper cone on his head, hunched over the table with his elbows leaning in front of a half eaten cake, sipping a glass of red wine and laughing silently at the various conversations traveling all around him, not focusing on any one in particular.

 

     Sam walked slowly over to the girl, who looked back down at her cup, pretending not to notice him, waiting till he got within range to lock eyes with him again.

When Sam stood about 2 feet from her, she looked up, as if just noticing him, and he paused for a moment, hoping she might be the first to speak. When she didn’t, he said, “Hello. My name is Sam, are you a member of the church or just here for the punch?”

She raised the corners of her lips upward, if only not to seem rude, and replied, “I’m actually just related to the birthday man.” She pointed at Father Frederick. “He’s my uncle.”

“Ah. I should have known, I see the resemblance now.” He said, suddenly kicking himself on the inside for just implying that she looked comparable to a 60 plus year old man.

She did not force a smile this time, and changed the subject by asking about him.

“So what about you?”

“Oh. Well I’m actually new in town, my mother and I moved from the valley recently and Mr. Candy bar moustache over there was kind enough to welcome my mother to the neighborhood by inviting her here, I was simply an innocent bystander, but they seem to be getting along well.”

Her eyebrows suddenly dropped and her face became rather tight as she replied.

“Oh…yeah that’s my father, he’s very fond of his moustache, and so is your mother, apparently…”

He glanced over to see Carmen dantily pulling a crumb from his face as Xavior laughed in embarrassment.

Sam now felt doubly awkward and humiliated; he obviously needed more practice in conversing with others than he had anticipated.

He sat down far across from her and stared into his now empty punch cup, hoping that silence might succeed where his words had failed.

She looked back up at him, seeming not to be fazed at all by his remarks and continued their conversation.

“So what kind of music do you like?”

They then continued to chat for a while.

Sam said that he fancied most classical Russian composers, which led to her talking of the time she visited Russia with her father, and going on of all the places she had been, and Sam admitting that he had never been to any of those places, and how he’d love to travel. And so it went for awhile, as more and more people started to slowly fade out of the picture through their peripherals, until finally it was only them, Xavior, Frederick, Carmen, and a couple of folks who Frederick continued speaking with.

When the two others had left, and there was no one left for Frederick to talk to, he finally stood up, motioning to the girl, who had still not told Sam her name, with his fingers in an upward motion, like lifting an invisible light switch, implying that it was time for them to leave.

“Well, I guess it’s time for us to go now. It was nice meeting you, Sam. Maybe I’ll see you around at school.” She said as she got up, leaving her empty cup behind on the table in front of him.

He smiled vacantly and shook her hand, knowing that he would not be seeing her at school, yet lacking the desire to bother telling her.

As she walked toward the door, locking her arm with Father Frederick’s, Sam let out a deflated sigh of regret, wishing only then that he had continued going to a place where social interaction was a daily requirement.

Just then, Sam began to feel a rotten feeling of his stomach, and he feared it wasn’t just the punch acting up, or his foiled attempt to flirt with a stranger, it was something more serious than that.

As Xavior and his mother continued speaking, completely unaware of his presence in the corner, he noticed that a small group of flies had gathered around the cake, and seemed to be growing larger by the moment.

Then, under the chair where Frederick had just sat, he squinted his eyes for further assurance that what he was now staring at was a large grey rat, standing under the chair inhaling the crumbs Frederick’s entourage had left behind.

Then, as quickly and seemingly out of nowhere as the first one had come, another rat appeared, now fighting with the other, and Sam gazed on at the two rats, a high pitched crackle shot from the front of the room, and Sam looked up, startled to see a large black crow had flown into the building, landing on a plate of half eaten cake.

Only now realizing a disturbance in “the force,” Xavior picked up a napkin, mid conversation, and swatted at the bird in an attempt to shoo it away, but instead another appeared, and another.

Sam had never seen anything like this before, and even in assuming that this city might possibly be heavily populated with rats, flies, and crows, he knew down inside that something was terribly wrong.

When Xavior had finally shooed the last of the crows back outside, he shut the main door so that no more could enter, and as soon as he did, a large banging erupted from the other side.

This frightened Carmen dearly, and her heart leaped back a couple paces as she held onto Xavior tightly, fearing the worst.

Sam got up now and made his way toward the door, knowing that whatever it was, he should at least be close to his mother to provide whatever support or assistance he could.

     All three now stood motionless behind the door as banging continued from behind it, louder and louder, echoing through out the hall until even the rats were shaken.

Xavior groped at a long concealed object sheathed in black leather around his belt and gathered the muster to speak.

“Who is there?” He demanded as he waited for an answer to break the silence.

Nothing.

He asked again, moving slightly closer to the door, holding Carmen back with his other hand, still bearing no attention that Sam was there.

“Whoever you are, please leave this place at once or I shall report the authorities!”

At that point the banging stopped, and as though an erratic gust of wind were behind them, the door flew open, revealing behind it a ragged old man in tattered filthy clothes, reeking of mold and wet garbage.

He staggered in a circular motion, as if held up by a series of strings. A cold and inert look reigned through his eyes like two holes reflecting the darkness that engulfed a bottomless well.

Sam was truly frightened, more for his mother than himself, but stood still as she did.

Xavior was the first to take action.

He retrieved a long dagger-like object from his belt, its tip pointed though not sharp.

Sam shot a quick glance at it and noticed three monster-like faces engraved on the handle, painted bronze.

Xavior pointed the blunt object between the man’s eyes and began chanting something in Latin.

The man shuttered at this gesture, as if boiled water was being sprayed into his face, and as Sam got a better look at the object, he noticed it resembled something he had seen in a book of his.

“Of course.” He said loudly in his mind.

It’s a phurpa. It was used in parts of South East Asia as a tool of ritual, for the purpose of cutting away evil and absorbing negative energy, trapping it like a genie in a bottle. The demonic faces upon it were the faces of angels whom evil it self feared.

Sam was mesmerized for a moment about why a Catholic priest would feel the need to have a Tibetan artifact holstered to his waste, let alone feel the need to use it on a homeless man.

Sam’s curiosity vanished, as he was quickly jolted back into the moment at the sight of Xavior now wrestling with the man on the ground, who gradually seemed to be getting the upper hand.

As they grappled viciously, gripping for each other’s throats, the phurpa flew out of Xavior’s hand, and Sam lunged toward them to retrieve it.

Carmen let out a shrill cry, struggling desperately for a clue on what to do, coming up blank and full of panic.

When Sam got a clear shot of the man, now looming over Xavior with both hands wrapped around his neck, he struck the man deliberately over the head with the phurpa and sent him flying a good 30 feet across the grass, tumbling like a rock down a mountain across the flat terrain.

Sam looked down in horror at the tool his hand, unable to register what had just happened.

He looked down at Xavior, who sat up, gasping for breath, looking just as shocked and bewildered as Sam.

The ragged dirt infested man, now in the far distance, sat up slowly and wobbled further away from them and into the night, as if simply waking from a drunken stupor, now seeming only like a lost and feeble bum.

 

     They shot empty glances at each other and before any of the three of them could speak, a murder of crows stormed out in front of them, coming from visually nowhere at all, and began circling around them, cawing in a manner that pierced the very core of their eardrums.

A stick was laying idly by Xavior’s foot, and when he bent down to pick it up in an attempt to swat the crows away, it turned to a snake and he jumped backwards, stumbling to the floor, gripped in paralyzing terror as the snake struck his leg several times over.

Sam pointed the phurpa at the snake with nothing but pure anger, and it slithered back to the nothingness from which it came.

This was the last stroke of distress Carmen’s poor heart could take, and she fainted to the floor where she stood, out cold and motionless.

By the time Sam had reached Xavior, he was unconscious, his throat was swelled blue and his face was red, he wasn’t breathing.

Sam knew nothing of what to do, and froze into a state of frustration and shock.

 

      As events seemed to peak to their possible worse, just five feet from where Sam knelt transpired something more frightening and unexplainably phenomenal than all the horrors of the human imagination combined.

Coming from beneath him, the earth began to open.

As Sam gazed at the newly formed crack in the ground, where a patch of grass had been just seconds before, growing larger by the moment, the phurpa fell from his hands, instantly disappearing from his sight as if swallowed by the ground.

Every second that lasted Sam prayed more fervently than ever that it was just a dream, just a test, just part of his training.

But horrifically, to his surprise, he was painfully awake, and trapped in a moment he would never forget, if he ever lived to remember it.

When the crack had reached the size of a small canoe, a creature began to emerge, rising up from the soil like an elevator carriage.

Sam knelt in denial of the event as his knees became sewn to the floor. Both Xavior and his mother were unconscious, there was no one around for miles, and in that moment he felt more hopeless and alone than ever before.

He did only what he knew how to do best and prayed, afraid to close his eyes but even more so to look.

The being had come to a full rise, and stood a staggering eight feet tall over Sam, looking down at Xavior’s body with gigantic, rusted yellow eyes.

Its skin was gray and rough as a rhino’s and save for the grotesque shark like rows of fangs jutting out of its face, its gnarly jagged king crab legged claws, and the wings sprouting from its back like those of an enormous Hercules beetle, it looked mostly humanoid.

     Sam prayed to the heavens, and to the heaven of every universe of every dimension imaginable. He prayed to every God, angel, master, and divine being he could think of and asked for the sincerest, most dire rescue of his life.

The creature almost seemed not to notice Sam at all, and crouched down, sliding its arms underneath Xavior in an effort to lift him up.

As the creature bent down its head, Sam could suddenly see another being, blurred by the shadows and darkness in the distance.

Could this be Sam’s savior, or yet another harvenger of death? Whatever it was, Sam prayed it came soon, for he could bear this torture no longer, and begged that it end, one way or another.

The being did come closer, much faster than its distance would suggest, and as it did Sam could see clearly that it was a man in a long grey coat with silver white hair, marching toward him at an astonishing rate, as if he were floating.

The creature wrapped its fingers around Xavior’s neck and drew its mouth close to his, as if to draw out whatever remaining life force Xavior had left from him.

But before it even had a chance to make an honest attempt, a bolt of blinding light blazed from the man from the shadows and the creature withered into flames as he continued marching forward, holding his hand out to the beast and clutching his fingers as if psychically holding the monsters heart in his palms, squeezing it to a pulp. He roared a verse from an ancient language that bellowed through the trees like a mystic wind, blowing Sam’s hair behind his ears, and in a moment, the creature was but a pile of black dust, scattered over Xavior’s chest.

When the man was but ten feet from Sam, he stood over the crack in the ground, moving his hand clockwise as if turning a coconut sized doorknob, and as he did the crack sealed completely, and he blew a gust of air in Sam’s general direction, casting the heap of black ash into the air where it vanished like water evaporating in the sunlight.

Though what Sam imagined as the worst was over, he continued still frozen, his knees still cemented to the ground, and like a spell being unbind, the man reached his hand down to Sam’s and pulled him up to stand, looking him sternly in the eyes.

The man stared deeply into Sam as if staring into the eyes of a God and said, “it is you, Lord Raphael, master of all true healing.”

Sam was speechless still, only just beginning to comprehend the gravity of this supernatural occurrence that continued unraveling itself before him, its mystery growing more cryptic with every act.

The man did not wait for Sam to respond, he only grabbed Sam’s hands and knelt down by Xavior, placing them over his chest.

“This man is ill and may die very soon, you must heal him.”

He said as he beckoned Sam to act with his eyes.

After what seemed like hours a noise finally broke the silence between Sam’s lips.

“I…I don’t know how…”

This angered the man bitterly, and he grabbed Sam’s hands even tighter, pressing them deeper into Xavior’s chest.

“You carry the ray of the healer, your power shines clear as daylight within you and around you. Use it now and heal him, or he will die.”

Sam had never done anything of this nature before, but for some reason he trusted the man and believed that he spoke the truth, after all, he did just save his life in the most miraculous way imaginable.

Sam ceased the infinite borage of questions boiling in his mind and tried to focus, taking in deep meditation breathes.

He imagined as he had thousands of times before a healing, golden white light flowing down into the crown of his head, and channeled it to his heart.

He then visualized the light transforming into a vibrant pink, and tuned his awareness toward thoughts of love, happiness, and great joy.

Once he felt that his chest would nearly burst from all the energy he had built up, he channeled it out through his shoulders, guiding it down his arms and through his palms, acting upon pure instinct and intuition alone.

The immense tingling sensation he had felt in his chest was now bubbling in his hands, and he could suddenly feel all the pain and blocked energy in Xavior’s chest, coursing through his veins like a toxic river of anger and loathing.

With a deep exhale he sent all the remaining light and energy he could muster through his palms and prayed that the hierarchy guide him and work through him.

Suddenly he could feel all the pain and sorrow being sucked up from every aspect of Xavior’s body into Sam’s hands, and as it hit the light in his palms it simply transmuted itself into more light, flowing through him and all around him.

After a while Xavior opened his eyes and began coughing aggressively, and Sam removed his hands and let him catch his breath.

 

     When Xavior looked up and saw an old man with long silver hair peering down at him, with Sam at his other side, a look of puzzlement and grief washed over him, and he rested his head back down on the grass, wondering to himself what had just happened.

The man then reached into his pouch and pulled out a group of seeds, handing them to Xavior.

“Here, take these, they will assist you in your healing process.”

Xavior looked down at his hand as if bugs were crawling out of it, then looked back up at the mans face, rolling the suggestion around in his head.

After a moment, Xavior took the seeds and reluctantly poured them into his mouth, feeling almost the same sense of trust and sincerity that Sam had felt about him earlier.

There was definitely something about him, something familiar, something safe.

Sam looked into his eyes, and the man sensed the question before it formed.

“I am Seamus.” He said.

“I have traveled from very far to meet with you to fulfill a destiny that binds us.”

He looked down at Xavior and continued.

“You too play a role in this fate. And that one, over there.”

He pointed over to Sam’s mother who lay unconscious on the ground, sleeping soundly.

“An Arch Angel has come to me, and has revealed to me our intended future, as designed in the councils of heaven. Everything she has said has come true, including the occurrence tonight, which is said to be the first of many.

I apologize for not coming sooner, as I knew it was a matter of life and death. But I am grateful that you are alive.”

Xavior rolled his eyes in astonishment, nearly appalled by the suggestion. He felt that he had heard, seen, and been through enough and sat up, attempting to remove himself from the situation, in spite of everything that had just happened.

Seamus sat in silence and let him leave as Xavior walked over to tend to Carmen’s resting body.

Sam simply sat in awe, feeling new pieces of the puzzle forming in his head.

“What Arch Angel do you speak of?” Sam asked, with a fresh and wild sense of curiosity almost entirely replacing the uncontrollable fear that enveloped him moments before.

“Arch Angel Sandalphon. She is one of the council of twelve, as are you, they, and myself.”

“Incredible…” whispered Sam, astonished yet not the least bit surprised.

“The council of twelve.” He thought to himself. Could he be referring to the 1^st quorum of Arch Angels, of which included Sandalphon, whom had been mentoring him along with other guides and masters over the past few years?

Sam had been waiting for this moment almost all of his life, to find someone who finally spoke the same language as he involving the mystical occult, let alone was on the same page.

 

     He had to know more, he couldn’t leave this man’s site till he knew absolutely everything.

“So you are saying that we are somehow apart of this council of twelve, that consists of the 12 major Arch Angels of the hierarchy of light, even though we are just mortal humans?” Sam asked, his curiosity and limits of believe growing with every answer.

Seamus nodded his head solemnly.

“But how can that be?” he asked somewhat rhetorically, straining his mind to bridge the gaps of information between what he knew and what this man was telling him.

“Not only are we plain as day humans,” Sam thought to himself, “but if it were so, then why had Sandalphon not said so in the numerous dreams and visions he had shared with her? Was she withholding on purpose, did she deem him unwilling, or unready to know, or was the man speaking in jest?”

Sam took a deep breath, bringing his thoughts to a halt in an attempt to simmer down the questions that were brimming through the lid of his mind, he widdled it down to the most basic and important question.

“So then why have you come here, Seamus, and why now at this time?”

“Much is in play.” He said, almost not knowing where to start, but then continued.

“Sandalphon has instructed me to come here, to the city of Angeles, where the first celestial gate is to be opened, a catalyst that will set in motion the evolution of mankind and the end of all the world as we know it.”

Sam’s heart sank as he felt the words falling from his lips. He had nothing to say.

After a brief pause, Seamus went on.

“It is still somewhat difficult for me to understand, but the best way I can describe it is that there is one supreme divine ray of creation that reflects into the holy trinity, which then prisms into 4 channels, creating twelve, and branches downward multiplying in infinitum.

We are not completely the Arch Angels of the first twelve, yet we anchor their rays, and there are many other angels and beings that do so in much higher degrees.

We are simply the lowest and most physical forms of these rays, and our destiny is to anchor them fully into the earth, so that the energy from above may be brought down and create Shamballa: heaven on earth. As above, so below…”

This resonated partially with what Sam had been taught to believe through his own personal studies and intuitive guidance, but it took some time to register.

“I get it.” He said with sudden clarification.

“It’s like a corporation, or a government. You have the CEO, who is one guy, and then you have the managers of the independent branches all over who supply the same service and represent the CEO, or how a politician will be the face of a large group of people that represent one cause.”

Seamus was unfamiliar with the terms Sam was using, but gathered that Sam understood by the certainty in his eyes and nodded once more.

 

     Sam couldn’t remember the last time he was ever so excited about anything, his eyes lit up with the fire in his soul and illuminated the air around them, creating a faint luminous glow that one could see if the eyes were blurred and the senses were enhanced.

“So you’re telling me that I’m like the bus boy for the company that is the ray of Arch Angel Raphael.” Sam said, remembering that Seamus had referred to him as such earlier, trying not to fumble over his words as the thoughts poured out. “And my job is to somehow bring the CEO from all the way up there, all the way down here, in order to ascend the evolution of all mankind? That’s…incredibly deep…”

Sam took to a seated position as he began to let it sink all in, knowing that the miracle he had performed just moments before on Xavior was proof of it, still struggling to wrap his head around the fact that it even just happened. Let alone the occurrence before, and what was to be believed now.

Sam Looked over to his mom, now in the arms of Xavior who gently rocked her back and forth, attempting to wake her.

“And them?” he asked Seamus as he pointed in their direction. “What part do they play, and what about you?” Remembering that he had mentioned such earlier.

“I am not quite sure yet.” Seamus said, seeming uncertain for the first time since meeting Sam and arriving just in time to save his and Xavior’s life. “It has only been revealed to me that I must come to rescue the healer, that he is the key to assisting me in bringing the rest together. Aspects are blurry, unclear, and not quiet all together at times, as I am sure you have experienced when connecting with Sandalphon.” He said, having an innate sense that Sam had on several occasions spoken with her as well, possibly about the same things, and possibly about very different things entirely.

After only a second or two, Sam had soaked it all in and was eager to ask the next question.

“So what do we do next?”

Seamus spoke without a single bead of hesitation between words, pre-cognitively prepared for Sam’s question.

“I first must arrange a sanctified haven for us to gather, a place that shall be sealed and fortified from the darkness that surrounds us. It is not safe for us to talk here out in the open, the events of tonight’s occurrence were no coincidence, there are those out there who wish to stop us and undo the work we have been sent to do.

As Seamus said this he began looking around and over his shoulder, bearing caution to the wind and the unexpected surprise of what might happen next.

“Well I’ve created somewhat of a temple space in my bedroom from various tools and modalities I have learned, it has served to be somewhat of a sanctuary in troubled times.” Sam said, hoping to offer some assistance.

Seamus shook his head worriedly.

“I am certain it has served you well, but the forces we are dealing with are much stronger than both of us combined can imagine, I must beckon the assistance of those who have been here far longer than any man and have great experience in matters such as these. I will call upon you when we are ready for your help and we will begin the next step, until then, stay watchful and continue upon your spiritual path, we will need all the energy and power you have to offer when the time comes.”

Seamus then looked onward to Xavior and Carmen, who seemed to be in their own little bubble.

“It may be safer not to mention any of this to them yet, at least until we can be safe about it. It seems they may need time to come to terms, for they are not yet familiar and receptive to the energies as we are.”

Sam nodded his head in huge agreement, knowing that his mom might possibly never fall for something like this, that she could barely understand what little work he was already doing.

“When the time is right, I suppose.” Sam said, knowing that there wasn’t much more to be done in the moment.

Seamus reached lastly into his pouch and pulled out an amulet in the shape of a pentacle inside a circle with various symbols and letters inscribed between the five points.

Sam recognized it instantly as the holy tetra-gram-ma-ton. He had read about it in one of his Golden Dawn books and had even seen it several times in dreams of his, flaming before him with a cross behind it.

It looked to be made of pure gold, and was more beautiful than any talisman he had ever seen. It vibrated in his hands as he held it, Seamus closing his fingers tightly around it, making sure no one saw it.

“This is a symbol of great protection, wear it beneath your garments at all times and know that when it begins to glow that I, or others of this path, are near.”

Sam bowed his head in great reverence and wished the wise Shaman farewell as he retreated to the shadows from which he had come, knowing that they would soon meet again and finding great comfort in the fact that he was no longer alone.

Xavior looked up at Sam, only then realizing that he was still there.

“We should get here home, she’s been through a lot.” Xavior said, motioning for Sam to help him.

They both together carried her into the passenger seat of her truck and Sam took her car keys out of her purse, assuring Xavior that he would be able to drive her home safely.

Xavior looked Sam in the eyes deeply as an unspoken bond had formed between them, uncertain of how to engage the situation from here on out, but knowing that they would inevitably run into each other again soon.

As Sam drove off, Xavior reached down at the floor to retrieve his phurpa. He scratched his head and puzzled deeply over how Sam had used it to thwart the possessed man away, knowing that in all the years of dealing with demonic possession he had never seen a person as Sam do such a thing, though he was admittedly not too clear on just exactly what kind of person Sam was, if even a person at all.

There was still so much to be settled in the old priests mind, almost too many questions to be answered, questions that he would ask himself and possibly his conclave tomorrow, after a few glasses of scotch and a long, good nights sleep.

 

     Sam pulled into the driveway, driving careful and slow as most young boys with little driving experience would.

With much effort, though she was now partially awake, Sam managed to carry her through the house, plopping her diagonally onto her bed and wrapped the comforter over her.

“Goodnight mom. Sleep well.” He said as he walked away, unable to fathom what kind of questions she would ask when she woke, and how he would answer her.

He hoped strongly that she may just think it all a dream, and wake up explaining it as such to him over coffee and breakfast.

Sam entered his room and tucked himself into his bed, feeling slimed with indescribable sensations, though he was too tired to shower off or deal with them, and before another thought entered his mind he was fast asleep, dreaming of angels and dragons.

 

Reviews

[Samantha Young]

Amazing story! Got me into it from the beginning! Can't wait to see the rest!

[Mark]

You throw around some lingo that I'm not sure everyone can connect to.