Horror002

Paranormal By Marcel Jace

The following is a sample chapter from my book, Paranormal. If you are interested in reading more, you can buy it at https://www.createspace.com/3393301, or read it in my blog http://marcel-jace.blogspot.com/ when it becomes available.

Chapter 1 "Jesus He Knows Me"

Graceville, Texas September 12, 2011

Beatrice Mory believed as certain as fact that just as the world was full of angels, spirits, and higher beings, so too was it plagued by the polar opposites of everything good. That just as there were divine entities that sought to do gracious, kind-hearted things, there were others that wanted nothing more than to serve the likes of evil.

Beatrice detested evil. Her heart would go sore just thinking about it.

The world, she knew, was and always would be rampant with pain and suffering. In her own life experience, she'd found that the lives of too many innocents had been trampled on by the feet of treacherous demons. And all too often, she found bad, detestable things in the most unexpected places. Places where only righteous and honorable consciences should have been. And it was moments like those that made her wonder if there was even a place for her to find absolute goodness untainted by evil.

That was why she enjoyed watching Pastor Zaren Byers on television every night whenever she could. Never before in her life had she seen a man with such confidence and such admiration for God in his heart. Whenever she watched him place his hand on someone and heal them through the grace of God, her faith would never cease to reignite with overwhelming joy. It was as if Pastor Zaren took away all the uncleanliness in the world and turned them into miracles.

"What ails you tonight my sister?" he asked an old woman as he gently held her on his shoulder.

"I've had a back pain," she cried into the television. Beatrice watched and she took in the old woman's burden. The emotion in her voice coupled with tear drops streaking down her face made Breatrice want to cry alongside her.

"How long have you had this back pain?" Pastor Zaren asked.

"Six months," she replied, and wiped her red, bloodshot eyes.

"Six months?"

The old woman nodded back.

"What's your name, sister?"

"Shannon."

"Okay Shannon. What I want to do for you tonight, is I want to let God into your heart. Do you want God in your heart Shannon?"

"Yes," she said, mousily at first.

"Do you want God in your heart?" the pastor encouraged.

"Yes!" she proclaimed.

"Do you want God in your heart?!" he roared back, his voice powerful yet affectionate.

"Yes I do!"

Pastor Zaren clamped all fingers of his right hand onto Shannon's forehead, forced his eyes shut, and said the following prayer.

"Dear Lord, tonight we have a fellow sister in Christ among us. She's here tonight, asking for your healing hand oh Lord. And we're all gathered here together to pray for her, and to rid her of all the evil that has taken her pure soul. Please, show her your mercy. Show her that your light is solemn and true. In the name of Jesus Christ almighty, I, hereby, declare you healed!"

Pastor Zaren pressed his palm against Shannon's skull. He opened his eyes and gently pushed her back, uttering the words "Demon be gone!"

Shannon regained her bearing. She stopped crying. Her mouth opened wide, letting out joyous puffs of air.

"Oh my Lord!" she clamored to the heavens. "I am healed!"

Beatrice smiled for the woman on her television screen. She smiled for Pastor Zaren, and for all the virtuous things that still remained here on Earth.

The front door of her house swung wide open, and by leaning her head towards the entryway, Beatrice saw her husband make his way inside.

"Kyle? Is that you?" she asked, though she didn't have to to know that it was.

Kyle had on an olive green windcheater on top of a red checkered shirt. Covering his legs and below were a pair of cargo pants and brown leather boots. He sported a set of silver hair, and a weak body that scrunched whenever he stood.

"Hey Bee," said Kyle. "What are you doing up so late?"

"Kyle, you were gone so long. I was worried. I called your work, but they said you left for home. Then I called that bar you're always at, and they said you never showed up." "Bee," Kyle interjected. "You gotta learn to calm yourself down, unless you wanna give yourself a heart attack."

"Where were you then?"

Kyle shut the door behind him with one swift nudge of his elbow.

"I was out with the guys. We went driving for a while. Had ourselves some beers." "I don't believe you."

He was lying straight through his teeth. Beatrice knew. She had always been able to recognize when her husband was telling her a lie. How that was exactly, she wasn't so sure. There was just something about the way his face came together when he spoke. Sometimes, the inflection on his voice would also be a dead giveaway. But that didn't happen tonight. Kyle was obviously trying to hide something. Whatever it was, he probably wasn't going to let her know about it anytime soon, if, at all.

"Why don't you believe me?" he pressed on.

He was standing a mere two feet away from her by now. Beatrice quickly came to notice that he was holding something in his left hand. It was covered under two layers of cloth, denying her curious eyes any visibility.

"What's that?" Beatrice inquired.

Instinctively, her husband hid his hand behind his back.

"That? That's nothing. Just something Ol' Bailey gave me. Some really dumb guy stuff honey. Don't worry 'bout it."

Beatrice wasn't in the least bit pleased by his answer. He'd come home long past his weekday work hours, and instead of even letting her know what caused his delay, she couldn't help but feel like every sentence he let out since walking through the front door had been meant to shush her. On any other day, this would have set her off. But at this hour, she was simply too tired to even curse.

"Well. At least you're safe," she said, resigned of any desire to put up a fight. "You kidding me? Nothing can stop me. I'm as fit as a bull."

A momentary laughter set off between the elderly couple. Not because what Kyle had said was actually funny, but because it was utterly outlandish. The man was seven years older than she was, and he could hardly stand up straight let alone mimic a voracious animal. Still, in spite of the man's debilitative state, it felt good to laugh. Her face stretched and felt alive, and her stomach ached, but she liked it.

"Still going strong," she humored.

"Still going strong. Anyway, I'm gonna go dump this down at the basement," he motioned at the secret item in his hand. "Why don't you go meet me in bed? I'll be right up with you in no time."

"I can't sleep," Beatrice retorted, then let out a sardonic chuckle. "You'd think all this pain medication would make me drowsy. All it's doing is keeping me awake."

It upset Kyle to hear his wife say that. For a brief instant, he'd made himself believe that he truly was healthier than he looked. His laughter alone made him feel youthful and energetic. However, thinking about Beatrice's arthritis pain only reminded him of how old and fragile he and his once beautiful wife had now become.

"Well, at least it's good for ya," Kyle said, and with a fake smile. "That's what matters most ain't it?"

"I suppose," she hesitantly agreed.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep anyway? Sure beats staying up at this ungodly hour."

"I'll try."

"You do that. I'll be with you in a sec."

Kyle watched as Beatrice got up from their living room couch and turned off the television. Slowly, with her hand on the railing, she took to the stairs and disappeared behind the bedroom door.

The basement was dank and full of moisture. Defective gutters and downspouts ensured that the inner-most foundations of the Mory residence had consumed every drop of rain water for the past three autumn months, and merged it in with the soil.

Whenever Kyle made his way down here, he would make a mental note to himself to call a repair man. But all too often, by the time he went back up and shut the basement door behind him, he would either forget about it entirely, or he would sit on the idea until whenever he felt like getting around to it. Either way, nothing ever came of it. And now, as a consequence, he could see spots of mold forming at the coldest areas of the concrete basement. For this, he was definitely going to have to call someone.

It'll have to be tomorrow though, Kyle said silently. His eyelids were starting to weigh him down. And at any rate, it was too late in the hour to be making calls to anybody, whoever they were and for whatever reason.

Kyle looked behind him to make sure that the basement door was completely shut. Afterwards, he parked himself behind his work bench at the far end of the corner. There was once a time when he got a lot of work done on this very desk. He used to able to build birdhouses, spice racks, whatever shop accessories he and the wife needed the most. He'd even built a bed frame for Bee and himself when she told him she wanted a bigger one.

But that was years ago, before the joints in his fingers started to shrivel. Nowadays he was lucky to be able to even lift anything beyond twenty pounds.

On the table's rigid surface, Kyle carefully placed the item wrapped in cloth that he'd been carrying with him since his drive home. He wasn't sure if it was fragile or not, but he also didn't care much to find out.

The protective cloth came off, revealing to Kyle's tempted eyes a red, crystalline hexagon. It was about nine inches tall and two inches wide, with a sharp, pointed tip at both ends. The hexagon had a refractive quality, and it shined a fiery ember with the indoor luminescence.

"Where the hell you come from?" Kyle asked to the strange concoction lying on his table.

He picked it up with his bare hand and felt its stringent shape around the grasp of his palm. It was heavier than it looked. He was almost certain that that alone meant it was worth something.

Better keep it safe, he thought.

He was about to put it back down on the table when he noticed something strange. The crystal object, whatever it was, was suddenly getting brighter. He stared down his hand with disbelief as the material started to beam with an energy of its own. Light emanated from its body, and it kept getting brighter until it felt like Kyle was holding onto a fluorescent bulb.

But not only did it get brighter. The crystal got warmer too. Hotter. Just then, he felt a stinging sensation in his palm. He flinched with the unexpected shock. Then he screamed in pain as he noticed smoke coming out of his hand. By this point, the crystal was a blinding flash of light. He could feel the surface of his palm sting with a pain that he'd never felt in his entire life.

Desperately, he tried to drop the crystal from his hand. It wouldn't come loose. His fingers were tightly clutched against the object, and despite his orders, they wouldn't budge no matter how much he willed. They simply refused to listen.

Suddenly, a spark of electricity coursed through his body. His mind went numb. Not only could he not articulate to himself what he was feeling, but he no longer had any way of feeling at all. Neurons and synapses dissipated from the physical hull that made his body, and soon all that remained of Kyle Mory were the external features that he left behind. The man that once possessed this body, Kyle Mory, was for all intents and purposes, gone.

The crystal object fell willingly from his hand. By the time it hit the cold, cement floor, the item had lost its maroon-red hue, and was now clear, transparent.

Kyle Mory's body stood perfectly still, devoid of any facial expression or emotional concern. His fingers twitched, and the toes beneath his shoes curled. His head turned sharply to his left, then to his right. His eyes gleamed curiously at the nearby surroundings, and his nose sifted in the musty air. His spine retreated backwards from its awkwardly hunched position, and this let out several noticeable cracking noises.

Kyle Mory's feet turned his body around, and his eyes saw an old, wooden stairwell. At the top end stood a closed door with white paint on its body and a gold-colored knob. Kyle Mory's head shifted to his side, and after brief contemplation, his legs made for the stairs.

Beatrice set herself down on the queen-sized bed and consumed some pain pills from her nightstand. The analog clock beside her bed read 12:08 A.M.

Dear lord it's late, she mused. Yet in spite of the hour, Beatrice simply couldn't sleep. Her legs were tired, her eyelids droopy, but as she laid her back on the mattress of her bed, something just wouldn't allow her to sleep.

"Kyle," she called out, wondering what was keeping her husband so long.

"Kyle?" she tried again, this time bemused bordering on worried.

A brief noise made its way into her ears.

"Kyle? What's happening?"

She picked herself up from her bed and climbed down the stairs to the first floor. Silence. The only thing she could hear were the sounds of her wrinkly bare feet treading on the floor, and the breathing from her nose. Every light on the first floor had been switched off, which Beatrice found strange. Kyle usually liked to keep them running on at night. He told her that in case of any home emergencies, it was always safest to be able to tell where everything was.

Beatrice checked every room downstairs looking for any sign of Kyle and bringing light to any unlit room that was in her path. She finally made it down to the basement, where Kyle said he would be.

He wasn't.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard a plate shatter. She followed the sound until it took her to the kitchen. There, she saw the refrigerator door, opened, and Kyle, rummaging through the storage of food like a wild animal.

It was dark. The only light source in the kitchen was a yellow aura coming from the bulb inside the refrigerator. With it, she could scarcely make out the array of food scraps thrashed aimlessly around the vinyl tile floors. Beatrice watched with her hand in front of her mouth as the silhouette of her husband turned the refrigerator inside out. From where she stood, she could hear her husband's teeth gnawing at an uncooked lamb chop.

"Kyle," she breathed out, struggling to keep herself from gasping in utter horror. Her index finger ran through the wall beside her until it hit the kitchen switch. The ceiling lights came on immediately after, and with it, Beatrice screamed.

Kyle's face turned to look at the old woman staring back at him. Their eyes met, and it was then that Beatrice knew beyond absolute logic and rationality, that who or whatever was with her in the kitchen of her home, it wasn't Kyle.

Before she could even think for a second longer, Beatrice had her back to a wall, and she was being held tightly by her throat. Her feet hung freely in the air, and she felt as if she was meters away from the floor.

"What...are you...doing?" she choked, unable to make her words any more audible than a silent whisper.

To her surprise, Kyle's mouth opened up slowly but surely. She waited for him to speak, to hear him explain to her what had gotten into him. All she got in return was a bitter snicker, and a raspy voice that set every hair on her skin on edge.

"You shouldn't a done that."