TONDER Chapter 14

As the car meandered along the winding path that snaked through the compound, I become aware of the grand scale of the buildings that we approached. The aged stone that surrounded exposed wooden support beams gave the castle-like appearances a regal appeal. The one hundred year old trees that riddled the landscape reached upward to the sky with their mighty oak branches burdened with leaves. The picture that the landscape painted could not have been duplicated on canvas nor could the feeling of insignificance that I felt in regard to the grandness of the dwelling. Bells could be heard high atop a steeple ringing loudly as their echoes leapt from the belfry and into the divine courtyard filled will flowers of every imagination. The sky seemed to color itself in a particular shade of blue that could not have been created on the finest pallet. Perhaps the atmosphere among these grounds reflected an air more pure and sacred that seemed to favor the heavens more so than elsewhere.

Our car entered the courtyard at a walking pace before coming to stop in a large cobblestone circle. The aroma from the flowers surrounded the stone drive and permeated the windows of the car sweetening the air while in my mind I longed to be carried far back to Grandma’s yard where the butterflies flew. The immense entrance consisted of a centuries old wooden door, arched to a point in its center and adorned with blackened steel hinges along with the great door knocker that hung in majesty above the handles.

My fascination was broken as the silence of the moment was interrupted by Reverend Malcolm closing his car door as he exited the vehicle. The reality of our purpose became prevalent while I pushed my appreciation for the skill in architecture in this striking setting deep into the back of my thoughts. I opened my car door and was overwhelmed by the smell of the gardens surrounding me evoking a longing for time to appreciate the fine beauty of the area. I closed my door and with a final breath inhaled the last drop of newness before approaching the entry door alongside of Reverend Malcolm. The preacher spoke not a word but took on an air of professionalism contrary to the youth in the car during our lengthy drive. Grasping the large knocker he pulled at it with a strained tug and released, sending it crashing into the hardened steel plate behind it, causing a dronish thud. He raised his arm and repeated the action with the same effect until the door leisurely began to open to reveal a small man in his late sixties dressed in a brown robe, tied with a single rope at his waist. His somber appearance seemed peaceful and unaffected by our presence as he soberly pulled the weighted door open to allow our entrance. He reflected no emotion through his stony expression, but peered at Reverend Malcolm as if awaiting his words.

“Could you please inform Elder Lewis that Reverend Mal…Reverend White is here to see him? It is quite urgent.”

Our greeter turned unhurriedly without muttering a word and shuffled slowly down the immense foyer toward an elaborate internal archway and turned the corner leaving our sight. The entranceway consisted of large tiles of reddened stone adorning the floor and meeting the walls of planked cherry wood, darkened by age and free of blemishes. Centuries old paintings adorned the walls in frames of such great size that it must have taken six men to suspend them. The paintings were of old men in cloth gowns each with a cap that resembled a child’s beanie. They must have been men of great knowledge and power and most obviously in high regard to the men within these walls. The ceiling towered over us high above like a cathedral of ornate moldings and murals of notable events in Christian history between them. Again I felt a feeling of insignificance by my mere presence within the room.

The sound of shuffling returned to our ears as our greeter returned through the archway and moved towards us still stone faced and sober. As he reached us he grasped Reverend Malcolm’s hand within his own boney clutches and pulled lightly guiding him in the direction that he had turned his body. Reverend Malcolm motioned for me to follow as we were lead through the archway and was quickly seated outside of yet another large wooden door. Our seats were reminiscent of church pews and were as uncomfortable as I had remembered from my days of accompanying my mother to Sunday Mass. The greeter left us without acknowledgement and disappeared again down the length of the hallway and around the corner. Reverend Malcolm and I sat quietly as anticipation filled the air and a sense of fluttering began in my nervous stomach. I leaned to the Preacher and spoke in a low voice.

“Father White? Are you telling me that my first impression of the good preacher is that he is a liar?”

“I am sorry about that, Mr. Abel, but as I told you earlier, Elder Lewis and I were separated by the Board of Elders because we did not conform to the official teachings. Reverend White was a friend of Elder Lewis when he was a young Marine during Operation Summit in 1951. It seems that Reverend White saved Elder Lewis by sacrificing his own life. Elder Lewis gave me the alias and since he is an Elder, had it placed in the preferred visitor’s database for occasional visits. It has served me well and afforded me the opportunity to visit Elder Lewis.”

The large door opened with a click and moved slowly to reveal a small grey haired man in a red robe. He was frail and weak as his thinning hair fell down over his lowered head, which balanced a small white cover, similar to the beanie-topped men pictured in the hallway paintings. The robe that engulfed him seemed much too large and heavy as the old man appeared burdened by the mass hanging from his sagging shoulder. He moved in very small steps and I feared that he might fall, as I stood ready to catch him with every step that he placed. He raised his head as though exempt of energy, straining his wrinkled neck and halting his steps. His eye brows where white as cotton and reached above his eyelids as if helping them to stay open while his blue eyes fought to make out the persons in his presence. His face was a collection of wrinkles placed by age and stress that seemed also too heavy to allow a smile from his stern glare.

“Elder Lewis; it’s me…Reverend Malcolm. Do you remember?”

Elder Lewis spoke in short whispers and was difficult to understand. He seemed to lose his breath before his sentence was completed and I wondered if he would remember the young priest at all.

“Yes, Reverend Malcolm, I do remember my young student. Please come in and sit down. You can put your chair most anywhere that you wish. Come in, come in.”

Reverend Malcolm walked slowly beside Elder Lewis with his elbow raised to help the old priest walk without falling. Three chairs sat atop an ornate woven rug in the middle of the large room that seemed to echo with every whisper. I placed myself in a chair while waiting for Reverend Malcolm to seat the old man. Reverend Malcolm took the seat next to me as we sat across from the chair of Elder Lewis. The old man face was drawn into a strained smile as a quickly fashioned cartoon as he peered down his raised nose.

“What brings you to see an old man Reverend Malcolm? I was told that you would not be visiting these grounds again for quite some time.”

“I have brought someone to meet you. It is of dire attention, I fear, and I thought that you must hear it for yourself. Elder Lewis this is Mr. Abel.”

The old man seemed to be tiring quickly and reached to the side of his chair without looking and brought a gnarled and aged cane to rest upright and between his knees. His eyes closed as he spoke and the smile disintegrated into a lined frown.

“Mr. Abel I am an old man and have seen a great many things. I am a witness to great history that has passed before me. I have seen strong men rise and fall to be replaced by fools that proclaim themselves leaders. I have won and lost and seen deception that I wish not to remember. I am old and I am tired, young man. What is it that you wish to tell me? What is it, Mr. Abel? Enlighten an old man.”

“Elder Lewis, I have brought Mr. Abel here for your guidance. It seems that he….”

“Reverend Malcolm; I assume that Mr. Abel possesses all of the necessary attributes that would make him quite capable of speaking for himself. With all due respect to you, young student, I would like to speak with Mr. Abel in private. Would you object?”

The preacher’s shoulders sunk as if defeated. His confidence turned inwardly into a reverent resentment toward the old man. His face became flush as he shuffled backward toward the doorway with his voice nearly childlike.

“I…no…I mean…certainly not…not at all. I will wait in the hall if you should need me.”

He lowered his chin and, making no waste of time, excused himself from our presence and followed the tiled floor into the hallway, closing the wooden door behind him with little sound. I sat before the elder gentleman searching for the words to begin. So many years have stacked end upon end within my memory that it seemed at this one moment I wanted to see them all topple into a large pile of anger and frustration so that this man before me could sift through them to fill the empty spaces. It is the empty spaces of a man’s life in which the devil waits as a patient void. I felt that Elder Lewis might be the one person who could possibly explain my life and to what I was destined. The old man sat silently inspecting my face as his slender fingers reached above his clasped hands and joined together at a point while they met rested upon his prominent chin.

“Mr. Abel I am searching my mind to find reason that might bring you to me. At this moment I am discovering nothing. Reverend Malcolm is a fine instrument and was one of my most promising students. I feel a certain kindred to him that I do not possess otherwise, as I have no children of my own. I am supposing that in turn I am that of a certain father figure to him. The life within these walls is a satisfying paradigm excepting that for some there is a longing for family. As one comes to understand their purpose within the family of Elders, one will realize, barring a shallowness of reason, that this is purely a problem of pain. Are you familiar with the writing of C. S. Lewis, Mr. Abel?

“I can’t say that I am, Elder. I mostly just…”

“C. S. Lewis writes that in order to be Christian one must deal with the problem of pain. Non-Christians know only the pain of a human kind; being purely physical in aspect. They tend to justify the existence of Christ our Savior as a product of fiction giving freedom of their mind to the probability that evil cannot exist which in turn tells them that goodness cannot. It is riding the fence as it has been stated in the slang nomenclature. The pain that Christians experience is a far greater pain but much more rewarding. As one accepts a wholeness with God, your pain becomes greater but on a much more noble scale. Are you a Christian sir?”

“Elder Lewis, I have a prominent relationship with the Lord that is much more personal…”

“As it is I am to assume that you do not attend church regularly or even occasionally excluding Easter and possibly Christmas. This is the fence that so many choose to stand upon as they attempt to better their feeling of absence by stating a personal relationship that no one else could possibly understand. Of course it is human to draw in to one’s personal self as a final defense against true reason as in that realm you are judge of your actions and the word of other holds no barter there. Am I correct Mr. Abel?”

“I did not travel this far to have some old man attempt to read my pedigree.”

“Alas, Mr. Abel, why did you travel to my door, sir?”

“I’m not sure exactly. I am caught in the middle of something that I do not understand and Reverend Malcolm tells me that you can help me. As a young man, my father used me to help him contain something evil within a…a type of holding cell. He said that while we were fighting this thing, I got something called eklektos. He told that to an old man that he referred to as Balsavoy while they were building a prison for the thing out of rock and mortar. He kept calling my father a Chaser and now refers to me as the same thing. Well, I shouldn’t say now since he is dead. Elder, I have seen things that no one should be allowed to see and now I have this vision or something like it that lets me see if people are marked for some supposed battle between Heaven and Hell. I feel as though I am losing my mind; like I am just a character in a strange book.”

“Mr. Abel, during your exploits did your Father teach you of a higher power of man? Perhaps he mentioned a controlling force beyond understanding of a more numinous interaction?”

“My Father told me of Tonder but he was limited in his knowledge. He said that Tonder was a form of God that he used to present himself to people so that he could be better received; not so overwhelming, I suppose. Everything else about Tonder seems to be implied; kind of like you just do what he says and don’t question it since he hasn’t steered us wrong yet.”

“You mentioned, Mr. Abel, that you are blessed with a gift of sight? I have heard of such a gift but have not in my long life been directly involved with any persons of such talent. This is very interesting indeed, Mr. Abel. Can you tell me…am I marked?”

Peering deeply into the aged eyes of the old man, I found a desperation; a needful longing.

“Elder Lewis, I assure you that you are not…”

“Mr. Abel, are you quite prepared to accept what you have been given?”

“I am not sure what I have been given…”

“For reasons much higher than you or I, you have been chosen as a hub for pureness in a very mortal way. Please do not think for a single instant that you are invincible Mr. Abel, as I assure you, sir, you are very much mortal. Use your gifts wisely, as you possess great power in your knowledge. Your discretion in use of this knowledge may prove to be the deterring of demise: our demise.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I will try to fill you with my knowledge in a much abbreviated manner, Mr. Abel. Our time is drawing very short. If you would please indulge an old man, I would like to stroll within the flowered gardens. They are quite extraordinary, really. As we make our way there I will do my best to give you the details that you require. Won’t you join me?”

“I need some explanations, Elder Lewis, of course I will.”

TONDER Chapter 13

An ear-piercing screech of rubber on asphalt sounded as I ignored the stop sign of the intersection of Sugar Street and Walnut. The front end of my truck headed off of the road as I drastically over-corrected the steering to avoid contact with the small Honda Accord approaching my side. Narrowly avoiding the collision I found myself tossed to the passenger side as the truck nose came to rest in the accompanying ditch. My vision was out of focus and I tried to regain my senses of what had occurred and hazily checked to see if I was hurt in any way feeling about my shoulders and legs for anything out of place. A figure appeared in the driver’s side window reaching into the truck cab to touch my arm. As the figure came into focus I recognized the black shirt of the gentleman buttoned to the neck. I quickly locked to his eyes and was relieved to see that this young man was not marked by evil but was indeed a preacher. He grasped at my shirt collar as if trying to pull me through the open window. He questioned me sternly but calm.
  

“Are you alright?” 

“Preacher, you gotta help me! Please you gotta help!” 

“Slow down Sir, are you hurt?” 

“I’m not hurt, but I need your help! There’s evil back there in the woods, pure evil, I saw it…” 

“Please try to be calm; I’m going to call for an ambulance.” 

“No! I need you to help me, Preacher! Please you gotta listen! It’s pure evil! Emmett said it was dead but it’s not! It’s loose and stronger than before! I saw it! I was face to face with it! It’s marking people for the devil and I saw it with my own two eyes…” 

“Sir, please try not to get excited, I’m calling for an ambulance right now.” 

The preacher ignored my pleas and reached into his front pocket revealing a compact cell phone while he moved to the opposite side of the vehicle. As he raised his hand to open the cover of his phone I calmed my voice and pleaded to him one last time as I leaned my body across the seat and reached my hand out of the window of the truck to him. I closed my eyes leaving my hand and arm extended to him as if desperate and disparaged. 

“Please, Preacher, Rabbi, Father; whatever you may be… it’s about Tonder.” 

The Preacher stood completely still and silent as if suspended in time. His head turned slowly to me over his left shoulder as he closed the cover of his phone. The color of his skin seemed to bleed away and was replaced by a sickened look of grey as if he had eaten something foul that disagreed immediately with his stomach. He stood motionless gazing at me through narrowed eyes, searching for the right words to utter before finally stammering. 

“What did you just say?” 

“I said it’s about Tonder and the beast that Emmett, I mean Balsavoy, kept in his back yard. I pray that you know what this will mean…what all this will mean… I’m a Chaser, Preacher. Will you help me? Please, Preacher.” 

“Sir, do you realize what it is that you are saying? Where did you hear about this?” 

“I didn’t hear about, dammit, I saw it! I’m part of it! Now, if you can’t help me then turn your head and let me go; I gotta figure this out.” 

The preacher replaced the phone back into his pocket and once again approached the truck window staring deeply into my eyes with a stern look upon his face. His forehead wrinkled as he squinted in seriousness. He opened the truck door with a heavy jerk of the handle. 

“Sir, you must come with me. You simply must.” 

“Come with you where?” 

“There is someone, an interested party, who should hear your… your story. You said that a demon has escaped? Do you realize how this sounds?” 

“Yes, it killed Balsavoy, the one who was supposed to watch over it. It told me that it was going to come after me next and I got the hell outta there; sorry for the language, Preacher.” 

“Can you walk, Sir?” 

“Hell yes.” 

“Then get in my car; quickly. There’s someplace that I want to take you. I can put you in touch with someone that can help. Please move quickly, sir, before anyone arrives.” 

I exited the truck through the driver’s side door and experienced a burning across my sweat-covered forehead. I raised my hand and wiped the sweat away to discover a small amount of blood across my palm as the burning on my forehead intensified. With the sleeve of my shirt I wiped the remaining blood away from my face and opened the door of the preacher’s car. The preacher entered the driver’s side in a hurry starting the car before I had the opportunity the sit. His voice became rushed and excited as he tried to speak while moving the car in reverse and then quickly forward. 

“Hurry, we must get you to Elder Lewis quickly.” 

As I closed the passenger door and reached for my seat belt the preacher was already speeding us into the open road and forward down the streets of this unfamiliar small town. I extended my hand across the gear shift to the preacher showing my open palm to him. 

“My name is Abel, Preacher, Su….” 

“Reverend James Malcolm. What brings you to Campbellsburg Mr. Abel and how did you come to know of Tonder?” 

My heart rate slowed and I began to feel the distance between the demon and the car, knowing that I was removed from the beast. I felt more at ease and somewhat relieved that I could mention Tonder and receive a sound reply from someone who at least seemed to understand my plight. I was anxious to speak with this strange, young preacher and felt compelled to tell him everything. Perhaps this comfort was a remnant of childhood confessions. I felt as though I was babbling. 

“I guess Tonder has drawn me here. My father originally brought me into a clearing in the woods about fifteen years ago where a fella named Emmett showed us where some kind of demon had escaped from this stone fortress that he and my father had built. We caught it and put it back and I felt like I needed to come back to see what’s going on. I’ve been hearing voices in my dreams and I passed out a week ago. While I was blacked-out I had this…this encounter with some kind of ghost that gave me this gift, at least it said it was a gift, to see people who are marked. It has been more of a curse if you gotta know. What have I gotten in to?” 

I placed my hands over my eyes as I threw my head back against the seat and stayed in the position with my elbows pointing outward. The drying cut on my head pulsed under my sore palms. Reverend Malcolm did not talk, but instead listened intently while I spoke. 

“Reverend Malcolm, where are you taking me…where exactly?” 

“It’s a town called Faldham; there is a Chapel there that our group has converted to a house on the grounds of our…of our community. This is where Elder Lewis resides in his retirement. I spent a few months there while in my studies and that’s where I befriended Elder Lewis. He taught me much about the clergy but I was most intrigued by his talks of a special force; a force that not many speak of. Not just in our affiliation, but in most religions. You might say it had been swept under the proverbial religious rug to be forgotten. Elder Lewis didn’t forget. Even when the others asked him to stop his…his foolishness; he continued. Coming here with the order and following the strength of our mission. He called it Tonder, Mr. Abel.. He had just begun his teachings to me after normal class hours when I was quickly transferred without good reason. I have not been allowed back to visit him, but we do communicate by phone occasionally. He informed me that he was stifled by the People’s Church of ever speaking of Tonder to me again. They said it was…not stable.” 

“So what do you know about it?” 

“Elder Lewis taught me; rather he supposes that Tonder is God in a simplified form, if you will, so that he is less overwhelming to man. I am told that if you were to witness God in his full glory then you would be caught up in his Rapture of Holiness and therefore incapable of comprehension. There are only a few recorded cases of contact with Tonder through the years but they do exist. I have not read the documentation, but Elder Lewis assures me…” 

“Wait, wait, wait. Tonder is God? What are you saying, Preacher? Why would he water it down for us? God has talked to people in the past, right? Moses, David, Noah; the list goes on. I have never heard any bible talk about how Tonder spoke to Noah and told him to build an ark. You’ve gotta admit how crazy that sounds.” 

I smirked slightly and cast my eyes to catch a smile from the Preacher’s profile. He appeared confident, but restless and hurried. He tried his best to appear relaxed.

“I am unsure of that, Mr. Abel, but I am sure that Elder Lewis can give you the details; perhaps a good starting point in this journey. The Elder also told me that there is evil on earth that is placed here in preparation of the final battle between Heaven and Hell and there are persons who contain the evil with prayers taught to them by Tonder to weaken the evil, leaving it unfit to prey upon those candidates that are appealing to it. That is until the final battle when all of the evil on earth is unleashed to gather its legions of humans to fight against the soldiers of God to decide the fate of man.” 

“And what is the possible outcome of this great war, Preacher John?” 

“I’m thinking that it is safe to say that the outcome will be Heaven or Hell, Mr. Abel, pure and simple; no compromise.” 

I started my senses with a quick twist of my head feeling a sickened pit in the bottom of my stomach. I grabbed the Preachers sleeve. 

“What time is it?” 

“It is 2:35, Mr. Abel, 2:35.” 

“Oh, no! You’ve got to let me use your phone to call my wife; she’s going to be worried sick!” 

Reverend Malcolm retrieved his phone from his pocket with little effort handed it to me quickly. I raised the cover of the phone in aggravation and firmly dialed the numbers with my thumb. The phone rang only once before I could hear my Lynn’s voice on the opposite end of the line. From her tone I could tell that she was concerned and distraught. 

“Lynn, it’s me.” 

“Sutter, thank God! Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, listen I’m on my way to Faldham and I’m going to be a while…” 

“Faldham! I got a call from the police saying that they found your truck in a ditch in Campbellsburg and I have been worried sick! What were you doing in Campbellsburg, Sutter, and I’ve dialed your phone but it goes straight to voice mail. What happened to you?” 

“Honey, I’ll explain later. Some idiot ran me off the road, my phone is busted… and right now I am alright. I’ve got a few things to do before I can come home. I need you to hang tight until I call you back…” 

“Are you in some kind of trouble? If you are just tell me where you are and I’ll come and get you. You are really scaring me.” 

“I am fine, Lynn. I’ll call you back later. Give Doyle a kiss for me and tell him I will tuck him in bed later tonight, o.k.?” 

“Sutter, I think that you should come home. We can call Dr. Borlan and he can…” 

“Lynn, I’ll be home in a while and I will explain what I can. Right now I gotta go. Give Doyle a hug for me. I love you both.” 

“Sutter, please just come home, I…” 

I closed the cover of the phone and handed it back to Reverend Malcolm; in my mind asking for my wife’s understanding and forgiveness. I knew that if she were with me then she would surely understand.  Reverend Malcolm placed the phone back into his pocket and continued driving down the empty highway. His curly black hair framed his face in an uneven manner covering his ears and reaching downward toward his thick goatee which for his young age already revealed some signs of grey. His appearance reminded me of the Spanish side of my family; my mother’s ancestors, except for his cold blue eyes that penetrated the windshield ahead but carried a gentle feeling of trust. 

We drove for over an hour along the highway without passing more than five cars on this Sunday afternoon which gave me an uneasy feeling of being alone despite my traveling companion. I questioned him throughout the trip of his knowledge of Tonder and Elder Lewis, bringing the conversations to dead ends because of his lack of teaching from the retired preacher. As we approached the gates of this secluded compound, Reverend Malcolm slowed the car until finally stopping at the massive iron gates of the entrance.

The buildings huddled tightly within each other and towered high into the skyline justifying its majestic place above the city. Wooded acreage stretched for miles around all sides of its great walls resembling a well-fortified castle. Reverend Malcolm pushed the button on the intercom attached to the gate and with the assumption of the pseudonym Reverend White, was granted clearance. As the giant gates moved away from us, Reverend Malcolm placed the car back in gear moving us forward into the arms of this compound; this collection of rocks, mortar, and history.

TONDER Chapter 12

The area seemed unchanged from the many years ago that the encounter took place in the distance of the clearing. The difference seemed to be that the air was absent of the putrid smell of evil and was replaced with the scent of dried dirt and rotted wood. The door to the dilapidated home swung loosely on its hinges, causing a squeak when a random breeze would catch it. I felt a reluctance to be in this place, but my reluctance was overshadowed by an undeniable attraction. I called out into the open air.

“Emmett! Emmett, are you here? It’s Sutter… The Chaser!”

The only answer returned to me was the creaking from the wooden planks of the front porch beneath my feet. I moved slowly, trying to hone my ears for any sound. Placing my hand upon the door I steadied it, silencing the hinges and leaving nothing but the sound of the boards crying under the weight of my body. I called again; this time a bit more fearful.

“Balsavoy? Balsavoy, this is Sutter. I’m coming in. Don’t shoot at me you crazy coot.”

As I peered into the entrance of the shack, I noticed the squander of furniture that appeared broken and abandoned for many years. Dust was settled upon shelves that hung suspended from a single nail on the faded walls of grey. The window to my right displayed furnace tape partially covering a crack; the adhesive backing giving way to time and weathering. Through the breaks in the window dust had entered and settled over everything in the room giving a brownish haze to my surroundings. With every step, traces of my shoes were left behind in the layer of dust giving me the thought that no one else had explored the home through this entrance for some time. Across the room was an archway, rounded and off square. I rested at the archway again calling out to no apparent return. The room that I entered was a kitchen, evident only by the cast iron skillet atop a wood burning stove long since cold and deserted. Across the room was another open doorway as doors did not seem to be present throughout the home’s interior. Framing the door were layers of peeling wallpaper reaching toward the floor in an attempt to escape the latticed walls behind them yet still held tightly by a portion of the wall.

I turned my body to the side to fit between the wall and the aluminum table; hearing my shirt brush the wallpaper behind it as I passed. I entered slowly through the doorway, relaxed and convinced that Emmett had not stayed here for quite a time. The room was a bedroom, complete with a stained and aged mattress topped by a bearded, rotting corpse lying with its head propped by a pillow and the remainder of the carcass beneath the blanket of the bed. The sight caused me to step backward and into the kitchen table, scooting it across the wood floor and sending me tumbling beside it. I stumbled against the words locked in my throat.

“Emmett? My mercy…Emmett? ”

No answer was returned as I had suspected from the sign of decomposing flesh and exposed bone of his corpse. The meat had long since rotted and dried as did the sunken face and dried eye sockets. The clothes were the same that I remembered Emmett wearing to the hospital during his visit a week earlier but the body had to have been rotting for more than a month as no odor accompanied his body. The jaw was dropped down upon the bib of his overalls which were stained with the oils of his rotted cadaver as the juices were wicked through the material during decomposition. His hands, which resembled thin strands of jerky, clutched tightly to a double-barreled shotgun across his sunken and hollowed chest. The propped head left me to imagine that Emmett was lying here scared and waiting for something or someone at the time of his demise.

Above the bed, the wall had been stripped down to the lattice work except for small torn remnants of wallpaper scattered sporadically about its length. Upon the wall was scribbled what I would have guessed to be a child’s handwriting. The letters were inconsistently displayed in differing sizes and were written in blood as they were darkened red in color and the substance had been pulled down the wall as it dripped during the composition. I moved a step back from the wall to make out the letters to discover what they combined to spell. Before me, the letters revealed;

                                                NOT TONDER

Racing upward along the length of my spine, coldness arose in me reviving the memory of the wretched beast that spoke to my father and I and echoed the same phrase forever scarring my repressed memory with its words. I raced out of the bedroom, through the kitchen, and out of the open backdoor and doubled over at the pain within the depth of my stomach. The burning, sour taste of bile rose into my throat and filled my mouth with vomit as I uncontrollably evacuated its contents onto the red earth below me. I struggled to regain myself and gathered my senses amidst the tears streaming down my cheeks from the release of the morning coffee in my stomach. Breathing hard I stood to notice the pile of rocks which were mortared in the same place that my father and Emmett had placed them as they contained the beast long ago.

I remembered the words that Emmett spoke to me in the hospital when he told me that she had finally died. A single rock lay on the ground in front of the mortared cage leaving a void in the fortress. I approached the rocks and placed my hand on the cold stone while steadying myself against its rigid wall. I leaned, bending at my waist, to look into the stone encasement. Within the void where the fallen stone once laid was the face of a beast compressed between the walls of rock and gazing at me through hideous black eyes. Its demonic face wrinkled as it laughed in a sinister tone, which raised an octave at its end while its sharpened teeth gnashed against each other like pieces of sandpaper rubbing together.  It’s laughing echoed endlessly while I tumbled helplessly backward in fear. I scraped at the ground to carry me away while seemingly going nowhere. Fighting to stand, my legs; as if controlling themselves, tried desperately to move away as my wide eyes remained fixed upon the open portal.

I stood trembling in front of the enigma where I could see its form loosing consistency and fading away until it finally dissipated into nothing. The laughter stopped and the capsule stood empty. I felt as though an eternity had passed as I tried to understand what I was experiencing.  Encouraging my legs, I ran around the house and was stopped at the side window by a voice speaking to me. The direction of the voice seemed to culminate from the broken and taped window, causing me to turn around to face in its direction. Through the thick dirty glass I could see the frail shape of an old man with his rotted fingers gripping the broken portion of the window raising its face to the opening above. It was undeniably the decomposing corpse of Emmett that the demon had raised and replaced its own head. As the sunlight shown caught it, its brown skin appeared leathery and weathered as its shark-like teeth gleamed at me through its wicked smile. It taunted me to its great satisfaction.

“Run, Chaser. Much to do! Can’t wait around just for me. I’ll twist your mind and leave you rotting. Just like Balsavoy. Run Chaser! I will catch you! Run, boy! It’s time to play!”

The sound of its voice shot through my body in a surreal wave of fear causing my limbs to feel limp and helpless against my trembling torso. I stood in terror as the smile of the creature widened and its laughter began again, louder than before. As I forced my body to turn, I ran as fast as my legs would carry while my misguided feet flailed as steel balls on a string. As I made my way to the truck the creature continued its threats as though yelling across the greatness of time and space.

“I will catch you Chaser! Keep running! I will catch you!”

As I opened the truck door its laughter filled the cab around me while I nervously shuffled the tangle of keys in my hands. After finding the correct key, I placed it into the ignition and twisted it with a jerk causing the engine to cough and sputter until finally starting in a cloud of smoke. The demonic creature continued to taunt.

“Run Chaser. Run away! I’m coming, Chaser, soon be there, don’t’ you worry about a thing”

Looking up through the dirty windshield I noticed the creature now standing on the front porch hideously laughing with widened eyes and in the direction of the truck. I quickly slammed the gear shift into reverse and expelled a cloud of dust in a circle surrounding me. Within my rearview mirror I could see the beast standing on the porch perched atop the headless body of Emmett which lay strewn in the dust. I traveled quickly through the bottle neck of the trees and while panicking, I placed rapid distance between myself and the atrocity. I reached to the rearview mirror with a trembling hand as the truck jostled me along the dirt road. Grabbing the rosary from the mirror I draped it around my neck and began reciting The Lord’s Prayer aloud while my trembling hands nervously gripped the steering wheel.

TONDER Chapter 11

The Sunday morning sunshine reflected across a crystal bowl of oranges resting upon our dining room table. The sunshine casted a crowd of dancing sparkles onto the lace table cloth beneath. I sat in the quiet of this morning, peering over the top of my raised coffee cup. The steam formed a wall in front of me but was chased away as I exhaled through my nose. The rich smell of coffee awakened my mind while calming my body in preparation of the morning. I lowered my cup gently onto the oak table catching more of the lost sun rays onto its enamel finish of blue and smiled to myself in my attempt to make as little noise as possible. I have always looked forward to these Sunday moments to cast off the past week and start anew. I whispered quietly as I read the writing of the cup aloud. 

“World’s Greatest Dad.” 

I breathed a heavy sigh of pride as the writing could have said anything on this day, but I chose the cup that I used most often for my Sunday morning start. The window behind me was raised slightly enough to allow an early morning breeze into the room causing a chill as it passed across the back of my neck and into the kitchen. My flannel shirt stilled smelled of smoke from the last time that my father and I burned a large pile of brush behind his house. Mostly imagination and partly desperation, I held tight to the smell this many years from that day. I soaked the aroma into my senses and recalled the countless times that I had stopped Lynn from washing it for fear that the memories would not be as vivid as they are today and might be tomorrow. A single drag from the cigarette I held between my lips produced the crackling sound of dry tobacco leaves in paper burning amidst the orange glow of ash. The smoke traveled downward, heavy on the morning air and across the rim of my coffee cup, mixing with the warm steam while hovering briefly before disappearing into the openness of the kitchen.

My thoughts were not particular at this moment and I tried not to dwell on my lack of sleep and instead forced my focus on the morning duties. Down the hall, Lynn and Doyle prepared slowly for their morning at church as typical as prediction. Lynn would over-sleep just enough to complain that she would not have enough time to curl her hair and dress Doyle without being late, while Doyle would fight eagerly to stay home and spend the morning with his Daddy. His attempts were always overruled as I supported Lynn in her explanation of the importance of going to church regularly; now more than ever. Lynn would ask occasionally for me to join them, but as my father, I felt a relationship with God outside of the church and did not revel in those that longed to place me on a committee. Footsteps thundered down the hallway and into the kitchen as Doyle entered in a rush with his mother two steps behind him.

“Doyle, you get beck here this instant and put your shoes on! We are going to be late for sure if you don’t hurry up!”

“But I want to stay with Daddy today! Please!”

Doyle leaped into my lap causing me to toss my cigarette into the ashtray beside me. With his arms wrapped around my shoulder and his head buried into my chest, he clung tightly. I fought back the urge to argue with Lynn that Doyle could stay with me today and we could lie in the grass of the backyard and count airplanes as they occasionally passed overhead. How I wished that I could do that with him if only for one hour. Instead, I spoke sternly to Doyle, but with a slight grin.

“Doyle, you heard your Mother, now run and get your shoes on for church. If you keep messing around you’re going to be late. Now go!”

Doyle reluctantly acknowledged and hurriedly disappeared down the hall and into the living room to find his shoes. Lynn’s voice was gentle and filled with sugar.

“Do you want to come along to church with us?”

“Not today, Pink, I think I’m going to take a drive out into the country and get away for a little bit. I should be back by the time church is out.”

“Well, you’re welcome to come. It would be nice to go as a family for a change.”

“Maybe next Sunday. I just want to get some quiet time today.”

“Sutter, Pastor Malcolm has been concerned about you. He has been asking about you quite a lot and says he can come out to see you if you need him. He said to remind you that the People’s Church is not a place to hide from the world, but instead a place to find it. Don’t you think that is beautiful? He is such a good preacher, Sutter, would you think about coming sometime?” 

“I’ve been thinking a lot about church, and Mom, and the way I was raised. I felt so at home in that little church. I felt like I was home and safe when I…” 

Lynn’s words were quick and heavy as she ended my sentence for me. Rushing down the hallway, she did not look back. 

“Well…o.k. we will be home at noon. If you get hungry there are left-overs from supper in the bottom of the fridge. Gotta go. I love you!” 

Lynn’s steps quickened as she questioned Doyle of why he did not have his shoes on his feet. Some shuffling and incoherent dialogue between them and within a moment the house fell silent acknowledged only by the sound of the car starting in the driveway and fading as it drove off into the morning; church-bound. Alone, I sat. Again, I was surrounded by the white noise of silence as my mind shifted to the true purpose of my morning. 

I raised my coffee cup for one final taste of the dawn and cleared my throat as I finished the cup’s last swallow. My chair screeched against the floor as I raised and stood before the table searching my pockets for the keys to my truck. Remembering that my keys were placed onto the counter I quickly gathered them into my hand and exited the kitchen door, locking it behind me. The cool morning air felt more brisk without the shelter of the kitchen and the warmth of the coffee cup as I wondered if my flannel shirt alone would be adequate for the cool of dawn. I had not yet fixed the heater of my old truck and regretted putting it off. I approached my truck remembering the seizure one week ago which had resulted in my gift of sight and fear of the people around me. I paused for a moment before placing the key into the door lock and expelled a sigh as I turned it, opening the door in front of me. The worn vinyl seats felt stiff and cold against my legs that were shielded only by my blue jeans as I scooted my body across and placed myself behind the steering wheel. The engine coughed before awakening into a loud roar and churning successfully. I sat inside of the truck watching the morning dew leak down the width of my windshield shaken by the vibration of my unevenly idling engine. Sunlight washed the entire windshield in an orange glow making it impossible to see beyond the dashboard. While waiting for the engine to warm I argued with my conscious to continue on or stay home alone, lie in the backyard grass, and count airplanes as my son would have liked. My journey beckoned me forward and the engine calmed and evened out to a mild hum with an occasional clatter. 

I removed a cigarette from a freshly crumpled pack and placed it to my waiting lips and touched a flame to it from the Zippo my Mother had given to me after my father’s death some years ago. Returning the lighter to my shirt pocket and placing the remaining pack onto the seat next to me I inhaled a large amount of smoke and closed my eyes. I opened my eyes, exhaled the smoke into the cab of my truck, and lowered the truck window allowing the smoke to escape. My hands, chilled from the air, grasped the gearshift and engaged the engine to move out of my driveway and onto the gravel road leading away from my house. 

I reach into my shirt pocket I removed a tattered rosary; also my fathers before his death, and draped it lovingly around the rear-view mirror as it swayed in rhythm with the movement of the truck. Making my way down the gravel drive, I stopped at the end beside the crooked wooden mailbox leaning away from me as if avoiding my truck. I entered the road and sped forward. 

After forty minutes of chain smoking and dialing through the radio, I halted the truck just shy of a passage through some familiar trees that appeared untouched by time. Reaching to the mirror I grasped the crucifix tightly in my fist and tossed my half-finished cigarette out of the open window. I returned my grip to the steering wheel and idled through the passage and into the open field beyond as the interior of the clearing cast my memory back to my child-hood. I had arrived at my destination as I bounced within the cab of my truck while it traveled over the earth that was unchanged by the years that had seemingly ignored it. The shack in the clearing was as I remembered from that day of my youth: that day that forever changed my opinion of good and evil and marked me in my own right to fight for the calling of the Chaser. I wondered fearfully if Balsovoy stilled lived in the run-down shack or if he had packed up and drifted away now that he was free from the duty of containing the evil within his back yard. I stopped the truck within a few feet of the falling down front porch and halted the engine with a turn of the ignition. Breathing a sigh I whispered into the morning air upon exiting the truck cab.

“Dad, we are here.”