TONDER Chapter 8

Thirty minutes had passed since Dr. Borlan, Florence, and the other nurse had restrained me. I renamed the head nurse Flossie since she reminded me of a younger version of my late Grandmother. Much like her namesake, Flossie possessed a kind, gentle demeanor but had the strength of a woman that had steered a plow for many years. Nurse Flossie’s hands were callused and hard. Her shoulders supported her white uniform as if muscular mantles; squared at the corners and rigid. Her face took me back to Grandma’s front yard where I stole a moment of wisdom with each visit.


In a blink, I was there. Her wild flowers were in full bloom and the air was heavy with the scent of rose pedals. Monarch butterflies circled the air above my head as I sat on the cold dirt in the shade of her old oak tree taking in the stories and words of wisdom she handed my soul from the comfort of her green lawn glider. I could clearly visualize her drooping facial features while she squinted through her horn rimmed glasses; her single lower tooth connecting with her upper gum that made a salivated smacking sound as she spoke. The skin of her forearm clung helplessly to the bone beneath it as it fought against the gravity that commanded it, swinging slightly as she pushed a strand of white hair back to its place behind her oversized ear. She spoke in a manner fitting to her upbringing and native to the area with much slang and improper grammar. On this day she spoke of things to come and of knowledge of the past which was inconsequential to my thirteen year old mind-set. Her whisper of a voice, lowered by age, detailed much about life and lessons learned.
 

“Sutter! You see that butterfly yonder among the Brown Eyed Suzies? Looks like she’s lost don’t it? That there creature is a work of God, just like them Suzies are and neither one don’t give no never-mind to the other being there. Them Suzies keep a growing and them butterflies keep a flying until they find one another and between the two they live. God above made ‘em that way and that’s the way they live till they die and they will die. But you know that butterfly don’t jus’ need the Suzies. It jumps from Iris’ to Roses to Lillies keepin’ em all alive and beautiful till the time comes when they all die and that butterfly dies too. But the whole time they’re alive they’re doin’ jus’ what they’re supposed to do by helpin’ each other live as beautiful as they can till they gotta stop. But you won’t ever see that butterfly jus’ sittin’ round doin’ nothin’. He’s always a’movin’ an workin’ doin’ what God wants him to do. Jus’ like you an me, we gotta keep touchin’ them flowers and makin’ em grow till God tells us we’re done.”

“Grandma, you know the other day I caught a butterfly and the color came right off of his wings in my hand like dust. I wiped all that dust off of his wings and turned him loose but he wouldn’t fly away. I felt bad ‘cause he wasn’t hurting me; I just caught it off of a flower and ruined it.” 

“People are the same way, Sutter. Some jus’ wanna rub the color right off of other people’s wings and leave em to fend for themselves, not carin’ at all what happens to em after that. Some people wanna touch other’s hearts and leave em feelin’ good about life and themselves. You gotta live unselfishly and touch people without askin’ for anything back. You can be happy livin’ either way but happiness is a result and not a goal. You want to be fulfilled in your heart. If yer happy hurtin people than yer only satisfied and foolin’ yourself cause you ain’t foolin’ the good Lord. He sees ya an he knows. Don’t think he don’t keep track either cause you do bad an he’s gonna remind ya of that come judgment day.”

My mind settled back into the confines of the hospital bed while I lay in that room remembering the summer day with Grandma. The picture faded from my mind as if a ring of smoke around a halogen bulb seemingly drawn to its heat but never touching the outside. My eyes strolled around the room taking in as much of my surroundings as I could due to my wrist and ankle restraints. The clock ticked and taunted as the seconds meandered as the only sounds in the room except for the steady hum of the air conditioning unit. 

Dr. Borlan’s face repeated again and again through my mind causing me to feel restless. I began to wonder how many were marked with this evil sign; with the blackened sockets, and who among my friends and family possessed the markings. A burning in my stomach began to form a bile-like taste in my throat and I felt as I would vomit uncontrollably with the next thought that presented itself. I became sickened at the thought of my wife and son being marked. I had to know if I could live with the knowledge as my heart raced with fear and anticipation. I reached hastily for the nurse’s buzzer but could not reach due to my restraint bracelets. The sourness of my stomach intensified.

“Nurse! Nurse!”

Footsteps rushed closer resembling the shoed hooves of a Clydesdale scurrying to my beckoning as the reverb of my shouting echoed down the hall. The door was cast open and stood ajar revealing the hallway beyond my room. The footsteps halted with a sudden clack a few feet within the doorway controlled by the narrow legs of Flossie. Her face wore a look of worry and concern as she wrenched her aged hands in front of her as if trying to remove the darkened spots of time as she scolded.

“Mr. Abel, there is really no need for shouting in this hospital.”

“I need you to turn on the television!”

“Mr. Abel I think that you should rest you really…”

“Please just turn on the T.V. for me right now!”

“I don’t see where shouting at me is going to help you…”

“Please. If you turn on the television I believe that I could relax much better. Won’t you, please?”

“Mr. Abel, I will do this for you but you have to promise to calm down. If you would just relax I am sure that you would feel much better and recover much faster.”

Flossie continued to speak in a low tone as if complaining while she moved toward the television above her head. With a snap she pulled the volume button out releasing sound from the darkened box above and a whisp of static electricity raced across the black screen sending crackling ions to its four corners before dissipating. The sound of a news reporter entered my ears as I anticipated the view from the warming screen. Slowly the colors filled the pallet of the picture tube and motion could be detected behind the fleeting wall of black. I sat up as well as the arm and leg restraints would allow, sending my shoulders forward in what must have appeared to be a caged animal leaning against the weight of a chain in anticipation of food. As the picture developed into full color I laid back against my pillow once again presumably defeated.

“Please change the channels slowly, Flossie…I mean, nurse, until I ask you to stop.”

“Well, there are pretty much just soap operas and news on at this time of the day. That is unless you like old movies! AMC has a Gregory Peck marathon on all day and I believe that they are showing The Yearling right now! I always loved that man and he could act any way that they wanted him too! I remember…”

“Please. Just run through the channels one time for me if you don’t mind.”

“Well, o.k., Mr. Abel I will, I will.”

Flossie continued through the channels one after the other pausing briefly on each one and then peering over her shoulder at me as if searching for acceptance. With each channel she moved through, the stronger the confirmation became that I could not deny. News casters, actors, athletes, hosts, and people of all ages were marked with the steely blackness of evil that the mysterious creature in my mind spoke of reflected in their eyes. They mingled within those that were not marked and neither the other knew differently. Each channel taught me further that evil was indeed real and living among the perpetually good. I could not panic nor scream in horror. I could not familiarize myself with words or a reaction to the ravaged individuals before me. This was a gift to me so that I could see but not do. This was a curse. As the shifting of channels carried out, my eyes tired in sadness and I was compelled to close them slowly and sit quietly not noticing that Flossie was speaking to me over her shoulder while still holding onto the television.

“Mr. Abel? Do you see something that you may want to watch? Mr. Abel?”

“Thank you, nurse, I have changed my mind. Sorry to bother you.”

“You should rest then. I will be back to check on you in a few minutes.”

Upon exiting my room, Flossie breathed a gasp of air out of her lungs as if relieved to be removed from my demands. I fought with the notion of living out the rest of my life knowing that my family was marked. I could not let them live in that world of suffering as I knew that anytime they may be called to fight for evil. The notion of insanity again appealed to my subconscious but was pushed back for a reason that I could not explain. Perhaps it was the easy way out for me and my mother had complained for years that I attempted nothing easy in my life. Again footsteps echoed closer to my room through the exposed hallway leading to my door. This time there appeared two sets of footsteps; one seemingly a woman’s high heels and the second much faster and shorter. A familiar voice billowed into my room of my son Doyle. The time had come to face what has proved to be my greatest fear. I wished to be taken back to that treacherous day in the clearing so that I could face the beast of Hell again and again instead of the anticipation what awaited beyond my door. 

Louder the footsteps sang their clacking of heels and squeaking of tiny sneakers in harmony with the joyous laughter that was unmistakably my wife and son. Around the corner they came as subtlety as a steel-clad elephant with balloons in hand and flowers. I had no more time for preparation as my moment had come. My wife gazed into my eyes lovingly and placed her palm upon my cheek and the familiar fragrance tickled my nostrils as morning dew beneath my feet. Her eyes; her beautiful eyes were as green as the coastal waters and as lovely as a sunrise in spring. My son leapt onto my lap and also his eyes were as beautiful as ever. My family was safe and my fear subsided as the blood once again returned to my arms. My sanity grasped onto reality more firmly giving way to a sigh of relief. 

“Daddy, Daddy! Why are you tied down?”

“Sutter, honey we missed you. It is good to have you back, I love you so much!”

The kisses and hugs confirmed that I was ready to go home. If they would just untie me we could all walk out together, lock ourselves in our home, and shun the world forever; forgetting good and evil.

“Son, I guess I got a little excited and the doctors had to keep me here somehow. I just wanted to see you guys so bad!”

“Sutter, what did the doctors say?”

Lynn began loosening my leather restraints from my wrists until finally freeing my limbs so that I could hug my family properly and the hugs seemed to last an eternity; an eternity where I wanted to lose myself.

“Dr. Borlan stopped in but we haven’t had any time to talk. I got a little out of my head during his visit and he’s supposed to come back soon. What day is this?”

“It’s Thursday. You had a seizure of some sort getting into your truck on Monday morning and you blacked out. Dr. Borlan said that you must have hit your head pretty hard when you fell. You fell into a pretty deep sleep and wouldn’t respond to anything. I thought we were losing you…”

Lynn’s head fell against my shoulder as she wept silently; her tears absorbing into the hospital gown and spilling warmly onto my chest. I embraced her tightly and began to cry as I reached out and pulled Doyle closely against his mother.

“I am so glad that you guys are alright.”

“You are the one that we were worried about. I just knew that you weren’t going to wake up and Doyle and I would be alone without you…”

“I am fine. As a matter of fact I feel stronger than before. Something happened while I was out, Lynn, something miraculous. You would think I was completely insane if I tried to explain it, but just know this; I am a different man. I am awake and renewed. You and Doyle will always be safe and I will see to it. So help me Lynn, I will protect you two.”

Lynn’s sobbing intensified as her body began pulsing in harmony with her tears while my heart became swollen with love for her and Doyle. I held the two silently as our embrace seemed to replace the time lost from Monday morning. I whispered into her ear through my own tears of relief and joy, assuring her of what I knew I could not promise.

“You will always be safe. Always.”

TONDER Chapter 7

Light cut through the small slits of my eyelids and burned into my retina. Confused, I took in my surroundings although in great effort to see clearly. An intense light burned through the window making it difficult to see, but I could tell that I was not in my bed at home. An uncomfortable feeling was pulsing in my arm and I struggled to focus, but could begin to identify the IV line leading away from my bed. The white sheets that draped my legs gave even more confirmation as did the flowered gown of blue tied around my neck. 


“Sutter?” 

Trying harder to see I raised my flattened palm into a salute to shield the intense sunshine toying with my vision. I could make out the outline of a long haired person, possibly male with a wiry build. The most outstanding characteristic of the presence there was the sour smell of body odor. My focus sharpened onto the figure, as I knew that I did not recognize the aged, rasping in his voice.

“Sutter? Can ya see me son?” 

“Who the hell are you?” 

The image sharpened as the old man moved within a few feet of the side of my bed. The long white hair and tangled beard framed a haggard face of age and experience set atop the shoulders of a man of at least eighty years old. The weathered face seemed to wrinkle intensely as this caricature displayed several yellowed teeth in his smile.  

“Gave ‘em a scare back thar, you did. I knew right away that things were warmin’ up again after the ole’ she-devil kicked the bucket. I knew it right off! Knew somethin’ had to be happenin’ with ya if ya were still around. Sure enough, here ya be!” 

I felt as though I was dreaming. I recognized the old man and his cartoon features of a prospector, and my mind raced through my memories trying to remember a name. 

“Who are you?” 

“It’s me! ‘Member way back ta tha day that ya got the lektos? I was there! It’s me; Emmett! Bet ya thought I was dead by now didn’t ya?” 

“What? Emmett? Yea, I figured you to be long gone by now, no offense.” 

Emmett kept the over-exaggerated smile upon his face and I feared that the yellowed front teeth may drop out at any time, but wondered if it would even matter to him as he seemed unconcerned for his dental health. He smelled as if he had just returned from rolling in a freshly warmed pile of cow dung, but seemed undaunted by his own aroma. His clothes were as I remembered some fifteen years earlier and I wagered that he had not washed or changed them since that day in the clearing. 

“No ‘fense taken. Look, I gotta make this quick ‘fore them doctors get in here and now that yer good and awake. I ain’t supposed ta be in here; only friends and family and such but you know how it is.” 

“Emmett, what are you doing here?” 

My words weakened and I relaxed back into the cradle of the pillow surrounding my head as my temples throbbed with the racing of my heart. The words formed slowly in my throat and there was an unavoidable rasp as if I had gargled with rocks and barbed wire. My eyes once again closed and now comfortable with the Emmett, I began entertaining the questions of why I was in the hospital and exactly how I came to be in this state. 

“Listen up, Chaser, an listen good. ‘Member that ole demon that you an yer Dad put back in ‘er pen? Well she’s dead an gone now. Dead as can be and she rotted away to the foulest smellin’ ash that you ain’t never smelt. Turnt my stomach sour fer most of tha night, but that ain’t tha issue here. Anyway, I knew that this was pretty strange and I wanted ta tell a Chaser just in case it were somethin’ worth notin an since yer dad passed, well…yer tha only Chaser I know.” 

“Stop calling me a Chaser, I don’t know what you are talking about.” 

“Yer a Chaser jus like yer ole man! Don’t you deny what ya really are! Tonder marked ya long before ya knew it. Yer ole man knew and so did I. Hell you knew it that day up there in the clearing.” 

“Go to hell old man! You don’t know a thing about me!” 

“Oh yea?, I know that lately ya been hearing voices that wake ya up out of a dead sleep! I know that you’ve been talkin’ to somethin’ that ain’t of this wolrd! And I know that it gave ya the gift to see! And that’s why I’m here you ungrateful piss-ant. I know more about you than ya know ‘bout yerself.” 

I sat there amazed at this old man who knew the very things that I was afraid to tell anyone.  I settled back into my bed and tried to regroup my thoughts while my head was spinning wildly as if a grand carousel. Emmett continued to stare into my face, his expression unchanged except for now his smile was replaced by a scowl. I calmed myself and searched for information. 

“What is this gift to see, Emmett?” 

“Sutter, thar’s good an thar’s pure evil out there. In the middle is us. We humans are stuck ‘tween heaven an hell an they’re gettin’ ready ta start a war together. Tonder says that evil preys on people that don’t care, don’t know, or are just marked from birth. Usually if yer marked evil from birth somebody down yer line has done somethin’ bad enough ta damn everyone after em. Don’t see yung-uns marked like that a lot, but it happens. Ya got the gift of site meaning that you can tell who’s marked and who’s not. The ones that are marked don’t know it and never will until the war starts. Now people live and die and after they die they gotta be replaced. It’s gonna take mortals to fight this war and that’s where you Chasers come in. You gotta run down these things that are recruitin’ people and markin’ em and put em in a cage. Jus’ like your Dad did years ago and jus’ like you did.” 

“And just what am I supposed to do when I know that someone is marked?” 

“Nothin’ you can do. Jus gotta keep em from markin’ anybody else. Them poor bastards are doomed to Hell and ya best not meddle. Keep the evil chased down and lock it up.” 

“How am I supposed to know when someone is marked? 

“You’ll know by the eyes, Chaser. Them eyes’ll be all hollowed out an black an you’ll wonder how they see at all. But they’re bein’ lead by evil and they live in that evil every day. They think they are like you and me but they’re damned. Jus’ puttin’ in their time till the day comes.” 

“I don’t know if I want any part of this…..” 

“Ain’t gotta choice. Yer part of it and ya gotta do it. Yer soul’s dependin’ on it. Tonder’s got cha and will give ya the right words and all tha things ta say. Listen to ‘em, Chaser, and yer life will be a whole lot easier. Gotta go; doctor’s gonna wanna check ya out. Be safe Chaser, yer special but yer mortal too.” 

Emmett walked out the hospital room door dragging the shredded and worn out legs of his coveralls beneath his boots with each step. He made no indication of being in a hurry and did not look back to me. The words that he spoke echoed in my ears as again confusion began to take over my thinking. I felt that my sanity was slowly slipping away through the loose grasp of my fingertips. Clearly I had become delusional as this seemed as though a terrible dream from which I could not wake. 

The door to my room swung open and I was greeted by the wide rump of a nurse pulling a tray in front of her. She diligently pulled the tray with great effort trying to evade the already closing door. As she maneuvered strategically through the opening I noticed that she was talking to herself and seemingly cussing under her breath and out of ear-shot. As she backed in closer her rambling became apparent that she was indeed whispering vulgarities to the wobbling cart that carried the tray of bottles and syringes. She turned and faced me in surprise as we subtly made eye contact. 

“Mr. Abel! You’re…you’re back! I mean…you’re awake! I mean…hold on a second!” 

The nurse reached across my bed and hurriedly pushed a button sounding a buzzer in the nurse’s station. Immediately a voice reported from the other end of the intercom and billowing through my hospital room. 

“Yes, Florence?” 

“Janna, send for Doctor Borlan right away. Mr. Abel is conscious!” 

“Right away.” 

Florence placed her open palms onto the sides of my face and stared deeply into my eyes, her nose just inches from mine. The sparkling shades of green surrounding her pupils resembled metal flakes upon a lilied pond. Her stale breathe rebounded from my top lip and settled into my nostrils as she seemed to inspect my face with quick demeanor. While she continued her inspection a second nurse entered into the hospital room and immediately wrapped a corset around my arm as she proceeded to meticulously measure my blood pressure. I felt dizzied by the rush of activity on my behalf.

“Could someone tell me what is going on? Florence, is it? What is going on?” 

“Mr. Abel, I think you should try to relax. The doctor is on his way.” 

Rhythmically the nurses danced around my bed taking blood, shining light into my eyes, and testing my sensitivity. Of all the tests and trials, my patience seemed to be the most volatile. 

“Somebody please tell me what is going on? I am fine, really! Just tell me…” 

“Mr. Abel you have been asleep for a little while and we have been taking care of you. You are in Wilsher Memorial Hospital. O.k., Hun? Now we have called you wife and son and they are on their way to see you. Just bear with us for a little longer and please try to cooperate. We don’t want you getting excited just yet. Let’s save those questions ‘til Dr. Borlan gets here, o.k., Hun?” 

“Listen, you don’t have to talk to me like a three year old, just tell me why I am here! I remember playing ninjas with my son and me and Lynn going to bed Sunday night. I remember getting ready for work…what the hell am I doing here! I wanna know now, dammit!” 

“Mr. Abel! Please cooperate or I will restrain you for your own good! Now do as I say and the Doctor will be here soon. Thank you, Hun.” 

Once again the handle of the door to my room turned slowly as I sat in my bed engulfed by the busy nurses. As the doorway parted to reveal the visitor on the other side, the nurses continued their duties uninterrupted. I leaned forward to see the figure of the man entering dressed in a doctor’s coat and moving quickly. My body froze with fear and my fist clenched into balls of white knuckle and veins. I stared in shock at the vision before me in this hospital room as I fought to tear away from its sight while Florence greeted the hideous abomination casually.

“Dr Borlan! Thank God you made it! Mr. Abel was getting just a little excited!” 

Dr. Borlan quickly made his way into the room invading the space before him as a father rushing to the side of his endangered child. The sight of him was unmistakably human except for the void where his eyes should have rested. Instead there was an eerie blackness of an almost marble quality giving the idea of something optical but still concave and misleading. The creature referred to as Dr. Borlan could not be human. I soaked up its vision of grotesqueness through my own unwilling eyes wishing at this time that I would be struck blind if this is what it is to see. Is this what the creature in my dream gave me as a gift so that I may truly have vision to see? I wanted to reach inside of my mind to the place that dreams await to change anything further from altering my life; to prevent receiving more gifts from those all too willing to give them. 

Frantically, I panicked from the vision of the doctor and began to mount a defense against the onslaught of this hideous beast. Still it persisted, placing its gruesome eyes directly in line with mine as I tried to reach my fist deep inside of the sockets of its face and pluck out the evil within. My arms began flailing haplessly in any direction that I could send them until my fist contacted Florence directly below her left jaw sending her into the air conditioning unit beside my bed. As she landed with a thud she cursed and spit on the ground. I continued my fleeting struggle against the two assailants and the creature as they desperately tried to restrain me. I shouted to the doctor loudly and directly. 

“Beast of Hell, I compel you back from where you came!” 

“Mr. Abel, please try to calm down! You have suffered a traumatic blow to the head and I demand, as your doctor, that you stop this at once!” 

“You are not Tonder! You are evil! Go back to Hell!” 

“Florence, restrain Mr. Abel now!” 

The nurses and the beast manipulated my arms and legs into leather straps and firmly attached them to the railing of my hospital bed. I laid there staring at the empty wondering what my life had become and again pondering my sanity. The leather straps on my wrists and ankles felt heavy against my skin as a dead weight of embarrassment and confusion. 

“Doctor Borlan his family has been notified that he is awake and are on their way. Should we let them see him like this?” 

“Not yet, Florence. We need to keep an eye on him for a while. I will talk to Lynn and let her know what happened. Mr. Abel, please try to relax and I will check back with you in a few to see if you feel a little better.”

The beast’s hideous eyes loomed over me. They seemed to be looking into my soul and seeing the truth that slept dormant inside. A truth that I have not come to terms with nor understood but has waited below the surface, training, waiting, and watching. He turned his head and approached the door whispering with the nurses. From this perspective he appeared human, but I knew the truth behind the lie. I knew that he was marked as Balsavoy said he was. I knew that I could see and I have a gift of sight into the evil of life as we know it. I needed to define my purpose. Lying in the bed with the discolored ceiling tiles staring back at me; with no one to talk to and no words of comfort, I know what I am. I am a Chaser.

TONDER Chapter 6

The alarm clock sounded without warning, cutting through the tranquil silence of my bedroom. As if a Pavlovian dog, I reached outwardly to find the digital readout loudly displaying 6:00 a.m. With one eye partially open I stared down the clock until my eyelid grew heavy; fresh with the weight of sleep. I laid there drifting back into slumber; my hand still gripping the night stand, while my fading thoughts combated the argument of exactly what day of the week it was. Slowly I drifted back into dream state as I forgot about the alarms interruption of my peaceful rest; my arm now hanging from the side of the bed, my pillow still warm and Lynn’s arm across my back. Again it beckoned with a shrill scream announcing 6:08 a.m. and too many seconds past my quickly dissolving weekend. I fumbled with the clock until I found the kill switch and abruptly placed it into the off position. Monday morning had come and my head ached with the thought of returning to the factory. I was not ready to think about an assembly line or the dronish duty of robots welding and bending metal into car parts. I rolled to my back and contemplated a sick day, but my mind unfortunately kept track of such things. No sick days left this year. So, I raised myself in defeat.

“C’mon feet. Let’s get goin’. Gotta make the door frames.”

Lynn stirred only slightly and repositioned herself within the cradle of deeper sleep causing me to feel jealous of her as I sat watching from the edge of the bed. The atmosphere of our room was heavy with the scent of her skin making it even more difficult to begin my preparation for work. I made my way around our bed guided only by the single hint of morning sunlight that had begun its way through the small hole in our window shade. She looked so peaceful and at ease dreaming there on the pillow that nestled her tasseled hair; I could not help but stop and watch her for only a moment. I nuzzled my nose into her flocks of blonde taking in her smell, and I inhaled her perfumed essence. I settled back onto my feet, placed my hand upon her face above her eyes and basked in her radiance wondering what I had done to deserve such a woman.

The morning ritual proceeded with the usual shower and work related preparation which consisted of drying from the shower, getting dressed, and going to work. As I approached my truck I found that my mind was still on the beautiful woman lying asleep in my bed.

As I reached for the rusted door handle of my truck, a feeling of electrical surge coursed through my arm and seized the base of neck seemingly locking the contours of my brain. My hands clenched into fists driving my fingernails into the palm of my hands as blood billowed from the gashes that were plowed deep into them. My body trembled uncontrollably in a seizure forcing me to the cold concrete driveway below as I lay there helplessly. Thoughts fired through my mind as quickly as the pistons of a racecar bringing to surface memories long since forgotten. Breathing was of immeasurable strain as my chest seemed burdened with the weight of a ton of jagged rock. As quickly as the pain began, it subsided and my world turned to darkness. I did not recognize this as the darkness of night but a blackness of dreams; the emptiness of forget. I could feel the space around me as large and dangerous; uncontrollable. I felt as I had the power to walk within this realm but had no knowledge of where to go or how to move; paralyzed within the confine of my own mind. A voice reached around me as an embrace and spoke.

“Chaser, you are awake.”

“What happened to me?”

“You were awakened, Chaser.”

“Where am I and who are you?”

“You have always known me. I have been calling you.”

“Are you…are you Tonder?”

“I have and have been, Chaser. I am the salvation that you seek and the redemption that man desires. I am the maker and the giver of your wants. I am the answerer of your requests. I am he who commands you, Chaser. ”

“Are you…the Devil?”

“Would you fear me less if I told you I was not?”

“I don’t fear you now. As far as I know I am imagining this whole thing. How do you know who I am? Can you see me?”

“I see you Chaser and you will see me. You have not learned how to see fully as you must. To assist you...”

In this complete darkness two fingers brushed across my eyes as lightly as feathers yet the darkness remained. The eerie presence of the room seemed to cave in upon my chest until I felt that my eyes would burst from their sockets. Struggling to breath I felt as if I would suffocate and collapse in this dark and strange place. My eyes begin to tear as if someone were breathing fire across them and my nose spilled mucus across my open mouth. I thought at that very moment that I may rip away from my body and succumb to insanity. The voice reverberated still.

“You will see as I see. You will see all.”

Darkness washed over me. Darker than the already pitch black space that I occupied. So deep that I felt as though my vision had turned inward to my mind leaving hollow sockets where my eyes had once perched. The pain subsided and I struggled to regain my composer while wiping away mucus and blood from my face.

“What have you done to me? What the Hell is happening?”

My questions stood alone; unanswered and unacknowledged. I felt aimlessly in front of me searching for something definite on which I could lay my hands. Even the floor that I supposed to stand upon seemed not to exist, but my feet seemingly found solid ground beneath them with each attempted step. I moved cautiously before jerking to a halt, alarmed by the coming sound.

Distant footsteps could be heard approaching me rhythmically as if a snare drum was stretched to its limit and gently rapped with bone. The steps approached me slowly, steadily; growing louder until an outline introduced itself to the darkness. It was a vague figure cloaked in black and melded to the darkness except for traces of light that lay down across its bald head and downward to its sunken shoulders. Closer it moved until details of its face could be seen as the light from above cast shadows across the lower features of its jaw. It was devoid of color except for the pale blue almost glowing quality of its skin that gave me the thought of a vampire like creature. It suspended with a floating ease and appeared only to move in a forward direction toward me accompanied by the drum-like footsteps that now sounded gated; as a recorded sound played in reverse. It stood before me within a few feet of my face and made no expression but held a monotonous presence of fear. I spoke to it, now frightened and reluctant.

“What are you?”

“The question, Chaser: What are we?”

“We are nothing! I am just a man that has been sucked into some sort of a delusion and you are a figment of it all! I am waking up right now and you don’t exist!”

“As you wish, but know: You will see. You will see and do for me. Do for me Chaser, it is your destiny.”

As it spoke these words a blast was shot through my body and again darkness engulfed me. I felt as though I was falling a great distance and my heart pounded with an increasing rhythm. Once again there was a sudden, immediate quiet. I laid on my back in the blackness. With sensation slowly coming back to my body and the deceiving kiss of pain about me, I was alone and scared as an overwhelming sleep rushed over me as a tidal wave. As I drifted, the creature’s words played over in my ears like a needle upon a scratched record.

“You will see and do for me. Do for me Chaser, it is your destiny. It is your destiny.”

TONDER Chapter 5

I met Lynn when she was a knock-kneed fifth grader at Freetown Elementary School. I was also in the fifth grade, but I attended a neighboring school in the city of Vallonia. On a spring morning, my class boarded a school bus that took us to Brunswick Bowling Alley for a field trip. I believe the trip was a social outing for the schools within the county as a mixer, so after the fifth grade classes from around the county merged at the common Junior High School, the sixth grade students would be familiar with each other; brought together by bowling. The Brownstown kids arrived with little fanfare as did those from Medora. When the Freetown bus unloaded its cargo, my young world changed.

Dressed in pink from head to toe, Lynn stood a few inches taller than her classmates. Her lanky frame seemed awkward and she walked with her arms bent and nervously fidgeting with her fingers. Her awkwardness and fidgeting was ironic as her attitude and eyes exuded confidence; perhaps a superiority over the other girls. She noticed me in passing as the boy who would not stop staring. I was smitten, as a child’s first taste of ice cream; I stood motionless, smiling inside. I asked my friends about her. No one knew her or her family so I referred to her in my dreams from that day forward as Pinky. At the end of the field trip, she boarded her bus and I did not see her again until the first day of sixth grade when we became best friends and were inseparable. Lynn would confess only after we were married that she was as fascinated with me as I with her, but it was not polite for a real lady to reveal these things to such an eager boy.

I would not share my experience of Tonder with Lynn. I simply did not know how to begin. I suppose that omission would prove to be more damaging, but in my own way, I felt I was protecting her from a life less ordinary. I watched her from the edge of the bed while she removed her make-up in the mirror. The shape of her face was more artistic than humanly as her subtle lines and sharp features were that of a fine sketch crafted by a pencil in the hands of a true master. I never tired of looking at her, tracing those pencil lines of her cheek bones with my own as if mimicking the mastery of da Vinci.

I broke from the moment of admiration to take in one last cigarette before settling out of the playful Sunday in preparation for the work week. An hour earlier, Doyle fell straight asleep, exhausted from a full day of games and pretend. Nestled asleep in his room, his world awaited him in the morning, free of worry and concern; at his hands to form as he pleased. I raised our bedroom window and rested my elbows on the sill. I lighted a cigarette and watched the smoke escape the open window, the evening was still and quiet. The small sounds of Lynn moving about the bathroom were the only effects in the air. The smoke hung on the night air, ghostly reluctant to shift and dissipate. I thought of my mother.

I wondered how I became so far removed from the Catholic foundation she had formed long ago. Mom was insistent that we attend Mass weekly and partake in communion as often as possible. Dad typically stayed home from Mass and mowed the yard or worked in some other fashion around the house. He was supportive of Mom’s mission to raise me Catholic, but comfortably from a spectator’s seat. He didn’t realize that a formative teen, his son, needed his example to become a man. He did not realize that the true measure of a man is how he treats God when no one is watching. This lesson would come.

Saturday night’s at 11:00 p.m. were spent in Eucharistic adoration with Mom. For one hour, we spent our weekly commitment in prayer, reflection, and reverence in front of the blessed sacrament; giving this time to God for thanks and praise. Together, we would genuflect upon entering the chapel and would kneel in front of the monstrance, praying the rosary before the Body of Christ. My mother’s eyes were always closed during the recitation of the rosary and her hands clutched the beaded chain as if it may be snatched away; as it were the most valued item she possessed. Her whispers announced the decades of the rosary and the repetition of the Hail Mary prayer was hypnotic and soothing. At thirteen my interest was piqued in curiosity and steeped with attraction. Nonetheless, my mind began to wander during the prayers and thoughts beyond the adoration chapel and the distractions would overtake me. Twenty minutes was adequate time to recite the rosary, leaving forty minutes for additional prayers, intentions, and talk between us. In this memory, she spoke quite seriously.

“Sutter, what do you see when you come with me to adoration?”

“I don’t know.  I see candles and kneelers, I see you praying the rosary, and I see books, I guess. Why?”

“Do you see Jesus, Sutter? Do you see Him in the Blessed Sacrament when we come in; when we pray, when we give this hour to Him?”

“I don’t know; I mean, I guess. If you are talking about the communion host in the monstrance then, sure, I guess.”

“Sutter, seeing is not always done with your eyes. Your faith guides your heart, my boy, and your heart gives your soul the eyes to see what other may not. Everyone can see God, many choose not to look. Think about this: many people believe that living a good Christian life is easy. Once one gives his life over to God, then nothing can touch them. God puts them under His wing and life is a breeze. People think that Christians have an easy life without worry, temptation, or sin. This is so wrong, Sutter. It is quite the opposite. Sure, when a person becomes a Christian and gives his life to God, then he should realize that there is nothing God can’t do for them; however, we are human and imperfect. We are constantly tempted and prone to sin. God knows this. He gave us free will to choose, and we must choose daily. Satan will come after you with everything he’s got, especially we Christians. As a matter of fact, Christians are a big target for Satan; what a prize for him to turn a Christian soul away from God. Sadly, this is an easy accomplishment. He doesn’t need to turn you in favor of him; he just needs to turn you away from God and he does it a little at a time. The turn off of the path to God is not always a right angle. In fact most times one veer’s from the path so slightly that these tiny nudges, these fireballs thrown by Satan, can steer us little by little until we are eventually off of the path.

You’ve got to be aware of your Christian foundation, of your Catholic beliefs daily, Sutter. You’ve got to dedicate you life to God every morning and pray that He lead you down His path. Every evening apologize to Him for being a less perfect version of yourself than He wants. The next day you try again. Being Christian doesn’t mean you sign on the dotted line and sit back and watch life go by until God calls you. You’ve got to keep your life in motion. Be aware, son, that Satan will always come at you. He wants you and demands you, but God’s got you. Don’t let go of that. Carry the cross that God gives you and pray, my boy. If you don’t remember anything from our hours of adoration, remember to pray always. Your sweetest prayer will always be the one that is in your heart, and on your lips.”

I turned with a start to the touch of Lynn’s gentle touch to my shoulder.

“Sutter, I was talking to you. You must be in deep thought because you didn’t answer me.”

“Just thinking about Mom, I suppose. Hey, Pink, do you think we are getting everything out of our church? I mean, I was raised Catholic and I guess I miss it every once in a while.”

“You know, we decided a few years ago that we don’t need a denomination to believe. It was your idea, remember? I think there is room in heaven for everyone, not just Catholics or Protestants; I think organized religion needs to get with the program and change with the times. I think our church does that Sutter. The First Church of the People is everything we need and we make our own decisions based on our own moral beliefs. It’s about living in peace together being good to each other; that’s all. What more could there be? I mean logically, Sutter, we are an intelligent race so we can decide what God wants, right? Plus, look at all of the support that Church of the People has received over the past several years. What a blessing! With all of the high profile, celebrity support, we have the Healing Center for Souls within a short drive from here. Yes, we are where we need to be. You know, your mother said that the center is not…”

“I know, Pink. You’re right. Sometimes I just miss it. It was such a part of my childhood.”

“Well, thank goodness you’re not a child anymore.”

Lynn wrapped her arms around my shoulders and gently kissed the back of my neck. I turned to meet her, eye to eye, and was immediately awash in her sea of green eyed wonder. All other thoughts were gone and she and I embraced, smiling, and immersed in the moment as we locked hands and moved toward the bed. These bliss-filled moments of togetherness washed away the questions and concerns and reinforced our oneness giving me confidence in the approaching day.

TONDER Chapter 4

“Wake, Chaser. Much to do. Can’t sleep long, day soon be gone. Much to do. Much to do.”

I sat up abruptly in my bed and struggled to find my composure. Sweat leaked from my pores and down the back of my neck, giving a chill to my spine as whispers of wind hurried through my open window and across the room. My sleep had not been pleasant in recent nights as I was haunted by a familiar voice that radiated from my dreams, coaxing me with instructions. My dreams had become troublesome and broken for these years since the incident in Emmett’s field. Fifteen years ago I tried to place the occurrence into the back of my mind, but recently it seems to be resurfacing. Moments such as this force me to push harder and harder to not remember, but familiarity rides the saddle of memory.

The room reeks of loneliness while I anxiously feel my way across the night table for the alarm clock. 9:37 a.m. It was the same last Saturday as I tried to gain much needed sleep from the Friday night late movie. Friday nights seem to be the only time that we have found to provide us with the private time that we have grown much fonder of since our little boy started school. For a five year old, he has developed an impenetrable force field that shields away sleep, allowing him to endure many hours past the nightly news. On Fridays, he and I watch the cartoon network until he eventually drifts off to sleep, cozy beside me on the couch, most times with popcorn still in hand. After carrying him to bed, my wife and I reclaim the sofa; cuddle, talk, and watch a movie until the early morning hours, and until she wakes me to go to bed for the night. Being an early riser, Lynn and our son Doyle wake at 8:00 a.m. and begin Saturday morning activities until I join them after arising at my leisure, or until I am awakened by the playful laughing from my wife Lynn and Doyle due to a zealous game of Ninjas in the yard beside our bedroom. We inherited several wooded acres upon my father’s death, but of the many possible play areas, Doyle and Lynn seem to find the most resource for enjoyment directly outside of my bedroom window.

On this morning I find their laughter comforting as my heart rate slows from the dream that has awakened me. This is the third instance in as many weeks that I have been awakened with the barely audible messages. Each instance has caused me to awaken and find the clock beside the bed displaying 9:37 a.m. Once again I battle within myself to tell Lynn what I am experiencing, but shudder at the thought of telling her of the event in that desolate field long ago. She is a strong willed and educated woman, so I know that she would sympathize; but, being the adoring wife and mother that she is, I feel that she would fear for me and become distracted by the facts. Now wide awake the voice seems distant and more of a figment of dream than reality so I relax my shoulders and exit my sweat soaked bed. The carpeted floor massages my feet as I make my way to the open window. Placing my hands on the sill, I see my wife and son chasing each other in a circle upon the thick green layer of grass of our yard. Their laughter intoxicates me and takes my worry away to a far off place beyond my reach. No more voices, no more 9:37 a.m., no more insecurity. Doyle notices me in the open window and becomes more excited.

“Hey Dad! I’m gonna get you with my super ninja sword!”

He points the plastic sword in my direction and makes whooshing sounds to signify that I have been once again destroyed by the wrath of the pre-school assassin. Clutching my hands over my heart I pretend to fall backwards and proclaim my defeat. I feel the joy of my wife and son as I shout from the window, participating in their game.

“You just wait until I get down there you scary ninja! I’ll get you good this time!”

I could hear his playful screams of excitement as my wife’s voice echoed my reinforced words of idle threat. I turned quickly and exited the bedroom in a hurry to join the fun, dressed only in my boxer shorts and t-shirt. I made my way through the house, passing the silver urn that contained my father’s ashes, proudly displayed on the mantle of our fireplace and overlooking our living room. As I approached the mantle my excitement ebbed. The picture beside the urn caused me to stop and lay my hands upon it and smile. I soaked in the colors of the photo of a grey haired man in his early fifties, next to my lanky frame of eighteen. The picture was taken at my high school graduation and my father stood swollen with pride as I held my rolled diploma in front of me. His arm tightly around my shoulder and draped down onto my chest, projected a cigarette book-ended by two loosely gripped fingers. He had a smile of confidence and certainty upon his face.

Memories of that day came flooding into my senses, resurrecting the smell, sound, and love of the moment. I remember so well that exact moment that my mother took the photo. Dressed in her flowered skirt and pink blouse; she radiated pride and smiled non-stop. My father was dressed in his best flannel button-down shirt and newest blue jeans with his steel toe work boots which had been recently wiped clean with a wash rag to take away all of the mud and dirt from the work he had done that morning putting up a new fence post for the back yard. It was the only social gathering that I could remember my father attending without complaint and he attended it the best way that he knew how; with cigarettes and beer. Actually he only drank two beers before driving us to the ceremony five miles from our house to take off the edge of being in the uncomfortable position of talking with people in public. My father was best suited for visitors at his house and found most enjoyment in being at home.

The smile upon his face was genuine and sincere without indication of worry or fear which seemed ever-present as he seemingly carried the weight of our worlds on his broad shoulders. He had always been my idol for being the man he was and not the man who others expected him to be. It was later that very evening when mom and I lost him to a heart attack. I always assumed that the cigarettes played a part in that although the man was constantly busy and seldom slowed to rest. I wish that I would have been with him instead of out celebrating my graduation with Ronnie and Craig.

When I received the news from Sheriff Mayes, I was an hour into the heaviest drunk of my young life. Sheriff Mayes found me at Ronnie’s farm and drove me to the hospital without saying anything about my condition. I arrived to find Mom sobbing in the chapel alone. I would choose stare down a thousand demons before I would want to relive the feeling of that day when dad passed. I felt a piece of me, something deep down, begin to fester and harden while I sat in that chapel. I questioned many parts of my life. I began to blame God for not only this, but also for the bad experiences in my life. Why me? I thought God loved me. I felt betrayed and all of my emotion began to rise to a slow boil. I put those feelings in a small pot, moved the dial to a low heat, and walked away. It was only this year that I have been able to feel accepting of the loss of my father. Since his death, my mother gave Lynn and I the house and property and she moved to grandmas in Florida. She only calls occasionally, and visits a few times a year to catch up with my family. My fingers dropped from the picture frame and rested on the mantle.

“I miss you, dad.”

Laughter distracted me back into the reality of the moment; there was a ninja waiting outside with a plastic sword that I needed to deal with. I turned and upon exiting the back door, the sweat aroma of family took over my senses and drew me into the moment of togetherness. My son and I played the day away in the usual manner that we have grown accustomed to doing with scary dragons, racecars, baseball, and the occasional boxing match. He is so much like me that I feel that I have deprived my wife of a child of her features. Lynn’s long blonde hair curls around her heart shaped face, and frames the high cheek bones that mantle her ocean-green eyes that pierce my heart when I look into them. Doyle’s features are closer to mine as his hair is black; his eyes are blue, and his complexion dark. Lynn seems to prefer my small twin as she claims that I am always with her even when we are apart.

The evening sun stretches our shadows into pencil figures as the grass of our yard becomes kissed with dew in the cold shadows. Lightning bugs begin their promenade about the already darkened trees as I sit and watch my son chase them in delight. With each one that he fails to catch his determination grows until he retreats to the kitchen to ask his mother for a jar; a temporary prison, for the lighted bugs. I sit alone in the backyard soaking in the beauty of the moment while I wait for his return. The day now passed, I am perched upon the wooden picnic table as I extract a single cigarette from a wrinkled pack of Marlboro Lights. Placing it upon my lips I strike my father’s Zippo and place the flame to the cigarette’s end. A slow inhale and I look up to the sky as I feel the nicotine embrace my mind and free my brow of any weight burdened upon it. I run my fingers through my hair and take another drag from the cigarette, finding the sun setting faster as I realize that this Saturday is nearly over.

“Wake, Chaser. Much to do. Can’t sleep long, day soon be gone. Much to do. Much to do.”

These words begin repeating themselves in my head causing a bitter taste on my tongue. I struggled with the meaning of the words and questioned why the delusions presented themselves in this frequency. My mind raced back to a fall day many years ago. The incident at Emmett’s clearing had been a few months past and although still shaken, my teenage mind had been finding other thoughts to occupy its hungry quest. I was sitting on this very picnic table while my father raised his tree trimmer into the air to prune the branches from our apple tree. I watched him lop the limbs while they fell to the ground in front of him; the rustling of leaves sang in harmony with the awakening crickets. I recall the opportunity to speak in private with my father while mom read her newspaper in the living room, far removed from our lowered voices.

“So, why do you call this force the Tonder?”

“It’s not the Tonder, it’s just Tonder.”

“O.k., so why do you call this thing Tonder?”

My father stopped his pruning, sat beside me on the picnic table, pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket, and casually lit the end. His manner appeared calm and knowing as he began to explain the details of his experience. I sat attentively and soaked in the information as he confessed his trials to my waiting ears.

“When I was about twenty years old I found myself in my second tour of Viet Nam. I was a salty Marine, full of piss and vinegar, and pretty seasoned for my age. My first tour aged me pretty good and I had had enough fightin’ and I wanted to go home as much as the rest of the guys did. We were dug-in outside a God-forsaken village within a few clicks of Da Nang when my C.O. called me in. He gave me some orders with three other Marines for a night mission to take out a transport bridge north of the village. We knew that there was some heavy protection around the area and were all plenty nervous about the whole thing. It was a suicide mission; Hell, we knew it. But, we are Marines. I waited for my orders to kick down the doors of Hell and pull out the devil’s throat. I could do that most ricky-tick-quick and in-a-hurry and not miss chow call. We started out that night just at dark and made our way to the bridge without resistance. I set up watch while the demolition guys did their thing. All hell broke loose and we encountered some pretty heavy opposition. We dug in under that bridge the best that we could but the situation was just too unstable. We lost our two demo boys right off of the bat, and me and a younger Marine started looking for a way out. He jumped and ran. They cut him down hard and I couldn’t see my exit. Somethin’ happened right then. I heard a voice chantin’ in my ears sayin ‘Not yet, ain’t your time, much to do.’ All of the noise just stopped and the world looked like it was in some kind of slow motion, but it looked different. Everything was real sharp and colorful and I felt real calm. Kinda like what happened in that field the other day. Somethin’ took over and I had no control of it. The voice kept talkin’ to me sayin’, ‘I am Tonder; the Maker, the Giver. You will live today.’ There was a blast of light that came from all around me and every one of them Viet Cong fell face down in the mud. Dead. Must have been twenty or tirty of them. The light went away and so did the voice. I wandered back to camp in a daze and my C.O. wanted a report immediately. When I told him that I didn’t blow the bridge he smacked me down right there. I never told him what happened except that we got in bad with some unfriendlies and we bit it pretty hard. I came to terms that only God could have got me out of that mess. Tonder: the Maker and the Giver. I didn’t question it. I just accepted it”

“Dad, you know it was God? How do you know it’s not something evil? God is the voice of truth, right? There shouldn’t be any doubt if it was Him, should there? And, why not just say He is God instead of a name we’ve never heard before?”

“I don’t have the answer to that. Just about every religion seems to have another name for God, but the bottom line is that it just has to be God; I just know it, Sutter. What else would have spared me from that mess! Besides, Tonder is using us to defeat evil. What more proof do you need? I’m putting my faith in that.”

The story that my father told made me feel comfortable that there is something larger watching out for us. At least until we fulfill our purpose whatever that may be. The backdoor closed with a slam as my son came running out with jar in hand and cheerfully exclaiming joy at the top of his lungs. My reality snapped back with a jerk, sharpening my sense of the present. I extinguished my cigarette before Doyle reached the picnic table and stood up to great him with a smile. His face seemed to glow with happiness and his energy rejuvenated me. We journeyed through the approaching darkness, catching lightning bugs, placing them into their glass prison, and then releasing them back to the night. As the stars began to fill the sky, he and I retired to the comfort of our living room to begin the night of cartoons that awaited us.