Cat Dubois' Odyssey to Enchantment Page 39

  Eleanor knew about those false prophets, themselves the basis of the brimstone that leeched from their rot across the underworld unto mortal existence. Several times over the centuries, she had crossed the battalion of special recruiting forces to boost their numbers. The devils and demons of that army were solely employed to watch, day and night without rest, for the insincere on earth and across the heavens. Their commanding officers were “Lies”, “Deception” and “Vagueness”.

  Eleanor hadn’t lost sight of the forces that swooped out and above Catherine’s body; but Lovey was keeping a good eye on them as they swirled around trying to form a barrage for a unified assault.

  Hoping that the special forces, concentrating on her role, had not read her mental moment of doubt, laced with fear, she regained her poise and confidence. But she cautioned herself that she must keep vigilant lest “Fear” and “Doubt” attempt re-entry. “After all,” she reminded herself, “they can make their way into the heart of the best of us.” She began to pray.

  “Oh, King. I do believe. I repent of my unbelief. Please, heal me, forgive me and strengthen me, I ask humbly. But, God, where is the back-up? Come quickly. What else can I learn? This warrior is aging; I have had patience, but my stamina is not what it once was,” Eleanor inquired with matter-of-fact, internal supplication.

  “Fear” smirked at Eleanor, staring at her like she was a joke. It circled her, breathing foul yellow sulphur from it’s large nares. They had met before, and he was relentless; but she was a seasoned warrior. He knew her weaknesses. She knew his. Their eyes met and centered on the other’s assumptions. He smirked again.

  Eleanor's affect remained blunted. A poker face of absolutely no expression would be her temporary defense. She would not allow him to assume anything. “No reading my thoughts will or can be accomplished by this enemy,” she said, armored and braced with the power of truth and goodness in her heart. She would not blink nor show any nervous energy, but she caught herself just as she started to look downward, feeling a bit weary from her temporary humanness. She fought that natural reflex and looked straight at “Fear’s” eyes.

  “Your comrades are missing, I see?”, said “Fear”, with sarcastic laughter as loud as ever.

  “Mind your own battalion,” Eleanor said, thinking at the time that the best defense was short responses to enemy questions meant to rattle, confuse; or foster itself, and doubt of a Supreme God. But, she realized, as soon as she’d said it, that she had actually made an error in strategy. “Fear” had prompted her to look at it; and that allowed it access through her eyes. Worse, she had responded with words.

  She shouldn’t have engaged at all because “Fear” was known to throw its daggers into anyone's eyes; and, through mutual eye contact, it can enter the soul of anyone who opens that door of opportunity. Susceptible humans—and almost all of them are vulnerable, at times—welcome “Fear’ by seeing it act out. “Fear” loves eye games. One of its favorite weapons is an evil eye, a bloody scene or a the sight of a horrific tragedy. Her best plan from now on would be no communication, whatsoever. She would, from this point forward, yield to the weaker posturing of using as little eye contact as possible to deflect entry.

  Eleanor knew better, and she quickly reviewed her understanding of the demon. “Fear will not use its weapon on me,” she thought. “His weapons are shallow, but deadly.” She remembered, “Usually, this devil’s intimidations take years to kill…like planting the seeds for heart attacks and cancers that require time to manifest. But, not always does it take years for ‘Fear’ to accomplish its mission. Sometimes it can manifest so much fright that a human dies instantly from a heart attack or an aneurism.”

  “I see you've been let down again,” the demon said, like he was playing, almost flirting with Eleanor, as if they were in a casual conversation between old friends and not a battlefield.

  “‘Fear’ sneaks up on its prey like a cat,” Eleanor thought as the devil tried to edge into her mind, and engage her eyes, again. “It tortures the mind, relentlessly—a task master of pain and suffering that loves to watch itself grow to influence others privy to its first victim. It can sadistically torture a victim until death; and it can cause victims to persecute and kill others.” Eleanor further considered the overwhelming emotion that the harbinger of robbed rationale casts on the unsuspecting—”Fear practices no restraints, leaves a person senseless, and depletes all empathy and compassion.” Finally, she concluded in her formulation of added defense, “If God didn’t step into play, the entire universe could be savagely destroyed by this one wicked entity.” She quieted her mind.

  Lovey growled again at the sight of him. Low and deep, he warned the evil thing. He moved staying in his assigned spot, but walking in a circle following the creature as he began floating over and around Catherine. “Fear” snarled back at Lovey, but Lovey didn’t wilt. He gave the dog a hawkish look.

  Eleanor didn’t blink or respond. Her gaze, away from “Fear”, was steadfast, showing no emotions.

  Lovey did not cower either. He stood bravely, remembering the time when he and Eleanor had encountered this demon during the burning at the stake of witches. The witches had not been part of a battalion of demons and devils, but were from their own orders. “Fear” had hated them because they had powers unlike intimidation. Lovey saw the demon laugh and mock the witches. He witnessed the evil entity cause the flames to burn slower than normal. He laughed when they died, having suffered a longer death process than should have been. He saw “Fear” use serial killers who tortured their victims before killing them; and had not Eleanor been present to soothe the minds of “Fear’s” prey, then the soul would have been lost for eternity in the flames.

  At the witches’ burnings, Eleanor and Lovey had brought a satchel filled with prayers, and ointments and aromas that caused the poor, tortured souls, relief. “Fear” had watched them, there, unable to stop them because God had commissioned them, just as now. “Fear” hated Eleanor and the stupid dog that had foiled “Fear’s” mission.

  “Lovey, what are you seeing? What's wrong, boy?” Catherine saw he was nervous, but couldn’t see “Fear”. She noticed Eleanor was acting strangely, too, looking at something near her. Lovey’s growls were directed to the same place beside her. “Something is happening,” Cat said. “What is taking place?” Catherine’s intuitions, over the past days, had grown stronger, providing her the ability to read the outer world. While she couldn’t see the spirits, she had gained the sense of feeling when the electric charge of negative forces were in the air. Such forces caused the hair on her arms to stand up. She tried to perceive the meaning of Eleanor’s odd, unsettling expressions. It was as if Eleanor was speaking to invisible beings in the room as she watched intently, her eyes wide open. She stood up only to feel dizzy and extremely weak. Then, another spirit stepped from Catherine’s core.

  “The Accuser of the Brethren’s” demon helper, “Guilt” had emerged. It loved to occupy thoughts and memories. It was not affected by the Holy Trinity. Holding its dagger over Catherine’s mind, it did not jab or pierce her, for “Guilt” was governed by “Fear”, as well as “The Accuser”, and was not free to make final decisions. There was rank and file and order to their battalions.

  However, “Guilt” had free-range over daunting and taunting of the mind—jabbing as it so wanted. But, “Guilt”, like any person under submission, must be given an order or decree to inflict total destruction. Any finality, such as the act of taking a life by death, by none other than the Supreme God, had to be ordained. Neither “Fear” nor “Guilt” had such orders for Elizabeth Catherine Dubois.

  “Fear”, without the help of any devilish comrades, aimed its cruel sword at her mind and poked relentlessly, knowing that she must be defeated. “Guilt” stood watching, sending her accusing memories as “Fear” jabbed. Feeling faint all over again, Catherine fell to her knees.

  “Eleanor, I feel so terribly weak,” she said. Cat doubled over and then slid to her kne
es holding her stomach. She was feeling the effects of the jabs.

  Lovey stood waiting to pounce, but he too had rank and had to follow Eleanor’s orders.

  Another devil creeped out from the shell of Catherine’s body—“Resentment”. Much like “Guilt”, “Resentment” wasn’t troubled by the pyramid of protection. It held a sword pressing into her stomach. “Take that. Feel good?”, it mocked, digging its lance deeper.

  Shadows almost took on life as they appeared to do their dance on the walls of the sitting room, as the afternoon sun set and a dark ominous cloud positioned itself over the manor. Soon, thunder, lightning and wind focused above the home on the hill.

  “Resentment” took its claws and placed them around Cat’s head. “Remember why you hate everyone? You have good reason. Remember Glory Town? Oh, how those terrible Christian judges you hated you for all these years; and then, they burned your barn down with all your animals. Come on, remember them? You have good reason to resent them.”

  “Don’t listen to that, Catherine! That demon is here to stop us from saving your soul by confusing you! Don’t listen. You’re above all that!”, Eleanor instructed, sending her plea with her mind. Cat looked at Eleanor. She chose to listen her. Then, Cat vomited, while lying on her side.

  “Why is it so dark in here? What is happening?”, Cat pleaded. “Please, tell me what’s going on?” A jolt of lightening flashed directly overhead; then, the rumbling shook the manor house. Then, there was complete silence.

  The lights went out throughout the home and, in the darkness, the devil soldiers glared at each other. Their eyes were likened to something not of this world, and Cat could then clearly see the images of the enemies. Speechless, she looked at their glowing, iridescent green irises. They all were a ghastly green—their eyes just horizontal slits on distorted faces that shared the room. She was even more alarmed there were so many of them.

  Tadhg used his index fingers and pointed them at the candelabra, commanding its light with a flick of his fingers. “Light,” he commanded. The power was still out, but the flames from the candles began to glow amber.

  As the light grew, projected throughout the room were the shadows of demons and devils on the walls. The figures moved, brandishing their spears, bows and knives in their hands. It was like watching a movie on the wall. They were fighting other beings. There was a frenzy of killing by the demons.

  “Fear” immediately issued forth the fear of death and dying. He cast a spell directed at Cat’s pineal gland, and warned her, “See the war you face? Keep it up; keep believing that crazy woman with you, and this will be your fate!”

  “Don’t believe what your fears are telling you, Catherine!”, Eleanor told her through telepathy. “This is meant to distract you from what we are doing here. Focus on our goal.”

  The manor grew darker again, but the lightning generated another baritone rumble followed by a booming blast; light flashed across the dance hall. Faces of death shown close to the lines of the pyramid. Cat gasped, but Eleanor hushed her, “Shh. Don’t react.”

  Minor demons gathered in the dance room. The commanding devils of countless kinds of torment and doubt pushed their way to the front of the demons and circled around the symbol of the Blessed Trinity. The minor demons, who were in training, chittered, producing an annoying high-pitched noise like a room of squirrels. The devils positioned themselves proudly around the pyramid.

  Some entered wearing the uniforms of Roman soldiers, with red capes draping across their puffed chests. They glared and said nothing. One devil even knocked a chittering demon away with a hiss of “Shut up!”

  From a different plane, Eleanor heard the chants of angels on their way. They were coming. But, for now, she was alone with Lovey and Tadhg. She focused on the comfort of hearing the angel’s approach. Peace would come with them.

  “Catherine, you must open the third box, now! Take it!” Eleanor arose from her position, on the left, and moved towards Lovey, at the top. She gently caused the box to raise off the ground, using her index finger which pointed at the box, and then moved it towards Catherine. It floated gently and came to rest in Catherine’s arms. “Open it!”, Eleanor pleaded, then moving back to the triangle’s left.

  Catherine knew, in that moment, that she must trust Eleanor. She must do as she says. Eleanor was a friend and not an enemy at all. Her mother’s appearance had confirmed and reassured her of Eleanor’s intentions, even if nothing else had. Cat was ready.

  “Open the box!”, Eleanor exclaimed, again; and, with that, Catherine ripped it open with frantic tremulous fingers and hands.

  “Be careful! Gentle!”, Eleanor called out, belatedly.

  Catherine weakened as another spirit stepped out of her core. She almost collapsed. She tried to move out of the edges of the triangle, as the devil’s grasp was painful. It held her soul in its hands— twisting it, trying to pull it out of her.

  “No, you must stay in the center, Catherine!”, Eleanor yelled. “Stay in the triangle. It will protect you.”

  Lovey growled more ferociously, and deeper. He stood up and was ready to pounce.

  The third entity, “Self-Loathing”, drew its fists and pressed it to Catherine’s stomach holding her soul tightly in its grip. Beside “Self-Loathing” stood “Resentment”.

  “I feel sick. I'm going to get sick!”, Catherine screamed.

  “You'll be fine. Get sick. It's understandable,” Eleanor informed her. “It’s just temporary.”

  “Eleanor, what is going on?”, Cat begged, lying on the floor, on her side, with her head angled up at the ceiling.

  Lovey began to bark, trying to motivate Cat to move. “Cat, get up! Listen to me!”, Lovey tried to tell her in her mind. “Open the box! Do what Eleanor told you! Get up! You have to get up!” But, Catherine could not hear Lovey.

  All three devils had their corps rallied around them and outside the pyramid. The lesser devils stood together, filed by rank, and in combat stance ready to strike when given the order.

  The lightning struck again near the manor, and the shadows on the walls showed their war was right there in Catherine’s living room—not somewhere else, in a make-believe movie.

  The leaves outside cast their shadows; they took on an energy all their own. They made threatening movements. The leaves were just another part of the devils’ corps; they were not of the King’s army but were in close allegiance with the devils. The leaves and their frightening shadows did just as they were commanded. “Make her scared! Show her decapitation—her cut-off head!”, ordered “Fear” with a loud, deep, gruff, brassy voice.

  The corps devils held their weapons of arrows, bows, knives, fire axes, clubs and spears raised at Lovey and Eleanor. Lovey bit at one, and then another, darting forward and back, nipping, barking and growling at them.

  “Lovey what are you biting at? Are you alright?”, Cat asked. She still wasn’t able to see into the spiritual plane.

  A lesser spirit stepped forward, lunging at Lovey. Without a command from a superior, it stuck a knife in Lovey's heart, and little Lovey fell to the ground. With one last whimper, he stopped breathing.

  “Lovey! Lovey, what’s wrong?” Cat started to move toward him.

  Tadhg prayed hard for Lovey, but stayed at his own post without moving. He wanted to strike the devil, but he could not leave his center spot in the Trinity, next to Catherine. He could only look at the puppy’s lifeless body, limp and still. A tear swelled in his eye, but he dared not go to him.

  Eleanor motioned at Tadhg to catch his attention. “Keep your mind off Lovey!”, she warned. They needed to stay focused. Tadhg composed himself, instantly shifting focus to their combined prayer efforts. He was to hold up the walls of prayer until help arrived. It had to be a strong wall of intentions, or else it would be useless.

  “Catherine, the oil—now! Inside the third box. Get it!”, Eleanor screamed at Cat.

  “The oil?” Panting with nervousness, and fumbling with the box, Catherine finall
y unwrapped the package and got out its contents.

  Inside the box was a chrismal, a small, crystal vessel to store the mixture—it’s the only object that could hold the oil of which Eleanor had spoken. Cat’s voice was shaking like a leaf; she couldn’t imagine what oil had to do with her precious Lovey, but she did as she was told and opened the Gothic crystal top. “What happened to Lovey?”

  In the background the little demons’ chitters turned into a deep vibrational moan as they swayed in unison back and forth. Soon it became the chant uttered by the monk demons, “Ooouuummmhh… Oooouuummmhhh…”

  Cat actually felt the deep vibration bass tone of their voices. “What’s that?”, she asked.

  “Never mind that. Quick, and be careful. Sprinkle three drops on Lovey's heart,” Eleanor instructed Cat. Eleanor never took her eyes of “Fear”. “Don’t get out of the triangle. Be careful,” she cautioned Catherine again.

  Cat nodded, understanding. She moved on her knees to her little pal. Lovey’s body was still writhing in the area of the Trinity, as he lay where he’d fallen, maintaining the formation even up to that fatal point of his surrender. Cat’s hands shook, and she fumbled with the glass vial, as the demons started closing in on Eleanor’s Trinity formation. Normally, they stayed far away from such things, but they were emboldened and continued on, starting to press in tighter. “Perhaps, they were winning the war?”, Cat wondered.

  The monk’s changed their chanting to, “Ahhhh HAAAA, ahhh HAAAA!” Then, more insistent than before, a sound erupted from them that caused human nerves to melt in anxiety and shake all over. “FEEEEeeee AAAAKoooo!” They directed the noise at Cat’s hands, which were trembling as directed by the negative hysterical vibrations aimed at them.

  Catherine moved within the triangle to Lovey’s lifeless body. Though her hands were shaking uncontrollably, she administered the prescribed three drops to Lovey’s heart. She rubbed it through his black curly hair. “Don't die, Lovey, don't die!”, she pleaded. Her tears fell on his soft black coat. “What is wrong? Dear God, oh, Lovey!”, Catherine sobbed. “What's going on here, Eleanor? His heart stopped.”