lines of graffiti mark it in both red and black. But, I can still see what it says: Minea‒18 miles. A second and third town follows farther down the sign. One is 48 miles; the other is 124.
With Minea being only eighteen miles away, I know this much. I am either going to die at Teddy’s hands or I am going to get free of him.
Matthew Mills
Ms. Brands walked away and out of sight. I wanted to follow, but something told me not to. It was a quiet voice talking in the thick of my thoughts. Or maybe it was the fear I now feel when she gets close to me. I have been trying to plead the Blood of Jesus over my mind. I have been trying to rebuke the demon that held my hand and followed me home. I know my authority in Christ, but I also know that right now I don’t believe what I know. Why did Jesus tell me to anoint my little girl this morning? If she is protected under the Blood, how was she taken by a man no one remembers? How was she taken at all? If there is such power in the Blood, why is she not about to come home to me?
I need an answer, because this goes against everything I have ever believed about Him—everything I have ever known. After my dad died, handfuls of people would tell me that it all was part of God’s plan. They had said I just couldn’t see it. That was true. And even years later, I have never been given an answer why. I won’t be able to handle being told that again. It already feels like I’ve been lied to. If there is such power in the Blood, how is my little girl dead?
Despite all the years I have walked with Jesus, ‘it’s going to be okay’ isn’t enough. It feels like my heart has been ripped out and dangled in front of me. My heart is Your home, Lord. And with it gone, it feels like You’re gone too. All the years I have walked with You, to now feel completely alone makes me wonder what I have done to deserve this.
I can’t just sit and wait to see what happens. I have been waiting to see what would happen for a full week, searching for Jesus in the quiet; searching for Him in His word. I didn’t fully mourn the loss of our baby. Maybe because I knew Marcy was just in the other room. But, now I am a father who has been stripped of the title.
So many fathers would hold onto hope that their daughter is still alive. They would thank God for bringing her home safely, even if they didn’t believe in Him, becoming violent to anybody that told them to prepare for the worst. I know that my Marcy is dead. The only hope I have now—the only thing I have control over is bringing her body home and giving her a burial that is dignified. And after that? I don’t have an answer.
John Doe
Eighteen miles have become fourteen. The fields are bare, with small areas still layered in frost. The plastic bags in the back seat are ruffling. I glance in my rearview. It’s not M I see, but Thomas.
“We’ve been waiting for you, John.” his voice is shy like I remember it to be. “We’re all waiting. The father of the eyes is waiting too.”
I try to say something, but my tongue is clogging my throat.
I glance again. Thomas’ face is now full of eyes. They blink simultaneously, as a small smile becomes wider than humanly possible. I close my eyes, but his face follows. I open my eyes again. He’s now sitting next to me. Small and shy. It’s exactly how I remember him looking. But, now he terrifies me.
“You’re dead.” I’m able to whisper.
“Yes. And soon, you will be too.” he smiles at me again with that wide smile and then disappears.
Fourteen miles have become twelve.
The fear I feel right now is far different from anything I have ever felt. I can only clench the steering wheel and watch as the miles lessen and lessen. Soon, I will pass through the town. Soon, the car will arrive at my childhood home. Who I saw wasn’t Thomas, but Teddy. The something I call Teddy appears differently outside of the bear sitting next to me. It has many eyes. It watched and It laughed as dad stuck me with his piece.
I have been lied to from the very beginning. And now I very well may lose my life trying to get free. But, there is still a light in me. I have to believe that, because something has kept Teddy out of my head, something has kept him from killing me. That little bit of light is all I have going back to my childhood home. It’s the only thing I have protecting me. The fear I feel is heavy.
Twelve miles has become nine.
Matthew Mills
Janet called for me from the upstairs as I was leaving. I didn’t answer. Instead, I followed after Ms. Brands. And now I’m behind her, back by the school. The voice telling me to avoid her has faded from my mind.
“What did he look like, Ms. Brands? I know you can hear me. Speak!” I’m following her slow dragging with fast steps. Her scent is stale. “Come on, Ms. Brands. You saw what he looked like. You saw! Tell me!”
She turns. Her eyes are as blank as ever. Blank but full. Full of something else other than herself. It should scare me, but it doesn’t. I feel anger. It’s boiling up from the center of me. I close my eyes. There isn’t laughing. But, there is something. It’s a view of a passenger glancing at the driver, though it’s blurred. The view now turns toward the backseat. It’s Marcy. Even blurred to this point, I recognize my little girl: the blonde hair, the blue ribbons tied into bows, the sky blue dress.
My eyes open. My hands are wrapped around Ms. Brands’ neck and I’m screaming. I try to let go, but I only squeeze tighter. I’m watching her eyes bulge. Her face is red—now blue. I can’t let go.
“Just tell me!” I scream. “Tell me what he looks like!”
She won’t. Her eyes remain blank no matter how much they bulge.
“Tell me!” I scream even louder. In trying to loosen my grip, it only tightens. I close my eyes, trying to let go. I’m going to kill her. I can’t stop.
I open my eyes again. I’m not squeezing her neck. I’m squeezing my other hand. She is nearly half a block away from me, now past the school. But, I can feel the anger still pumping through me. The small voice that tells me to go back home makes me even madder. I know that I am too angry to be anywhere near her. But, I also know that there are answers in her. I saw my Marcy in the backseat of a car. Ms. Brands doesn’t have the answers. Something in her does. And it is revealing them to me.
The small voice has gotten louder. Go home. It is saying. You are in danger.
No matter how alone I feel, I know there is power in the Blood of Jesus. It covers my mind, body, soul, and spirit. I am protected. Jesus may feel gone, but He is always present. He is always with me. He knows everything I think before I think it, every action I will take before I take it. He knows that I am going to follow Ms. Brands wherever she goes, because I need an answer. This is the only thing keeping me from the state Janet was in just earlier this morning.
If I’m honest with myself, I am already at that state. I’m just more active. I don’t have a vision of the future. I have a vision of finding my girl and that’s it. Nothing else matters.
John Doe
MINEA
Good Things Come in Small Packages
The WELCOME sign is behind me. I am only a couple of miles away now. Minea is a small skyline, with silos accenting both ends of the town. It has been a couple of years since I have been here. But, it is all too familiar.
The fields are as bare as the town. There isn’t a car in sight. Every store is abandoned, with wooden boards across the doors and windows. The homes are weather worn; the yards are thin patches of dead grass.
Fear is crawling on top of me. The presence next to me has filled the air around Minea. It’s thick and heavy. I try to think about the light, but pain shoots through my eyes. There are now children standing in the yards. Their smiles are just as big as Thomas’ was. They move faster than I can blink. I pass one yard only to find they are in the next.
Now, they have formed a line in front of the bridge. Smiles wide. Eyes multiplied. I can hear them laughing. It’s filling every area of my mind. The pain shooting through my eyes has stabbed through my nostrils as well. I am dizzy. The control I felt over the car is now a spin. Or, it feels like it.
>
“Join us, John!” they’re all in the car with me. I can’t close my eyes. They’re there. I can’t open them. They’re there too. Their smiles! They’re too wide for their faces! “It’s scary under the house! Join us! You put us there! It’s only fair!”
“Leave me alone!” I say, or try to. But, they won’t. I can’t concentrate enough to even know if I’ve passed over the bridge or if I crashed into it.
“It laughed, John! It laughed as your daddy put his piece in you!” they are laughing again. “It watched!”
“Shut up!” it doesn’t matter how loud I scream it, they won’t. The eyes are only growing. I feel watched from everywhere.
“You will die, John.” Now, I can hear the quiet voice of Teddy. The laughing has stopped. It’s quiet. “There is no escape.”
It’s quiet enough that I can hear my heart beating. I am over the bridge, driving on the wrong side of the road. There is no pain in my eyes or through my nostrils, but there is blood: on the seat, on my shirt, clumping in my mustache and past.
There are only a few houses left to pass until I am past town. My childhood home is less than a mile away. Something is in the corner of my eye. Thomas is being chased by the three boys, right next to the car. He looks at me, the terrified boy I remember him being. I feel the same way. He was the beginning of what I’ve