her hands pressed together tightly. A sheet of paper is pressed between them, folded down the middle.
I pull it free. In green color crayon, this is written:
Jesus has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.
Matthew Mills
The desktop computer in my small office is turning on, but it’s old. I have had it since before Marcy’s conception. I grabbed it from mom’s before she donated it. It was never meant for speed. It was meant for privacy, so that I could have a space of my own, separate from Janet. There is nothing even close to incriminating on it. The most I am hiding from her right now is the real pain I feel.
I typed all of dad’s notes, and saved them in the order I believe they were written. The original copies are peaking out at me from under the desk, in the blue accordion folder. I’m tempted to read through them again, but it hurts me to say, dad can’t relate to this situation. This is the first time I have felt completely alone. Sure, mom is only a phone call away, though I can already map out that conversation. It will begin and end with The Lord. She’ll tell of her many hardships at my age, and how The Lord pulled her through them. Or, even worse, she won’t know what to say.
I’m rocking back and forth in my swivel chair, tapping two of my ten fingers on the edge of the desk. It’s loading the few programs it has on it. The background is a picture of clouds. Usually I see the light tracing them, a silver lining. Today, I see a storm coming.
The feeling of being watched has slipped into the walls, like our bedroom this morning, but stronger. I’m urged to speak a scripture. I remain silent. What would come of it? In the book of Acts in the bible, Luke talks about a group of men who would cast out demons with the Jesus Paul preached. One of the times, the demon replied, “I know Jesus, and I know Paul, but who are you?” And he violently attacked the men, leaving them naked and battered. This morning, I had the authority. Do I still? I am disobeying, because I need answers The Lord isn’t willing to give. Right now, I am one of those men who do not know Jesus. So, I will not speak His name as if I do.
I am in danger, either way I look at it. If I just sit and wait, I fear I will do something terrible to myself. If I continue down this road, I may find myself face to face with the thing inside Ms. Brands.
The page is a search engine. I type in the letters Mina first. What comes up is a page of suggestions: did you mean Minea? I click the suggestion. The first thing I see is an article from the Minea Paper, with the headline THREE BOYS DEAD. I click again. It takes me to an article:
THREE LOCAL BOYS DEAD, ONE MISSING.
Sunday, June 19th, 1983
Darkness covers Minea. Trevor Trills 14, Bradley Penwood 12, and George Thyme 11, were all found dead, face down in the stream beneath the downtown bridge. It is believed that they jumped. Thomas Aerie 7, is still missing. He was last seen walking home from class.
A pall has been cast. With no witnesses, and no explanation, Minea has already taken on the feel of a ghost town. The last sightings of any of the three boys were in school. Each of their teachers reported a “heavy daze.” Separate classrooms, but a “lost” look in each has made this the biggest mystery we have ever had. That is not said with any sense of pride. It is a tragedy that already haunts this town.
However, Thomas Aerie Sr. and his wife Rebecca are “holding onto hope” that God will bring their Little Tommy home. Perhaps, a ray of light in disaster. Perhaps. But, only time will tell.
I am in danger. The descriptions fit Ms. Brands, but they’re from over two decades ago. Those boys encountered what she did. I know I should stay away. This is something with power that has been growing for decades. All day I have been listening to the definite feeling that my little girl is already with The Lord. But, that feeling has become a question: What if she is still alive?
John Doe
Even though she is dead, mom still talks about Jesus: on the bench, and in memories in my room. Even M said that name before she told me the light isn’t gone. Maybe light isn’t what Teddy hates. Maybe it’s Jesus.
No. He’s the man from the stories, the ones about calming a sea with His words, and walking across the water. They are stories mom used to tell me. Nothing more.
But, what if they aren’t? When I read these words out loud, I feel powerful. And if these words are true, I am not weak like the children say.
“Jesus has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.” I have never felt power like this. It’s not one of being controlled, but one of control. I say it again. Louder this time. I feel a tingle in the tips of my fingers. It presents in the way Teddy’s did, but the control is mine.
I’m still hunched over M in the backseat. I haven’t moved.
I have come to set you free, John. this isn’t Teddy. The voice is warm and overpowering. You are loved.
Light is appearing beneath me. I look down. The teddy bear that was meant for M’s vial of blood is now covered in light. I pick it out of the plastic bag. It feels weightless. I lift it to meet my eyes. The light has faded from the body, but its eyes are full of light.
I’ll help you find the truth why this happened to you. It’s hidden, and I know where.
“Where?” I ask.
The shed.
Matthew Mills
The search engine mapped out the fastest route to Minea: 5 hrs 45 min. It’s in Minnesota. The map is printed and crisp between my fingers. If I leave now, I’ll get there before nine.
I’m standing to leave. The picture I have of Marcy on my desk is of her gap toothed smile after losing the left of her front two baby teeth. Bring me home, daddy. Please. I hear it again.
“I will. I promise.”
I shut off the light and step through the hallway. The feeling of being watched follows me wherever I go. I have no defense against it.
The clutter is a wall I pass by. The basement has become a place to put things we no longer have use for. It began with the first miscarriage, and never recovered.
My walk has become a run. I pass by the room with the water heater. It almost sounds like high pitched laughing. And now, I run up the stairs. I don’t want to face Janet, but I have to.
“Sweetie?” I call.
I hear her reply from somewhere upstairs.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“The kitchen,” I think she says.
I run up the other set of stairs and find her sitting at the counter.
“I have to go somewhere.” I say.
“Where?” her reply is quiet and tight lipped.
“I’m going to bring Marcy home.”
She doesn’t say a word, but I can see it in her eyes. She needs me here with her. She wants someone to hold her. And maybe even someone to tell her everything is going to be okay. But, I’m no good for that right now.
“I have to do this, sweetie. I can’t just sit around here.” I am going to tell her the truth. She deserves it. “I’m afraid of what I might do to myself if I do. I know you don’t agree. I know you want me to stay, but I have to do this.”
“When I had the first, and now, second miscarriage, you didn’t get very sad. I thought it was because you turned to Jesus, but now I think it’s because you turned to our daughter.”
“What does that mean? You can sit there and say this only because you saw Jesus. Where would you be if you hadn’t?!”
Her eyes are wet. She doesn’t say another thing. She just walks away and slams our bedroom door closed.
I’m already sorry for what I said. I start to follow her, and then stop. The keys are hanging on their hook. My leather jacket is draped over my seat at the dining room table. I’ll probably only make it worse.
I grab a sheet of paper, and a pen from the counter instead.
I’m sorry for what I said. I love you.
I’ll keep my phone on, and will see you tomorrow.
Love,
Matthew
John Doe
; There is so much I don’t know about what has controlled my life. Teddy came from nowhere and never left. And now, there is so much I don’t know about this One Who’s come to set me free. He’s the man from the stories mom used to tell, but I know nothing else. I’m a blind man following a Stranger.
But it’s all I have. I am weak. No matter how much perspective I gain, I will never be able to face this property on my own. I have grown Teddy too strong, and given him so much control that he knows me better than I know myself. I will never be free without this Stranger. He’s not only the Man from the stories. If He was, I wouldn’t be walking past the deck right now. The children would gather around and kill me slowly. Teddy would remain the quiet, controlling voice he has always been. If this Stranger was just for stories, I would already be dead.
He has taken a place inside of M’s Teddy, which is held firmly by my right hand. Jesus is a stranger to me, much like my own dad. I remember a man who betrayed me. Yet at the same time, I remember a man who loved mom and I, and protected us. How can they both be him? Which was the real one?
I am scared of the answers. The closer I get to the shed, the more I realize that the pain of questions is far less than the pain of answers. Do I want to know who my dad was? Will it really change anything?
M’s teddy has remained quiet. I have a light to take into the darkness, but at times it feels like it’s just a teddy bear. Jesus has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind. I am starting to