Chapter Seven
One Friday night when I was working the late shift – the library was open until eleven during the week and midnight on the weekends – a rather handsome, dark-haired young man came in the library. He wore jeans and a black tee-shirt and a beautiful silver chain with a strange black stone that had a symbol that I had seen before but didn’t have a clue as to what it stood for.
“Interesting necklace,” I said, as I checked out his books on ancient history for him.
He brought his hooded brown eyes up to mine and said, “Thanks!”
I felt a sudden sense of power from him unlike nothing I’d ever felt from anyone before.
“Is it Masonic?” I inquired.
A slight, mysterious smile curved the edges of his mouth. “It’s a sigil,” he replied.
“Not Masonic?”
I had the distinct feeling he was inwardly amused by my questions. “No. Not Masonic.”
“Does it mean anything in particular?”
“I just like it,” he replied, grabbed up his books, turned and walked away.
It was time to close up, and with no one else in the library, I locked up and headed for home. Since it was late, and I had a few paychecks under my belt now, I had my car. I walked during the day when the sun was shining, but when it was night or raining I took my car.
That sigil stuck in my mind.
Greg was in bed and asleep when I reached the house. He kept his door closed when I worked late so my coming in wouldn’t disturb him. I readied for bed: showered, brushed my teeth, donned my Hello Kitty pajamas that Greg had given me for Christmas, and decided to see if I could find that sigil on his laptop. He had left it on the kitchen table.
He didn’t mind my using it, as long as I cleaned up my cookies and ran a quick virus scan before logging off. Immediately I looked up sigils. I found it pretty quick and just stared at it.
It was the sigil of Lucifer!
The mysterious man in the library was a Satanist!
Though a bit strange, he had seemed nice enough. But was he? At that time, I had some really bad hang-ups about Satanism. One doesn’t get over years of intense conditioning easily.
I immediately cleaned up my search history, cookies and ran a quick scan and got off. I went to bed, but I didn’t fall asleep right away. I just could not get that sigil out of my head. Nor could I forget the sense of power I had felt from the dark-haired man.
Not in all my life as a Christian had I felt that kind of power from anyone. There were a few pastors, clergy, that I had felt kind of an electrical zap from a time or two, like when one walks across a rug and touches someone else and gets shocked, but this man’s energy was different. I could not deny that I had been in the presence of someone powerful.
And he was a Satanist!
Should I have been frightened of him?
I wasn’t really sure.
I had not seen or heard from Erick in several days. I did think of him often, wondering where he was and exactly who he was. I still was pretty sure he wasn’t exactly human, but then I had no one else to compare him too. I knew I would be eternally grateful for his caring and consideration of me. I just wondered if I would see him again.
According to Greg, Dad had really gotten into the laying of hands on the church members. And Greg was getting into it. I listened politely as he told me with much enthusiasm about how he and dad were casting out demons and more and more people were talking in tongues. I didn’t say much, but I didn’t argue with him either, and knowing Greg, he mistook it that I was interested. I didn’t tell him otherwise.
So, one Sunday evening – there wasn’t anything on television to take my interest – I decided to walk over to the church and slipped quietly in, the doors had been left wide open, since it was hot and Dad preferred it to running up the electric bill with air conditioning – and sat down on an empty back pew. All the members had gathered up to the front of the church, standing around Dad and Greg, as they went from member to member, laying their hands on them and praying. At which point, most of them would break out speaking in ‘tongues’.
Sounded like gibberish to me.
One woman simply rambled, “La…La…La…La…La…La,” over and over.
I couldn’t help but notice the glow in Dad’s face, and Greg was starting to become just as enthused.
Dad definitely thought he was a chosen disciple, and Greg was being infected by this insane charismatic fever.
Shit! I thought. That was when I realized someone had sat down to my right.
Erick!
Glad to see him, I smiled amiably.
He returned the smile and then nodded slightly, rolling his eyes towards the door, as though to ask me if I wanted to go outside.
My response was a yes nod.
He stood and went on out.
I followed.
We remained on the church porch for a moment. He stared up at the stars which were unusually vivid, even for being in the city limits, as there was no moon. “I love it when the stars are bright,” he commented.
I agreed.
Gesturing with an outward held hand, he asked me if I wanted to take a stroll, and I said yes.
We headed in the direction of the park. I couldn’t help but thinking how utterly handsome – not handsome – gorgeous he was. He was the picture of perfection. Flawless. I couldn’t help it, it just slipped out. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”
He stopped walking, and I heard a faint chuckle. “Thank you.”
Embarrassed, I apologized. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why? I don’t mind a compliment.”
“One doesn’t normally go around telling a man he’s beautiful. But you are!” I know I blushed, and I was glad it was dark. This night he had on a white dress shirt and black pants; looked really, really nice. It was as though I couldn’t feast my eyes on him enough. “What is it about you?” I asked.
“Want to clarify that question?”
“I think I may have brought this up before. At least, I thought it. You’re not …” I took a deep breath and exhaled. “I guess what I am trying to say is – You’re no ordinary man, are you?”
Our eyes locked momentarily and the immeasurably depths I saw took my breath away, but he didn’t answer my question. Instead, he laid an arm around my shoulder and told me I was very sweet and that beauty was in the eyes of the beholder.
We continued walking until we reached a bench where he asked me if I wanted to sit, and I replied that I did.
We must have sat there for a good five minutes before either one of us said a word. Finally, I broke the silence. “Is Satan real?”
I expected him to be surprised by my question, for I was surprised that I asked. “I’m sorry,” I quickly said. “I don’t know where that came from.”
He reached back and took the band off his hair and let it fall gently to his shoulders, and stuck the band in his pants pocket. I thought he wasn’t going to respond, but he leaned back against the bench and stretched his long legs out in front of him and said, “Yes! Satan is very real.”
“Oh! Well, I guess the reason I asked is because a Satanist came in the library not long ago. He wore a necklace with what he called a sigil. I went home and looked it up. That is how I knew he was a Satanist.”
“Were you afraid of him?”
“A little?”
“Why?”
“I guess because he’s a Satanist.”
“Therefore you judged him as being evil?”
Where was this going? I wasn’t sure. “I suppose I did.”
He sniggered faintly. “Judge not,” he said.
“But he’s a Satanist?”
The Bible doesn’t say judge not except for Satanists.”
That hit me like a ton of bricks. “Oh! You’re right.” I felt stupid then.
He apparently sensed it. “It’s okay. Just about anyone would make the same mistake.”
“But why would someone want to
be a Satanist? Why would they want to sell their soul like that?”
He sat up straight then, showing no signs of irritation but only amusement by my questions. “First of all, Brenda – One does not sell their soul to Satan – One dedicates to Satan! As for the other half of your question, we all have our paths to follow. Some take the right-hand path, and some take the left. It is for each individual to discern which path is the one they want to take.”
I was hesitant to ask, but I had to know. “Are you a Satanist?”
He grinned most charmingly. “Why do you ask?”
“You just seem to know so much about it.”
“I have a thorough knowledge of ancient history. I know that much of the Bible was taken from other mythologies of the world and given Jewish characters. It was their way of controlling their people. Over time, it spread over the world into Christianity and Islamic beliefs. Of course, they added their own characters and stories.” He must have noticed the perplexed expression on my face for he added, “Don’t take my word for it. The truth is for everyone to seek; that is, if they really want to know. Do you?”
“Yes!”
“You work at the perfect place, Brenda. When you’re not busy, start learning.”
“I have read some books along that line… when I had the chance. But okay. I’ll do that.”
We were still close enough to the church that we could hear people coming out and leaving now.
“I guess I’d better get back before Greg realizes I’m not at the house.”
“I’ll walk you back.”
“Thank you.”
He escorted me to the corner where the park ended, and I ran across the street and onto the church grounds towards Greg’s house. I could see Greg and Dad standing on the front porch of the church talking to a few remaining members. No one noticed me. At the door, I turned and waved to Erick, who waved back and then I went on inside. I did hold the door open a crack, for I was curious. I had to know. Sure enough, he simply vanished.
“Oh my God!” It appeared that my suspicions had been founded – He wasn’t human! But who was he? More correctly, what was he?