Gabriel's Story - 5 December

Sean awoke to the odd feeling that he wasn’t alone. He had been dreaming about the Sunday night service, so he was in an excellent mood. The Lord never ceased to amaze Sean even after everything he’d seen, both ethereal and corporeal. Ever the soldier, he scanned his bedroom to see what may have disturbed his slumber.

To his right, glinting with the moonlight stood his prosthetics. Sean admired the clean look of the titanium ending in polished black dress shoes, having opted against the more popular ornate carbon fiber with flags and “tattoos” that many veterans chose these days. He was hoping to be a candidate for direct-to-bone prosthetic mounts. All his research pointed to soldiers with simple titanium prosthetics having the easiest time transitioning; thus, his decision was practical. He caught the slightest movement in his peripheral vision and his attention was drawn to the left. He scanned across his dresser, past the open bedroom door, and to the closet. He stopped and gazed into the eyes of a sight that would cause even the hardest criminal to devolve into a crying baby.

Sean wasn’t fazed.

“Oh, did I disturb your rest?” Lucifer stepped out of the shadow and into the dim light coming in from the hallway. His voice was a mix of playfulness and deceit.

Sean stared straight into the eyes of Lucifer, the Angel of Light, standing in his bedroom. “Speak your piece and be gone.” He lay flat on his back, covers pulled halfway up his pajama covered torso.

Lucifer stood erect, equally surprised and annoyed by Sean’s casual attitude. “What, no concern over how I am able to be in your bedroom, in your house? Aren’t you worried that I walked right through your ‘hedge of protection’ prayer?”

“Nope.”

“Hmph.” Lucifer snorted and leaned in closer, wild eyes, bad breath and all. “Well you should be. After that spectacle you put on tonight you should know you are now my personal project and there’s nothing your prayer warriors and emotional sermons can do about it.”

“That’s it?”

Lucifer looked dejected. If he had been human his blood would have been boiling. Throughout his travels down the generations, he had only ever met one man with as casual a disregard for Lucifer’s power as Sean showed. That man, John Wesley, died in 1791, but not before founding the Methodist church, a thorn in Lucifer’s side. This preacher, Lucifer wagered, was no John Wesley. He started to protest, but Sean interrupted the Devil before he could speak.

“You have one more change to speak your mind. Stop your posturing. It won’t work here. Get to the point or be on your way. Monday is my day off and I get to sleep in.” Sean adjusted the covers a little higher on his chest before interlacing his fingers and waiting patiently for Lucifer to decide how to proceed.

“If that’s how you want it, fine.” Lucifer summoned his angelic form, a treat he held in reserve for the most irreverent of occasions. His wings were slightly misshapen and his tunic showed signs of wear, but his light was blinding in the middle of Sean’s night. He announced his proclamation in a loud, supernatural voice that rattled the windows and would give James Earl Jones a run for the best bass. “Sean, you have been judged and you have been found wanting. Your emotional diatribes will not win lost souls and I will come to personally collect your soul before the end of this year. Until then, your days will be marred with pain and disappointment,” he pointed towards Sean’s prosthetics, “and you’ll wish I’d taken your life when I took your legs.”

“That’s it? You done?” Sean regarded Lucifer with growing annoyance. He wanted to be asleep.

Lucifer’s concocted light dimmed as he transformed back into the human-like presence he preferred to keep. In this darkness his lightshow seemed brilliant, but it was no match for the holy light his heavenly brethren could emit. He was flummoxed by Sean’s lack of concern.

“Um. Yeah. That’s it.”

“Fine. I’ve been warned.” Sean rolled onto his right side and adjusted the covers. “Close the door on your way out. There’s a bit of a draft coming from the hallway.” He closed his eyes.

Lucifer’s rage arose wildly. He snorted and spat as his anger overtook him. Lucifer – Satan – the Devil himself had just announced to this man his untimely death and his response was to make a joke about a draft! He reached out to strike Sean in his bed, but before he could he was stopped in his tracks by a barely audible noise – just loud enough to make Lucifer concentrate on its origin. He stood, dagger raised in his right hand, paused in its strike as he tried to identify the sound, to understand its significance. He was mortified when he identified the sound.

It was snoring.

Sean was already asleep.

--- *** ---

Back in his dream, Sean was atop the pulpit of the Ten Cities Church of the Nazarene. He was in the middle of his sermon about faith and he had just slammed down his Bible on the pulpit, an act that drew a gasp from some in the crowd. “You don’t know if your faith will stand unless you stand on your faith!” he shouted. “And how do we stand on our faith?”

“Trials!” one man yelled back.

“Troubles!” another shouted.

“My husband.” A battered woman whispered from her seat near the back.

Sean looked directly at the woman and saw a fat, slovenly, angry spirit leaning against her with its feet propped up on an elderly man half asleep a few seats down. Lucifer had pulled out all the stops, sending dozens of spirits and their affected hosts to the service. Their numbers didn’t deter him, nor did their detestable appearance. In his dream he looked down to see Gabriel sitting in the front row, eyes ablaze, watching Sean, Lucifer, the angels and demons jostle throughout the church sanctuary.

Sean was on fire and the Sprit inside him wasn’t letting up. They started the service promptly at six thirty. The clock on the back wall had just struck nine and Sean was nowhere near finished. When he saw the slovenly beast stick its fingers up the nose of the poor woman Sean had never met, he lost it. Sean leaped over the altar and ran down the center aisle straight towards the unsuspecting demon.

“You!” he pointed his finger, “Get out! This is God’s house and you are not welcome here!”

The demon and the woman looked at Sean with the same shocked expression. Sean grabbed ahold of the elderly man who had awoken to see his pastor running at him, so he tried to bolt out the door. Even on two titanium tubes Sean was faster. “Not you, Chuck. Sit down.”

He put his face within an inch of the demon. “What is your name?”

The congregation was murmuring. One minute, their pastor was giving a fiery sermon on faith and the next he was running through the church talking to vacant space. He waited as if the space was going to respond.

The congregation gasped and two women fainted when it did.

“I am Sclavak, servitor of Asmodeus, the bringer of torture and pain.” The demon couldn’t control himself. He didn’t answer to the man, but to the Spirit within him. That Spirit commanded Sclavak and the demon answered.

Sean looked at the woman who had turned white with fear. “And what is your name?” His tone was gentler.

“Uh,” she tried crawling out of the pew, away from the voice, “Sara.”

Sean touched Sara’s hand and Sclavak retreated screaming. His voice reached deep into the dark crevices and hidden places of the church before he fell silent, sitting at attention as Sean stared into his eyes.

“Get out.”

In his dream, as the demon fled the church he slammed the sanctuary door. “Boom!”

--- *** ---

Sean awoke and looked around his room. It was empty. As he lay back down to sleep he realized his bedroom door was closed.

“Good doggie.”