I often collapse on this old rocker of an evening, rocking back and
forth as I count my blessings. Better than counting sheep, at least, but with
near the same effect. I slump lower in my rocker and kick off my worn leather
boots with a thump onto my porch. My stockinged feet swing slightly in time
with my rocking, and my eyes droop.
The crickets are chirping merrily, and their song is the most melodious
of melodies during these dog days of summer. The lullaby lulls me even closer
to the edge of sleep. It would seem even nature would have me rest, what with
the warm evening rays and the crickets’ lullaby. I make one half-hearted
attempt to shift my position and open my heavy eyelids. It doesn’t work. My
last conscious thought is a wry realization that my snores will be a poor
compliment to the crickets’ melody . . .
———
The slight evening breeze played with the green grass of the farm pasture,
tousling the wavy blades before sweeping down the valley. The breeze reached
the edge of the pasture and dove headlong into the forest beyond, weaving its
way through the sturdy trunks of big leaf maples and the speckled, more slender
trunks of alders. The first brown leaves of the season were detached from their
lofty perches by the breeze, and they fell slowly to the undergrowth of the
forest floor below.
Some of the leaves fell by a gaping hole among the gnarled tree roots.
The hole was much bigger than you would see among the regular habitats of the
forest creatures, and something about it gave the air of mystery—and dread. A
scuffling noise came from the hole, and as if caught by the breeze, guttural
moans were indistinctly heard. The scuffling grew louder, and the moans turned
to muttered curses and foul laments. Then suddenly a head stuck out of the
hole, followed by a body.
A loathsome creature crouched before the hole in the forest floor. Its
overall hygiene was little better than the dirt it had crawled its way out of.
It wore a few torn and filthy rags, and its hair hung in tangled, ratty locks down
its grizzled head. That the creature was once a man was hard to believe,
despite the fact that its physical appearance attested to that fact. But whatever
it once was, it was apparent that the thing that arose from the forest floor
lived now as little more than the lowest of the forest creatures.
It turned its head to the west, its dark eyes glinting fiercely. The sun
was just falling below the horizon, and the creature waited in the gathering
gloom, neither flinching nor uttering a sound from above its hole. Finally the
light faded and died, replaced by the night, and the creature smiled a thin,
malicious smile. A low hiss came from between its rotted teeth, and it began to
creep forward through the trees.
An hour later it reached the edge of the forest. It hesitated only a
moment, wavering in its resolve, but then it moved forth in the dark. The
creature in a stooped, shuffling manner walked through a waving grass pasture,
heading for the one place that would keep him alive . . . a little solitary
cabin in the middle of a little secluded farm.
I looked out across the field from my rocker. It was dark, the only
light coming from a sliver of moon high in the heavens. The breeze was chilled
now, and I shivered and rose to retire inside my cabin. Padding inside on
stockinged feet, I beheld my simple cabin by the soft moonlight that filtered
through the door. The main room contained a small table with several rough-hewn
wooden chairs clustered around it, and at the other end of the room was my one
source of heat during the raging winter weather, a gaping brick fireplace. It
was on the mantle above the fireplace where rested my pride and joy: an ancient
broad sword that had been passed down to me from my master. Despite its age,
the blade’s double edges were still razor sharp, but alas, the magnificent
blade had long since been covered with a thick layer of dust for want of use.
A tiny attachment to the one main room housed my cot and a little lamp
stand—a very unaspiring bedroom, to be sure, but suitable. My bathroom was a
leaky outhouse a hundred feet from my cabin, but I had kept a looking glass
inside the cabin, hung up against a bit of free space on one of the walls. It
was this mirror to which I was unexplainably drawn.
I gazed at the reflection of my face in the mirror. This was something I
usually tried to avoid, for I was no lover of my face. It was not completely
unsightly, I suppose, but still—tanned and weather beaten, creased and worn—I
had no fond affections (and little motivation) for preening myself before
something so revealing as a mirror. God had not blessed me with “beautiful eyes
and a handsome appearance” as He had done to the Biblical youth David.
I shook my head in weary subjection and stepped away from the mirror,
but my face’s reflection did not disappear. Instead, it evolved into a near
likeness that was much more hideous. My face had become disheveled—my hair
matted, my teeth rotted and black. But yet, I had backed away from the mirror;
it was not reflecting my image. I spun around and saw that standing behind me
and a little to the side, in front of the mirror, was a man hideous to look at.
So hideous was he, that the word “creature” was perhaps a more accurate
description. He was stooped and ragged, and his body was pitifully scrawny. His
hollow, glinting eyes locked with mine for a brief second. I gasped in horror
and backed away almost frantically.
My hand struck the edge of my table, and I ran my hand over the wooden surface
till it suddenly touched the little battery-powered lantern I kept at hand for
my nighttime chores. In a second I had grasped the lantern and clicked it on. I
held it up, and the shallow light of the moon was replaced by the bright glow
of my lantern. But my haunt was not in sight.
A shuffling noise came from the corner of my cabin furthest away from
the light, and a cold chill swept up my spine, making the hair on the back of
my spine stand on end. There was a hiss as of a deadly snake, and then a voice,
shrill and broken, wafted across the room. “Please, it burns me! Extinguish the light!”
“I will not! Show yourself!” I shouted back.
There was only silence from the shadowed corner.
“Who are you?” I asked after a moment in a quieter voice, trying to
sound calm.
I strained for the answer, but there was no immediate one. My ears only
just discerned the shallow intake of breath coming from the corner. I waited
warily.
“You know who I am, Chris Newman,” came the hissed reply at length.
When the thing hissed my name, it slowly dawned on me that I had
encountered the man—or creature—before. A wave of dread made me almost sick. Of
course! Though he was more shriveled than I had ever seen him before, I
suddenly recognized the creature—even from my one horrified glance of him—as
the man who had once controlled me, keeping me captive to his every will. And
his will had been pure evil.
My new, kind master had freed me from this creature some time ago, but now
it often came at night to beg scraps from me to keep itself alive. The roles
were now reversed—I was master, it was slave.
I spoke angrily to the shadow lurking in the corner. “Senis, I told you
never to come back.”
Senis—that was what I called the creature. It was a fitting name for the
filth, the creature that would never step into the light. I despised him and
had even tried to kill him with the broad sword my master had given me, but still
he never left me alone for long.
“I will not feed you again,” I continued.
“Just this once,” the thrill voice pleaded. “I once looked after you!”
“You kept me in chains! I
serve a new master now, and he has told me to be rid of you!”
“But your master has said he will forgive
you for feeding me!” Senis whined.
I could not answer him imediantly. What the shriveled creature had said
was true. My master had forbade me from feeding Senis, but due to his amazing
grace alone, my master had also said that he would forgive me for breaking his
commands.
“Why would I feed you?” I asked, still holding the shining lantern
before me.
“Because deep down inside you still want what I can offer you—and I can
give you much, my master.” Senis’s voice morphed into a completely different
tone, as if he could sense the indecision in my heart. His voice lost its hiss,
replaced by words that dripped with hidden suggestions. “But please, you need
not feed me, only turn off the light,” the creature suddenly suggested.
I wavered for an instant, but in that moment of indecision I suddenly
was resolved. In a second I had
clicked off the lantern, and the room was pitched into eerie gloom again. I was
secretly attracted to what Senis could offer me; the old life had not been all bad.
There was movement. Senis had no need of his shadowed corner anymore. I
looked around in the dim, moonlit room as my eyes adjusted to the gloom, but I
didn’t see him. My gaze turned to the door. It was open, swinging slightly in
the breeze. In a few quick steps I could be outside, away from the creature.
There was a way of escape. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave now, not
without knowing what Senis would offer me. What harm could the starved creature
do to me anyway? I could easily overpower him.
Or so I thought.
-----
Part two coming soon!
More about the story:
If you are curious about the Biblical analogy of the song/my story, I would highly recommend reading Romans 6:1-14 and/or Colossians 3:1-11. May all of us gain victory over our "old man" through Christ's power in our lives!
No comments:
Post a Comment