{"id":7395,"date":"2020-02-01T23:26:30","date_gmt":"2020-02-01T23:26:30","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/leighgrissom.com\/?p=7395"},"modified":"2020-02-22T20:20:13","modified_gmt":"2020-02-22T20:20:13","slug":"worldwithoutend-amen","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/leighgrissom.com\/2020\/02\/worldwithoutend-amen\/","title":{"rendered":"WORLDWITHOUTEND, AMEN"},"content":{"rendered":"
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WORLDWITHOUTEND, AMEN<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u00a9 2020 by Leigh Grissom<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Featured in the March 2020 issue of The Scribe (Breaking Rules Publishing)<\/p>\n \u200bThey come.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200bThey always come.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200bIt doesn\u2019t matter if they\u2019ve heard the stories.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200bIt doesn\u2019t matter if they\u2019ve been warned.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200bThey come.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200bThey always come.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200bAnd by the knocking of the door, there\u2019s one now.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200bMight as well let them in<\/span><\/span>.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200bAlaina<\/span><\/span> closed her notebook and hooked the pen to the spiral.<\/span><\/span> Her watch said 7:00; not quite full-dark, but close. Whoever they were, they were brave to venture through the forest so late.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200bShe called out, <\/span><\/span>\u201cComing!\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n She wanted to add, \u201cidiot,\u201d but didn\u2019t. It wouldn\u2019t matter. These curious, <\/span><\/span>self-centered<\/span><\/span>, asshole young people never learned. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n This time, it was a couple. She guessed he was in his mid-twenties; the young woman might have been twenty at best. Snappily dressed, well-coiffed, perfect eyebrows \u2013 <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Crap<\/span><\/span>. Millennials. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhat can I do for you?\u201d she asked, hoping her voice sounded more congenial than she felt. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cUm, so, yeah\u2026\u201d The young woman brushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. \u201cWe\u2019re from the paper\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Alaina almost laughed. These little<\/span><\/span> nitwits<\/span><\/span> probably couldn\u2019t spell the word \u201cpaper,\u201d much less work for one.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhich one?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThe, uh\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Alaina<\/span><\/span> held up a hand to stop the woman from lying again<\/span><\/span>. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter. Come on in.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n The couple stepped over the threshold. After the usual \u201coohs\u201d and \u201caahs\u201d over her antique furniture and too many \u201cthank yous\u201d for either one of them to be actual journalists, <\/span><\/span>Alaina<\/span><\/span> asked them to have a seat at her table.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n The young man ran his hand over the top of her table. \u201cThis isn\u2019t wood. What is this?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cFormica. It\u2019s older than you both; make a note to ask Google later.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOkay, sure.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Alaina pointed to the teapot on her stove<\/span><\/span>, and it whistled as if on cue<\/span><\/span>. <\/span><\/span>\u201c<\/span><\/span>May I offer you some tea<\/span><\/span>?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n The young man smiled and nodded. \u201cSure. Thank you.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n The woman declined politely. \u201cNone for me, thanks.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Alaina smiled at her. <\/span><\/span>\u201cYou want some.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNow that you mention it, I am thirsty.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n She brought them each a cup and sat down. \u201cNow, what brings you here from the, uh, \u2018paper\u2019?\u201d <\/span><\/span>She tried to hide her smirk and failed miserably.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re investigating the old legends about the, um, demon<\/span><\/span>.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOh, that old story? Where did you hear it?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWe stopped at the Kingston Caf\u00e9. The owner and some other guy told us about it. We, y\u2019know, investigate paranormal cases for the paper, so we thought this might be a good story.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s wild.\u201d The young man took a sip of his tea and smiled. \u201cI think the other guy was the mayor? You don\u2019t normally hear politicians telling ghost stories.<\/span><\/span> But he said the whole town talks about it.<\/span><\/span>\u201d<\/span><\/span> He chewed his lip. \u201cI don\u2019t mean to offend, but they say it lives here.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n She laughed. \u201cI\u2019m sure they do. Tell me your names.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m Colby.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m Courtney.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n And we\u2019re the onion twins<\/span><\/span>, she thought, and almost laughed. She knew she was the only one old enough to remember the commercial \u2026 what was it for? Salad dressing? <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n She jolted herself from her thoughts and sipped her tea. \u201cNice to meet you both. I\u2019m Alaina. But you know that, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cUm, yes ma\u2019am.\u201d Colby said, and pretended to take notes on his phone. \u201cMs. Alaina, could you tell us why the town thinks this demon even exists, much less lives here?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOf course I can.\u201d She leaned back and motioned for them to set their phones up to record. \u201cTake good notes, kids. I\u2019m only going to tell this once.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n **<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200bI was young. Somewhere between four and seven. Oh, don\u2019t look at me like that; when you get to be my age, time blurs together. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200bMy mother and the man she married took me to a little church just outside of town. Dripping Springs, it was called. Why, I have no idea. It wasn\u2019t like any church I\u2019d attended before; loud music, dancing, and very, very loud preaching. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n The preacher \u2026 he was an o<\/span><\/span>dd man. Overly dramatic and intense<\/span><\/span>. As young as I was, I remember being creeped out by him. During one service, I remember <\/span><\/span>having<\/span><\/span> a nosebleed. I used to have bad ones that were hard to get stopped. Instead of taking me home, we stayed through the service so he and several others could pray for me. <\/span><\/span>Mom never did get all the blood off my dress<\/span><\/span>\u2026<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n Some of the followers came to our house with trash bags one evening and threw away a lot of my mother\u2019s knick-knacks. They even pulled pictures down off the walls and threw them away. Claimed all of it was demonic and this needed to happen to cleanse the house and \u201csave our souls.\u201d <\/span><\/span>Then they and my mother sat in a circle on the living room floor and prayed for her salvation. I don\u2019t get it, not at all, but it\u2019s not for me to judge. I read that whole \u201cjudge not\u201d thing in a book somewhere\u2026<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n **<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200bColby chuckled. \u201cThe Bible, right?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200b\u201cYes, Captain Obvious, it was the Bible. May I continue?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200bCourtney elbowed him. \u201cShut up, Colby!\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n **<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200bWhere was I? Oh! The night this whole thing started. It was regular church \u2013 I mean, as regular as that wild bunch could be <\/span><\/span>\u2013<\/span><\/span> and the preacher was raining down fire and brimstone on all of us. That was all he ever concentrated on. Not how to survive day-to-day living, not how to love one another \u2013 just how shitty it would be for you if you didn\u2019t obey him. Yeah, I said him with a little \u201ch,\u201d not a capital one. <\/span><\/span>I think he only waved a Bible during services because people thought it was a necessary prop. <\/span><\/span>Hell, fire, and damnation filled our Sunday nights, and my mother ate it up. <\/span><\/span>We were there every time the doors were open. Sunday twice, Wednesday night, and every single night of a revival. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n The only thing I really understood was she forced me to wear a dress and I hated it. She said it was in the Bible, but even after I read it cover-to-cover, I couldn\u2019t find it.<\/span><\/span> But you kids aren\u2019t in the mood to hear that little argument. I\u2019ll save it for later.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n **<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200b\u201cYou said the whole demon story started that night?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200b\u201cWhy, yes I did, Courtney. Thank you for bringing me back in line.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n **<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n \u200bOkay, so, hell, fire, damnation, blah, blah, worldwithoutend, amen. Anyway, that night, this woman <\/span><\/span>