Tag: good vs evil

The Vulture

 

 

Do you like scary movies?  I used to love them.  I don’t mean those slasher flicks they have now, I’m talking the classics.  The movies that scared you more by what they didn’t show, than what they did.  For instance the original Jaws – can you honestly tell me that after seeing that movie you never had a moment of total panic, even years later?  Well I’ll admit it.  Even now I could be swimming in a lake, treading water, and a current will touch my foot and all of a sudden I just know that lurking deep beneath me is a giant shark, gliding up from the depths, opening that cavern full of razors he calls a mouth – ah even thinking about it gives me the chills.  Anyway, like I was saying, I used to love them . . . until the night I saw the vulture for the first time.

 

All the self-inflicted terror of my earlier years was no comparison to what I felt after the birth of my son, Christian.  I would lay awake at night, scaring the bejeebers out of myself by imagining the most horrible things.  When he was a baby it was SIDS, RSV, asthma, and a million other things that my over-active mind imagined, and I found the only way to calm myself would be to sneak in to look at him … closely . . . to ensure he was still breathing.

 

When he hit 3 my nightmares changed to fear of falling accidents (that little daredevil had no fear, climbing up the highest thing he could reach and then leaping off as if to prove he could fly), pedophiles, or mistreatment by other kids that would permanently scar him.  Did I mention I had a very active imagination?  I kept the monitor turned up high at night so I could hear the slightest noise, and there were times when a simple burp would come through loud enough to knock me off my bed.

 

One night I woke up at 3:30 a.m., with no idea what had interrupted my slumber.  From habit I decided to go check on Christian.  He was very proud of himself for getting a “big-boy bed”, and enjoyed using every inch of that twin mattress.  That night he was lying sideways, curled up against the side rail which kept him from tumbling off onto the floor during his nightly gymnastics routine.  Then my eyes drifted up towards the headboard, and I almost lost control of my bladder.  Perched there, staring holes through me with beady black soulless eyes, was an enormous vulture.  It had to be at least 3′ high and it was more than black, it was an anti-color – the color of a black hole, or the door to hell.

 

My brain refused to accept what it was seeing at first, and I must have blinked a thousand times in less than a minute, hoping this apparition would disappear, but it remained.  The vulture continued to eye me as my protective instincts kicked in and I started towards it.  I grabbed one of Christian’s plastic golf clubs, hoping it would withstand the hit I was about to give.  The bird never moved as I approached, but as I reared back to swing the club its beak cracked open into a malicious grin.  Before I could begin the swing the bird just popped out of existence.  Badly shaken I rested my weight on the club for a moment before my knees gave out and I collapsed to the ground.  Dripping with sweat I crawled into bed with my son, and slept no more that night.

 

A week went by with no further encounters, and I had just about convinced myself I had imagined the entire episode when it repeated itself.  This time, however, the club was only inches away before the bird disappeared and the resounding crack against the wall woke up Christian.  He seemed to take his mommy standing over his bed with a plastic golf club in stride, and went right back to sleep.  Once again, I joined him, glaring at the headboard until the sun finally came up.

 

This went on for a month, with no real pattern.  The vulture would be there one night, gone for a few days, back again for two nights in a row, and on and on.  During the day I researched everything I could find on supernatural, vultures, ghosts, premonitions, anything I could get my hands on.  I knew vultures were scavengers, and fed on dead flesh before I started.  The only thing I truly learned from my research was that I was utterly alone; there was no precedent for what I was going through.

 

Then the vulture started appearing two or three nights in a row before taking a day off.  Within 3 months the evil creature was perching every single night.  By this time I had become convinced that the bird was a harbinger of death.  He was warning me that something was going to happen to my son.  Finally, on my son’s 4th birthday, the vulture appeared during the day.  That day I took an extended leave from work and pulled my son out of daycare.  I was not going to let anything happen to my beautiful baby boy.  Christian thought it was great fun at first, he had me home all day and my undivided attention.

 

I began making lists of anything that could possibly happen to my son.  I refused to let him go outside, in case someone jumped the fence and took him or a car lost control and crashed through.  Then I began to be afraid to drive anywhere with him because of accidents.  I grew afraid to order take-out, in case someone had poisoned the food or the delivery person was actually a serial killer.  I stopped answering the door at all, afraid of who, or what, might be on the other side.  And still the vulture appeared, more frequently, all through the day and night.  Interestingly enough, Christian couldn’t see the bird, but he always knew when it was present.  He would immediately be at my side, peering around the room from behind my leg.

 

I called all my family and friends and told them that Christian and I were going on an extended trip with some money I had come into, in hopes that people would stop beating on the door.  I stopped my mail, because I was afraid to take Christian with me to the mailbox, but more terrified of leaving him in the house by himself.

 

I found myself lying beside Christian on the couch in the living room one day, thinking to myself that maybe I should just end it for both of us.  At least that way we could go together and I could make sure he didn’t suffer.  The vulture was roosting on the back of the couch, not a foot away from me, and I could feel the evil projecting from the bird in tidal waves.  I looked down at my son, my handsome little boy.  He had the most beautiful eyelashes, long enough that even most supermodels would have killed for them, and deep green eyes, with gold flecks radiating out from the center.

 

And then I really looked at him.  His skin had grown pale, from lack of sun.  His little ribs were visible through his shirt, from lack of food.  His hair hung down in his face, not having been cut in months.  There were deep red marks under his eyes, and his cheeks were starting to sink in.  Over the last few days he had lost all energy, barely moving from the couch at all.  He was dying.

 

All of a sudden I was furious.  I mean angry enough to take on a whole football team of serial killers and kick butt and take names.  I thought I had been protecting my son, but I was not letting him live.  He was being deprived of friends, fun, and family and all because of this damn BIRD!

 

I jumped off the couch with my fists clenched and my face blood-red and I looked at that vulture.  I stared him down until he was the first to look away.  And then I woke up my son.  I told Christian to go to his room and get dressed, because he and mommy were going out.  We were going to get a Happy Meal and then we were going to the park.  When we got done there we were going to the grocery store and I was going to stock the house back up and make him anything he wanted for dinner, and we were going right now.

 

The vulture puffed up to twice his size as Christian rushed passed him to get dressed.  Then it opened its wings and a twinge of fear shot through me in spite of the anger.  The wings stretched out past both ends of the couch, and when the vulture started flapping it was like being caught in a tornado.  It opened its beak and emitted a sound like a thousand fingernails scraping a chalk board.  The sound roared through me and I clapped my hands over my ears as the pain drove me to my knees.  I fought back to a standing position, keeping that vision of what this bird, and as a result I, had done to my son.  I fought the wind, and I fought the pain, and I looked through the eyes of the demon and did not back down.  Then I heard it, faint at first, but growing with each heartbeat.  A trilling that was vaguely familiar, and that beat back the pain the vulture was inflicting.  My heart grew stronger, my resolve didn’t waver.

 

That’s when the vulture leapt into the air and shot towards me.  I heard the tinkle of broken glass, saw a flash of red, and before the vulture could reach me it had reared back emitting a shriek.  The vulture looked almost human for a second, its face registering complete shock and a tinge of fear.  For a second it looked as if the vulture would try again, and that’s when the robin flew down and landed on my shoulder.  The vulture’s black eyes radiated a lifetime of hatred at the little bird, who sat there calmly, head cocked to one side as if to say, “Are you still here?”  The vulture vanished with a scream of pure rage, and I never saw it again except for my worst nightmares.

 

The robin remained for another moment, and a river of warmth spread through me filled with hope, faith, and love.  It hopped off my shoulder and bounced over to the window.  For a split second, with the sun shining in behind it, I had an impression of a large winged glowing figure, superimposed behind the little bird.  Then it disappeared.

 

That was sixteen years ago.  Christian is now in college, and I am so proud of him.  I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like, but I understand that he has his own life to live.  I’m sitting at the kitchen table.  I was drinking coffee while reading the paper, but now I’m just reading the same article over and over, my heart racing.

 

Vulture or Victim

 

Koreen Reynolds was arrested this morning at her home.  Authorities were called to the scene by a worried relative who hadn’t seen her or her four year old son, Lee, in weeks.  Police finally kicked in the door after an hour of trying to talk the woman out of the house.  Upon entering the residence police found the woman curled up into a corner of the living room, rocking the body of her dead son.  The cause of death has not been officially released, but a medical source revealed that the child had been smothered, and had apparently been dead for days.  Ms. Reynolds has told authorities that she killed her son to keep “the vulture from getting him.”  When questioned further, Ms. Reynolds revealed that she has supposedly been “haunted by a ghostly vulture, intent on causing her son pain.”  Her story is that she killed her son so he wouldn’t have to suffer.  Ms. Reynolds has been remanded to a state mental institution for testing and diagnosis.  Friends of the Reynolds’ are shocked.  They describe Ms. Reynolds as a, “. . . loving, caring mother.  She loved her son more than life itself.  I can’t believe she would ever intentionally harm him.”

 

Now I know I’m not alone, and my heart aches for this woman I do not know.  If only she had found the strength to stop and realize that you can’t protect your child from everything.  Sometimes they just have to get out there and fall from the monkey bars, leap off the rope into the lake, or deal with bullies.  It’s part of growing up, and they have to have the bad as well as the good in order to be able to function as an adult.

 

More than anything, I wish she had been strong enough to see the robin.

Runaway

 

Although it was almost midnight, the bus station was still packed.  It was Friday night and students from the local college were heading home for the weekend.  A few military men were still milling around, waiting for the Midnight Express, or the “Dark & Dirty” as it as affectionately (and sometimes not so) known.  The bus arrived on schedule and the controlled mayhem of passengers trying to exit while others tried to push their way on to get the best seat took almost 20 minutes.  Finally the station calmed down as the bus left and all but a few stragglers filed out.  About a dozen people were left, and they settled into the uncomfortable plastic seats as best they could.  The next bus wasn’t due until 3 am.

 

The ticket clerk pulled out his books to study for a test he had on Monday.  Most of the customers had settled into a sleepy pile, with one hand clutching their belongings in a death grip.  The lights dimmed and the only movement left was from a wizened old man reading a book by flashlight, a boy who looked to be about 15 and was bobbing his head in beat with the music coming from his headphones, and the janitor, who was beginning the process of cleaning up from the day’s traffic.  His actual title was, “Aesthetic Engineer” but he couldn’t keep a straight face when trying to say it.  He preferred janitor.

 

He was known as Lange, and other than the fact that he was a 5’11” slender white male in his late 50’s with curly blonde hair that reached his shoulders and sky-blue eyes, not much else was known about him.  He had been working the night shift since he started six months ago, was always on time, and had not missed a day of work which was all his employer cared about.  Lange kept his head down and, humming, he swept the floor.  Every now and then his glance would fall upon the boy with the headphones, who was trying to look tough and nonchalant.  The effect was ruined by the nervous glances the teenager kept shooting around the room from red-rimmed eyes, the obvious result of recent tears.

 

When the old man finally shut his book and curled up to sleep, Lange began making his way towards the boy.  The teen was dressed plainly in jeans and a jersey from some obscure minor league baseball team.  Lange stepped in front of the boy, who had his head down but was watching Lange closely through the shaggy black hair that hung down in front of his face.  Lange smiled winningly at the youth and motioned him to take the headphones off.  With a shrug and a scowl, the boy pulled off the headset.

 

“Whaddaya want Old-Timer,” he growled, with false bravado and just a hint of a Southern accent.

 

Lange looked down at the boy, his rough leathery face set in such a stern mask that the boy involuntarily shrank back.  Lange’s eyes twinkled merrily as he broke into such a sweet smile that it was instantly transformed by warmth.

 

“Just wanted to compliment you on your jersey.  That’s the Tornados from down in Texas, ain’t it?  I went to as many games as I could when I lived down South.  Heckuva team!  Anyways, I won’t keep ya, if’n you’re busy.  My name’s Lange, it’s like Lance but with a ‘g’.  Ya need anything, just holler at me.”

 

A brief visible struggle played out on the boy’s face, as his fear and anger warred with his need to talk to someone.  Finally the need for conversation won and the boy looked up at Lange.  “My name is Jake.  So how long has it been since ya seen the Tornados play?”

 

“Ah,” Lange stretched and sat down across from Jake, “it’s been years.  How ‘bout you?  Go to many games?”

 

The two talked baseball for the next 20 minutes, arguing good-naturedly about who was the best, and worst, player.  When the chatter slowed down, Lange leaned back and crossed his arms.

 

“You’re a runaway, ain’tcha?”

 

Jake went rigid and his eyes grew wary.  “No sir, I’m 18.  Headed to the city to find work.”

 

Lange laughed so hard he snorted.  “Son, if you’re 18 I’ll eat my boot.  My guess is you had some family or school trouble and decided to head out on your own.  You’re headed for the city alright, but you ain’t lookin’ for work, you’re hoping to disappear.  Yup, I figger you’re a runaway, shore ‘nuf.  Now, before you go gettin’ mad, walkin’ off, or tunin’ me out, listen to what I have to say Jake.”

 

Lange leaned forward, keeping his voice low and steady, his blue eyes locked onto Jake’s brown ones.  “I don’t know what happened to you Jake, m’man, but I do know this – the city is a dangerous place for a nice boy like you to be lost in.  There’s a place, not too far from here, that takes in runaways no questions asked.  Now if your problem is a temporary one, and your parents are goin’ crazy right now lookin’ for ya, they’ll keep you safe and bring your parents to you.  If your problem is serious, and what’s waiting for ya at home is as bad as or worse than what these streets have to offer, it’s a place that will take you in and take care of you.  They are a family, and they support each other, as well as their surrogate children.  If you truly are in trouble, they can help you.  Jake will disappear.  You might become a Tim or a Chris.  You’ll finish school, your clothes will be paid for, and you will be loved.  As long as you follow the rules and keep your nose clean, you’ll be fine.”

 

“Sounds too good to be true,” Jake muttered.  “How do I know what you’re tellin’ me is true?  How do I know you ain’t the guy I need to be afraid of?”

 

Lange sighed, “You don’t.  It’s one of many choices you’re gonna have to make.  You just got to go on gut instinct sometimes.  I wanna show you something though, before you make up your mind.”  Lange bent down and grabbed the CD case lying next to Jake.  The picture on the front was a grinning black man on a motorcycle in front of an alley covered in graffiti.  Lange pulled out the front cover and pointed to the area where the artist normally puts his personal message.  “Before you read that, here’s the card of the place I want to take you.”

 

Jake took the card and glanced at the name on it:

 

Joldy Wallace, Director

The Highlight House

 

Then he read the message Juju Day had put on his CD.  A special thank you to Joldy and Highlight House, I wouldn’t be here without you guys and I love you – Peace Always.”  Jake’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked back and forth between the two pieces of paper.  Within seconds he looked up at Lange, his eyes lit up with excitement, “I’ll go, Lange, I’ll go to Highlight House.”

 

Lange beamed down at him, “Thank God.  You’ve made the right choice son.  If you’ll give me a few minutes, I’ll clock out for lunch and take you on over.”  Jake nodded, then settled back to wait.  A few minutes later Lange returned and the two started out the door chatting happily.  Neither of them noticed the wizened old man roll off the chair, knocking his book to the ground, and slipping out after them.

 

They had only gone a few blocks when they began to feel uneasy.  The city was never a safe place, but it was particularly nasty at 2am.  Lange felt someone was following them, but every time he snuck a look back the street was empty and silent.  By the next block Jake’s hair was standing on end, and his arms had broken out in goose bumps.  About the time he turned to ask Lange what was going on, the streetlight above them exploded in a rush of falling glass.  Lange pushed Jake towards the brick wall and put his finger over his lips to ensure Jake’s silence.

 

Lange turned back to face the shadowy figure that was slowly approaching.  The old man from the station stopped a few feet away from Lange.  He was dressed in a black turtleneck and slacks, with shoes that made no sound as he walked.  The stranger surveyed the scene in front of him, nodding to Jake and then focusing his attention on Lange.  “Sorry about the glass, I didn’t mean to harm you I just wanted to get your attention.”

 

Lange crossed his arms.  “Well, it certainly worked.  Is there something I can do for you stranger?”

 

“Well, actually there is.  You’re messing in business that doesn’t concern you, and this is a friendly warning for you to go find work elsewhere.”  The stranger’s voice was friendly enough, but raspy, as if he wasn’t used to talking.

 

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking ‘bout, mister.  Can you be a little more specific?”

 

The stranger chuckled, a sound that sent a nervous shiver through Jake although Lange seemed unaffected.  “My business involves runaways.  You’ve cut my recruits down by half, and I need those boys.  I’ll give you another chance, walk away now and I’ll let you live.”

 

Lange glanced at Jake, who was staring at him with a mute plea, then turned his attention back to the stranger.  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.  This boy is with me, and he’s going to stay with me until I’ve delivered him safely to his new home.  Us southerner’s are a little particular ‘bout keeping the promises we make, some folks call us downright stubborn.”

 

The stranger cackled delight at this answer, which he seemed to be expecting.  “As you will noble janitor,” he mocked and started toward Lange.  As he walked his form seemed to melt and fold, features on his face retracting and tightening.  The man who stopped in front of Lange was younger, with a face that bordered on beautiful with no flaws or imperfections to be seen.

 

“What are you,” breathed Lange as he stepped back a pace.

 

“I’m a warlock you silly man.  You should have taken my offer to flee.  Although you still would have died, it would’ve been much less painful.”  Without warning the man lifted his hands and pointed them at Lange, chanting strange words in a low monotone.  Red and black sparks started spreading across his fingers, building in strength, until the man suddenly made a chopping motion and sent the streams of fire directly at Lange.

 

Lange held up his hand, uttered one word, and the flames died in mid-air.

 

“What are you,” breathed the man, as he backed up a pace.

 

“I’m a child of light, you silly man.  You should have left well enough alone.  You still had half the runaways, but now you’ve gotten greedy.  Jake is a child of light, with a bright future ahead of him, you never should have messed with him.”

 

With that Lange lazily flicked a finger at the man, who let out a scream of terror before being surrounded by a cloud of light.  When the light had finally dissipated there was nothing left but the clothing lying on the ground in a smoldering pile.  Lange turned his attention to Jake.  “Are you okay, son?”

 

Jake was shaking so badly he couldn’t even begin to answer that question.  With a moan the boy collapsed against the wall, losing consciousness.  Lange walked over and knelt beside him, placing his hand on Jake’s head.  A pulsing glow flowed through Lange’s hand and into Jake, who groaned and then lapsed into silence with a smile on his face.  Lange reached down and picked Jake up, then carried him off down the street.

 

Jake woke up the next morning with a small headache, but minus the ever-present knot in his stomach.  For the first time in years he felt secure, and ready to explore what this day would bring.  It seemed as though he had always been in The Highlight House, but he had a vague memory of some other place.  Starving and excited, he leapt out of bed and headed downstairs for breakfast before the bus came to take him to school.

 

About 500 hundred miles away, a man stepped off the bus and squinted up at the morning sun.  He walked into the bus station and approached the notice board, which was filled with pictures of missing children.  Hidden away in the corner was a notice listing open positions at the bus station.  He grabbed the notice and took it up to the counter where a bleary-eyed clerk was finishing up a ticket sale.  He smiled at her as he handed her the paper.  “Good morning, my name is Lange and I’d like to apply for the night shift janitor position.”