A Demon’s Calling

A Demon’s Calling

As a minister’s wife, the lines between my personal life and my husband’s calling are often blurred.  In fact sometimes, I think there is no line.  One flows directly into the other, in and out, back and forth like ripples in the waters of dreams and nightmare.   The expectations are high.  Perfection is the standard they set for you, reflected in their eyes.  Expecting you to be everything they are not. Well members of the cloth and their families, have their demons too.  We have our struggles.  In fact we are probably more vulnerable to temptation and tribulations because of what we do.  I’m not complaining, after all I accepted the proposal from a man who accepted The Call.

One particular afternoon, several members of our congregation, including my husband, were traveling to visit another church.  Brother Joffey was at the wheel, beckoning for me and my children to join them.  With Brother Joffey on board it was sure to be another amusing trip.   Although we wanted to go, I didn’t like the kids missing school and I had a lot of work to do.    Before pulling off, I kissed my husband goodbye and saw the kids off on the school bus.  With that I headed to the parsonage which was actually a large loft apartment adjacent to the church.  As I headed to our apartment I decided to walk through the sanctuary.  Wednesday afternoon service was just beginning.  As I made my way up the side aisle a wave of nausea came over me and I began to sweat profusely.  I continued to walk, struggling more and more with every step.  Not realizing that people were watching I began removing my cardigan sweater opting to pull it over my head instead of engaging in what seemed at that time to be the longer more arduous process of unbuttoning each button.  As soon as I did that, the whispering began.  Heads leaning together with ooh’s and aah’s.    Didn’t they realize that I must be sick as I was using my sweater to wipe sweat from my neck and brow?  No one came to my aid.  Instead they just watched and whispered.

As I made it to the long dark narrow staircase that lead to our apartment, I noticed the front door was slightly ajar.  I must have left it open while rushing to get my husband and the kids off.  For a moment, I thought about doing a quick walk through to make sure no one was in the apartment but opted not to realizing that no one would have access to the stairway or apartment without a key.  Besides, all I could think of was taking a nice bath to cool down and cleanse myself of the now sticky sweat.  Our home was an old fashioned loft apartment.  Complete with glass doorknobs, small windows and a claw foot tub in the bathroom.  I opened the bathroom window, filled the tub with water, grabbed my Bible and climbed in.  Just as I began to relax, I realized I had forgotten my towel.  I knew that if I waited any longer the bathroom would be ice cold getting out of the tub with no towel and with that window open.  So, I climbed out of the tub, closed the window and went across the hall to the linen closet.  As I headed back to the bathroom, I noticed the door was closed.  When I tried to open it, there was someone or something blocking the door.  For a split second I thought that maybe my husband had forgotten his shaving kit or something but soon realized that it was not a member of my family that was behind that door.  I turned to run and the door opened and there was an ugly skeletal demon grabbing for me, trying to pull me back into that bathroom.  I grabbed the door knob, trying to shut the demon in but it was strong and was winning the battle with that door.  As the door opened wider and wider and I was being pulled inside, I realized the skeletal demon was that of a woman.  She had long dark hair that was dripping wet.  Her skeleton was dark, almost charred and had mucous like strings hanging from it.  I didn’t know who she was, where she had come from or why she was after me.  As we struggled I noticed that my body was much cooler than it was before and I was no longer sweating despite wrestling with this demon.  As I struggled with her, I racked my mind trying to figure out who she was and why was I her target.  I tried to see her face but there was nothing there, only a black hole and that long dripping hair.  Despite that she still seemed familiar.  Who was she, where had I seen her before?  I took another glance at where the face was supposed to be and at that long dripping hair and it was then that I realized who she was.  She was me.  In horror, I grabbed the doorknob with all my might and slammed the door shut.  In doing so, the demons arm, still attached to mine, snapped off.  Naked and wet, I ran down the stairs trying to get to the sanctuary for help.  As I got closer and closer to the bottom of the stairs, I realized that my husband and pastor were not there to help me.  In the pulpit were all of the associate ministers.  I was scared. I thought,  “They can’t help me.”  Despite my doubts I decided to scream out as loud as I could, that severed demon arm clutched in my hand, I raised my arms and screamed, “Please, help me!”  All of the ministers in the pulpit turned and stood as if to approach me.  It was at that very moment that I realized I was still in the tub and it had all been a dream.

I told you that sometimes the lines are blurred and we have our demons too.

I hope you enjoyed this short.

Felicia G. Cook Author