A particular heavy, gray, imposing
weather pattern had moved into town earlier that morning and the usual gaggle
of elderly neighbors flitted from one house to the next, visiting, gossiping,
and complaining about anything and everything. Mrs. Barnes had just stepped
over her threshold to enjoy the cozy warmth of her fireplace. Lifting her too
large to be a lapdog, lapdog into her lap, she turned on The Price is Right to pass
the time. From her lazy boy recliner, she had a direct view of the Horowitz
mansion and grumbled every time she looked at it across the street.
The
arrival of a passenger bus blocked her view of the mansion, save the tottering
tower. Not one to miss out on the latest news, she placed a phone call to her
best friend Harriet, three houses down to report the strange arrival. As she
spoke, the bus released its air brakes and simultaneously released a horde of
middle-aged men and women carrying crosses and Bibles. "Eastborough
Baptist", she mumbled, reading from the side of the massive vehicle.
The
last man off of the bus, presumably the pastor of this Baptist church, carried
a megaphone and began barking orders as they surrounded the dilapidated house.
With the megaphone apparently at full volume, he began quoting Bible verses and
pouring out invectives against evil, against the devil, and against anyone who
was not a Baptist.
In
less than three minutes the entire neighborhood stood on their respective front
porches to gawk at the latest entertainment across the street. A few of the
larger men from the bus began dragging the chain link fence aside in order to,
presumably, gain closer access to the crumbling home and its demonic occupants.
The amused and somewhat disgusted neighborhood gathered directly across the
street to acquire a better view, angling themselves to see past the bus.
"That
Roman Catholic priest didn't far too well, if I remember correctly," one
of the elderly men said, chuckling to himself. "I expect that we'll see
more of the same with this bunch." The group of neighbors slowly erupted
into a volley of whispers, comments, and basic nastiness regarding the
religious wackos, a not too endearing term many of them used.
A
very small, wrinkled elderly man remained in the driver's seat reading a book
of some sort, whose title could not be seen from the street. In a somewhat
unsettling unison, the entire group of Baptists began chanting a passage from
the Bible and walked, militant-like up the front porch and through the front
door. The sound of the unified chanting slowly disappeared, and everything fell
silent until the front door slammed shut, causing the gaggle of neighbors to
jump.
Nearly
fifteen minutes passed, and the neighborhood members grew bored, returning to
their homes. Mrs. Barnes could be seen through her front window, holding her
dog, and sipping something warm, its contents emitting a steady stream of steam
past her face. The dinner hour approached and still the old man in the bus
read, and waited, occasionally checked his watch, eventually stepping onto the
sidewalk and calling out for the pastor.
An
hour later, a single police car arrived with its blue and red lights on, to
engage in a conversation with the bus driver. The lone police officer stepped
toward the house but then paused as if in remembrance of something. Placing a
call on his radio, multiple other police cars, state patrol, and government
vehicles arrived, whose drivers entered the house as a group. The increased
activity was too much for the neighborhood and they too returned to the
sidewalk, except this time in full winter regalia.
The
group of police officers and government agents returned from the house and
placed a phone call signaling the arrival of multiple medical vehicles. The
neighborhood watched in disbelief as body bag after body bag was taken into the
house only to be removed with contents. Eventually, the old man drove away
alone in the Baptist bus, leaving the neighborhood in another state of shock,
cursing, and complaining that the damn Horowitz mansion needs to be torn down.
Alex,
still in the county jail, had unfortunately allowed his imagination to get away
from him, thinking of all the possible terrible things that would happen to him
upon his relocation to prison. Sitting with his head in his hands, he heard a
familiar voice call his name. A guard stood at the cell door with his father
and motioned for him to leave. "You're free to go, Alex," his father
said. "More death and destruction have happened at the Horowitz mansion,
and they're starting to believe your story."
The
weight of the words that crossed the room and filled his ears left him
speechless. Complying to his father's direction, he received his things from
the front desk and sat in silence as he and his father drove home, a feeling of
disbelief making his head swim. "Apparently a busload of Baptists thought
they would drive the devil out and save the city, but whatever it is that is in
that house had different ideas. They all entered the house only to be carried
out in body bags, the entire busload, including the pastor.
Mrs.
Barnes took her dog out for a walk to notice a large vehicle, a limousine she
thought, stop in front of the mansion, to eject two passengers onto the
sidewalk, two men, strangely dressed with perfectly clean shaved heads. They
placed themselves very carefully and very specifically on the front yard,
taking measurements as they began marking the grass with some sort of symbol.
Mrs. Barnes stopped behind a large bush and watched the men with a morbid and
voyeuristic curiosity.
The
men finished whatever it was they were doing and entered the house, only to
return within seconds, carrying a very old, very dirty glass jar, one walked
backwards, one walked forwards, both holding the jar, to descend the steps and
place the clearly important object in the center of the symbol. In a manner
very similar to the horde of Baptists, then men began chanting but not in any
language that Mrs. Barnes recognized. The men paused, then converted to
English. "Brother Ishmael, your time of bondage has been far too long, we
now release into the eternity you deserve," they chanted.
Both
men kneeled inside the symbol, over top of the jar and in unison chanted again
in the foreign tongue, to be instantly but briefly enveloped in white flame,
leaving nothing behind but charred lawn. Mr. Puddles, Mrs. Barnes' dog, began
violently barking and pulling against his leash, striving to get away from the
strange and fiery spectacle. She lifted her not too little dog and hurried
home, dialing her best friend Harriet to explain everything she had just
witnessed. Within moments, the entire neighborhood stood on the front lawn of
the Horowitz mansion staring down into the burn mark in the grass.
As
is typical of the elderly, Mrs. Barnes and her husband turned off the lights
and retired for bed around 8:30 that evening, only to be awakened by a
brilliant white flash, which set the dog barking, waking both Mr. and Mrs.
Barnes from their peaceful slumber. "Harold, did you see that?" she
asked.
"Don't
worry about it," he said. "It's probably just lightning. The dog will
calm down in a minute."
Rising
with the sun the next morning, Mrs. Barnes stepped onto her front porch to
enjoy a smoke and dropped her lit blunt as she looked across the street, to
come to the realization that the Horowitz mansion was literally gone, nothing
but a finely manicured grassy lot with a person sized marble obelisk mounted by
a gold plaque. "Harold, Harold," she shouted into the house.
"You need to come out here and see this."
The
elderly couple stood in awe at the radical change that had taken place in their
neighborhood. After placing a couple of phone calls, the entire neighborhood
stood in confusion, gazing upon the beautiful new, park-like setting. No
mansion, no litter, no chain link fence, no debris, just a beautiful park with
a monument of some sort. Mr. Barnes crossed the street to read the plaque. He
raised his voice and read the message as loud as he could. "It says, Dear
Ishmael Horowitz, you are now free from your bondage, move on to enjoy your
eternity."
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