In the faint glimmer of moonlight the headstones were just visible. A perfect night as Michael searched the burial sites for his fatherís grave. The old man had died twelve months ago; but young Michael was not here to pay his last respects. Nor was he alone.
Something was alive and moving in the sack he carried; and something else was following him.
Canecross was a demon of renown; he was as ugly as they come and twice as sinister. His aim in this world, and certainly where Michael was concerned, was to lie, deceive and lead humans into confusion, doubt and fear. He sneered with glee as he followed the troubled teenager.
Michael had suffered far more than any young man should. His father, an alcoholic belligerent bully, had not made life easy. Head hanging heavy on his neck, Michael wore hurt, anger and rejection like most people wore jewelry. But tonight he was going to try and free himself from those heavy chains.
Anthony, the teenage leader of the spiritualist group he belonged to, had again explained this afternoon how to cut the soul ties that bound these young folk to their hurts, fears and anger. Many of the groupís members testified to how different they felt since they had followed through. But even Anthony was not aware of Canecrossí influence in all of this.
All of these young people had suffered at the hands of abusive parents. Most had needle marks on their arms, carried rebellion like a badge of honor and had signs of self inflicted wounds over many parts of their body. Their lives, with their battle scared souls, were the perfect playground for someone like Canecross.
The idea had been a simple one. Use positive thinking to get these kids to turn their lives around. Then get them involved in easy, non threatening spiritual exercises. Finally, get them into more sinister practices; like animal sacrifice and blood oaths. It had been so easy to take this final step once Canecrossí evil mind had made the link between these kids and their parents.
Taking a sharp, large knife and a hessian bag, Michael had crawled to the neighbor's chicken coup just after midnight. He now carried the contents of that bag on his journey to imagined freedom.
There was, however, one thing that gave Michael pause; her name was Sally.
Sally had been a member of the same group as Michael; hardly surprising, she was his sister. One year older than Michael, she had an intimate knowledge of what he was suffering. Needle marks, self made scars and a permanent scowl had also been her shield against the abuse; but Sally had already gone through the ceremony that had brought freedom and light into her long night of existence.
Michael envied the new shine in his sisterís face; and now it was his chance to stand in the warmth of freedom. A little chicken blood was a small price to pay.
Michael really loved his sister and they had been tied together for as long as he could remember. Fortresses built from the rubble of shattered childhood; thatís what they had been to each other. So when Sally had left their little group to join a different one he became confused and hurt.
She had accepted a sacrifice to gain her freedom; what was the difference? At least he wasnít depending on real human blood that was now two thousand years old; but nor could he deny the change he saw in her life. It wasnít false or put on, he could tell, and it seemed to penetrate into every corner of her life. She no longer wore a badge of shame but proudly wore a radiant smile that said, ďIím different, come and ask me why.Ē
She had told him boldly this afternoon, in no uncertain terms; ďIíll be praying for you Michael; binding you to the love and freedom that only Jesus can offer. Iím hoping you will come to understand that the Sacrifice has already been made. Donít go through with this. If you want the change that I have, then find it the same way I did.Ē
The cemetery caretaker was hopping mad that morning because of the mess heíd had to clean off some of the marble gravestones.
Whoever had let that chicken go had sure made his job difficult.
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