Death is Not the End, Daddy



  Death is Not the End, Daddy

  By Nate Allen

  Copyright 2014

  Teddy/Pillar

  John Doe

  I don’t remember much before Teddy, but I do remember the laced leggings I found in the backseat of dad’s Buick. They weren’t mom’s. She was already sick by that time. Sick and dying. But, he was out sticking his piece in someone else…

  He stuck his piece in me, too. That was the day Teddy came into my life. He wasn’t just my faded brown bear anymore. He was Teddy. He understood the pain of watching mom die; he understood the hate growing in me after daddy stuck his piece in me. He helped it grow.

  Even before mom died, Teddy told me daddy didn’t deserve to live. At her funeral, he cried. The fake! Those tears attracted someone else, who he stuck his piece in later that night.

  After mom died, I only had Teddy. He has never spoken in the way a person does. But, he does talk. His voice is constantly in my head. The bear just sits. And when I look into his eyes, I see blood. Lots of it. Blood and pain. I fill with tingles. Teddy says that’s as normal as the hatred I still feel for daddy. Sometimes I question it, though. And sometimes, Teddy gives me horrible nosebleeds, where my eyes feel ready to pop.

  Teddy told me to come to Payne, North Dakota, and park across the street from the elementary school. He hasn’t given me the name of the next child yet. But, he will. He always does. My identity is what Teddy tells me to be. When I question it, he makes the blood I see in my head come out of me. He told me to kill daddy. With mom gone, there was no one else. It was just Teddy. Daddy didn’t even say a word to me anymore. He was gone most of the time. And when he was home, he scared me.

  Teddy promised me that it would help. I listened. He was only protecting me. Teddy told me when to kill him, and what to use. There was blood. Lots of it.

  Matthew Mills

  God is good. It is the only truth I need. It has kept me afloat through my wife’s second miscarriage in three years. But, pain is still pain. It’s only been a week since she lost the baby.

  Sometimes I wonder how Job felt when everything was taken from him. He made it through and came out a better person. The Lord uses pain to mold us—

  I worry about my wife. The light has left her eyes. She used to profess her faith. Now it seems like she is drowning, and no matter how much scripture I read, the light doesn’t return. I am the pillar of this house. The Lord gave me that job, and I will stand even as everything else crumbles around me.

  The devil has filled my head with thoughts of suicide. He tries to convince me that the razors from her shaver will be the death of her. He tells me to leave the bathroom door open when she showers, just in case. And I do, just in case. There is weakness in me. I’m not afraid of the enemy. My victory is through Jesus Christ. But, sometimes I fear her death is in His plan. Anyone who tries to tell me He would never allow that, I refer them to Job. The Lord takes away, sometimes for reasons we can’t understand.

  My bible is out; the highlighter has already run across a few Proverbs, and a comforting piece in John. I have found quite a few verses that reassure me of my place in Him. I believe I have two sons in heaven.

  I cling onto my Marcy. She is eight and a bundle of silly and sweet. I feed her the Lord daily. And His light shines from her in every way. I love her more than I thought possible. She is my little princess, and I try my hardest to make her feel that way, especially now that Janet has shut down…

  Something is stirring tonight. I can feel fear trying to slip into my house. It’s trying to claw up the back of me, and enter through the front. I have a job to do tonight. My bible is highlighted on mostly every page. If a battle is coming, then I will win, because greater is He that is in me, than he that is in the world. I am the pillar, and I can feel the pieces beginning to crumble. Help me stand tall, Lord. Help me stand tall.

  John Doe

  It’s cold outside, cold, like the shed when daddy stuck me with his piece. It was all I could see when I grabbed the hunting rifle from his office. As I loaded the gun, I felt cold. Teddy wouldn’t let me forget the shed. When I thought about stopping, I only heard mom’s unanswered cries. She needed him, but he wasn’t there. I needed him, but he wasn’t there.

  There was no hesitance anymore, just the tingle of Teddy coursing through me. I wanted to kill him. And I did, with two bullets to the back of him. He collapsed at the top of the stairs, and his blood ran like water.

  Teddy told me that if I followed his direction, nobody would ever look for his body. The first thing he had me do was take his pack of cigarettes from the bedroom. I did. Then he told me to call 911. I asked him why. He didn’t answer. He said to leave the body where it was, and wait for the cops to see it. I didn’t want to. He said to trust him. I did. The cops came. Teddy told me to tell them what I did. I trusted him. Their eyes became wide and disgusted. They stepped into the house, and saw the body.

  “Why’d you do it, John?” they asked quietly.

  Teddy told me to touch any part of them. I touched their arms. And immediately, their eyes of disgust became blank, wiped clean of whatever there had been. Without saying another word, they left the house. They never returned.

  “I have power, John.” Teddy said in the softest whisper, as I turned his eyes toward mine.

  I was twelve at the time. My steps were directed of him—they have been ever since. Teddy assures me that people can only see me when he wants me to be seen. But, if I were to lose Teddy, I’d lose my cover. He has promised that.

  I stole the Buick I’m sitting in, from someplace in South Dakota. It’s old and blue. But, to any outside eyes, it looks empty. It’s why I haven’t gotten caught. Teddy’s covering is strong.

  I’ve taken fourteen children from all across the country. I kill them. Teddy tells me to. He makes me hate the light I see in their eyes. But, I have never once touched them with my piece. I never will.

  Teddy tells me about their lives before I take them. And I know it’s the truth. It’s why they come to the car to begin with, because I know about them: I’m not a stranger. I’m a family friend. It’s a lie Teddy says will work every time. And it does. He gives me the information with images. When he wants to show me something, he closes my eyes. He shows me small pieces of their lives, things I shouldn’t know. It’s nothing in depth, but it gives me enough to lure them in.

  It’s three a.m. Three cars have passed by us. I don’t like this town. If I didn’t have unwavering faith in the power Teddy has, I would go someplace different. I’m afraid people will know what I have done. Sometimes, it feels like Teddy’s covering is being cut into. What is more powerful than Teddy?

  Matthew Mills

  I feel watched. The fear trying to claw up me is somewhere behind me in my living room.

  “I rebuke you, Satan! Get under my foot in the name of Jesus Christ!” I command.

  What always comes after a good hour of feeding my spirit with the Word is quiet. The Lord likes to speak in quiet. He has told me so many things. But, lately he has remained quiet. It’s not a surprise to me though. After Janet miscarried our first baby He didn’t say anything to me for three weeks. Maybe it was because part of me didn’t want to hear what He had to say. This time I crave it. With everything falling apart around me, I need strength. This is the fifth consecutive night that I have been up past three a.m. The quiet of the house causes my mind to wander into places I don’t want it to go.

  Tonight I see blood. Flashes of it. Drippings of it on the wall. Hints of it on my fingers. The taste of it in my mouth. It’s a vision I think. Or maybe I’m already dreaming. I’m still sitting at the table. The cap is on the highlighter and my bible is closed. The clock�
��s ticking is the loudest it’s ever been.

  I hear a cry. At first it’s distant, and then it grows. It’s Marcy. Janet doesn’t wake up and run to her call. I imagine she is just lying in bed, eyes wide, counting the spots on our ceiling. I imagine tears are still present in her eyes. Marcy knows it will be daddy and not mommy that will take care of her. She has noticed mommy’s sadness. She has asked me about it often. I tell her the truth, that her baby brother is back in heaven, and mommy is sad because of it. Marcy understands I think, at least to a certain extent.

  I say a prayer in a fast heavenly tongue. I close my eyes. Blood. It’s now flowing freely. I open them again. I can feel the fear follow behind me.

  “You have no power, devil!” I repeat. “Get out of my house in the name of Jesus!”

  For some reason the Lord seems completely absent from here tonight. I feel exposed. I feel vulnerable. I feel scared. He never leaves me. It’s what the Word promises. Why does it feel like He’s left me?

  I open Marcy’s door. Her tummy hurts. I can see it in her eyes. The pale streaks of sickness mark her face. I walk over to her. Her eyes light up the best they can. Just seeing me helps. She has been getting almost nightly tummy aches since her brother bled out of Janet a little less than a week ago. Maybe she understands much more than I realize.

  “Daddy,”