Читать книгу Journey To Hell - A.W. Trenholm - Страница 7

1. The Horseman

Sleep eluded me. Somehow I felt the evening was far from over. There was a strange, almost electric anticipation in the air, sort of like the feeling you get when coming into a familiar room and there is something different about it. You look around to see if you’ve been burglarized or if someone else is in the room. But when you find that all seems to be in order, you ascribe the impression to your imagination. I lay a long while in the dark of my room pondering the strangeness of the events that had brought me to this place in my life. I remembered the wonderful time I had with Jamal in Tricon, and I longed to spend another day in the heavenlies. Slowly the warm waters of sleep dissolved my thoughts and I began to drift off. There is a world of mystery and timelessness in that twilight between the conscious and the subconscious, in that quiet, undefined zone between wakefulness and dreams.

At first I could not make out what the sound could be. The pounding approached until it seemed nearly upon me, and then suddenly stopped. Only an animal’s snorting and heavy breathing could still be heard somewhere close by, very close, in the darkness. I felt the eerie chill of goose bumps and that clammy sensation you get when you realize that you are not alone in some dark and solitary place, and know you are being watched by unseen eyes. I turned my head in the direction of the noise, but saw nothing save the dark shadows of my own room. My imagination must be feeding me misleading information. How could there be anything or anyone there, for I live on the fourth floor of the building?

“Show yourself!” I called out somewhat hesitantly. “What is it that you want with me?”

Then before my eyes the darkened wall of my room receded like frost on a window pane, revealing what appeared to be a passageway or tunnel-like entrance leading off to another place, coexistent to my own. This other world, however, was vastly different from the world I had visited in my previous adventure. This world was darker, fraught with fears and hidden perils. In short, it gave me a feeling of utter dread to behold.

Alien and foreboding as it initially appeared to be, there was something hauntingly familiar about it. It was as though some part of me had always known this place existed. Perhaps I had seen it somewhere in my dreams, or the inner eye of my subconscious had caught a glimpse of it somehow, somewhere.

The whole experience was like discovering a secret passage in your own home, a hidden stairwell leading off into the darkness. But this portal, I feared, did not lead to a world of flesh and blood beings. It led to a world of spirits, of what kind and nature I hesitated to imagine, but the knot in my gut told me they were most certainly not all good.

I do not remember when or how I got out of bed. I just seemed to be instantly up and making my way toward this darkened entrance, drawn by a great curiosity to at least peer into this foreboding realm. Trembling, I cautiously approached the entrance, wondering what dreaded specter or creature was there, waiting for me in those murky shadows. Was this one of the dread horsemen of the Apocalypse?

As the dark mist dissipated, there standing before me was a very large horse, blacker than the night itself, its breath bursting from its nostrils. On his back was a mysterious shadowy figure. My heart pounded as I approached. Was this the Death Angel come for me? I had never imagined that my end would be as dark and dismal as this.

I expected that the dark rider would suddenly raise an unseen sickle and sever my spirit from my body. I had hoped that my death would have been a more joyful occasion. More along the lines of entering a tunnel of light and seeing dear friends and departed loved ones and angels coming to get me and take me home to Heaven. I had not expected to have to face a solitary dark rider at the doors of what seemed like the entrance to Hell. If this was indeed Death come for me, it was not at all as I had anticipated. I broke the silence, “Am I to die?”

“Not yet,” came the cryptic reply from the shadowy figure, in a voice that sounded surprisingly youthful. Feeling a little more encouraged, I stepped forward, approaching the dark specter, a bit surprised by my own boldness in what obviously was a rather serious situation. Still, other than the oddity of it all, I did not feel any real sense of immediate danger. If this creature meant to do me harm I most certainly would already be dead, or at least in a terrible fight for my life.

As I approached I could see that the rider wore a cloak with a cowl covering his face. It reinforced my fear that he bore no good news for me. I noticed too that he was armed. He wore a sword, the hilt of which I could see only a bit of as it glittered in whatever light there was. This strange rider appeared to be a youthful warrior from this mysterious world adjacent to my own. Who was this shadowy person? Why had he come to me? Was he indeed a messenger from the bowels of Hell or whatever they call this dark region from which he came?

Perhaps we had it all wrong. Maybe Hell was really just an ancient regime lurking in the shadows of our world, an unseen parallel dimension lumbering silently along beside us through time? Reason suggested that whoever or whatever creatures dwelt in this region, they lived more primitive lifestyles, riding horses and doing battle with swords in hand to hand combat. Yet deeper instincts warned me that such a conclusion might be totally wrong. The spiritual forces I felt sweeping over me from this place seemed to render the instruments of modern warfare irrelevant.

A wave of mixed emotions began to sweep through me, partly excitement and the thrill of adventure, partly fear, dread and trepidation. The figure was now very close by and somewhat silhouetted by an eerie glow that came from a murky light that emanated from somewhere beyond. As my eyes adjusted I could see that the rider’s hair was long and his features fine. I was more than a little surprised to finally realize that the rider was a young woman, perhaps still in her later teens.

“If you have sufficient faith and courage, Travis, you may come with me on a mission through this region.” I was further shocked to hear her use my name. She continued, “I am come to offer to take you on a second journey, but this one involves a certain amount of peril and danger, unlike your last journey.”

“Does this place have a name?” I asked, a bit fearful of what the answer might be.

“This place has many names, depending on the purpose of your visit here. Some call it Paradise, some call it The Valley of the Dead, the grave, but the common name for it is Hell.”

Now in my understanding, Hell is a place where the damned are perpetually tormented for the evil deeds they have done. Bathed in the fire and brimstone of God’s hot displeasure, they have lost all hope for a cessation of their suffering.

At the moment I was neither spiritually ready nor willing to enter into this “Dante’s Inferno” without more assurances than the words “a certain amount of peril and danger” implied.

“I am on a mission in the service of the Lord of Life and you have been granted permission to accompany me if you have the faith. I will be your guide and guardian in this region,” she said. “But you must do your part. You must gird up your loins. Stay close to the Lord in your heart. Be in prayer, and watch that you do not enter into temptation. For very powerful forces are at work here, day and night. This is the region of the Dark Lion, the lion that walks in the night seeking whom he may devour. This is the region controlled by the Dread Prince who walks up and down through the Earth, the Prince of the Fallen Ones. You must watch and pray, Travis, and prepare yourself for battle.”

“Will we be seen by these dark ones?” I asked.

“We will,” she said.

“But will they not attack us the moment they see us?”

“Possibly, but we are here with the Lord’s blessing, so they should not attack readily, for they still respect the power of the Lord and His Spirit enough to know not to attack without occasion. But we must see that we give no occasion for them to become upset. We must give no reason for them to attack. And keep in mind that some regions are more dangerous for us than others. Some are closer to the seat of Satan in the darkest parts of his kingdom, the darkest recesses, the deepest places in his realm. But you must understand that not all who are here are as evil as he or his fallen ones. And there are many here who still seek the light, whose souls cry out for deliverance from the chains of torment and guilt that bind them. There are those who see hope in the power of prayer to one day be set free from their great oppressor. I can assure you that there is no greater joy than to liberate oppressed souls from this region.”

“Why have I been chosen?” I questioned.

“You are a believer and a scribe among the children of the living, and have proven to be an excellent medium and probe into other worlds. You seek the answers that people want to know, and record the mysteries of the spirit world in terms the living can understand. So will you accompany me or not? Is your faith sufficient to face a voyage into this dread region?”

How can anyone know how much faith they have? It is not really something you can easily measure within yourself. Faith is an inner force, a spiritual confidence and power that comes through believing the Word of God. So the real question I felt I was being asked was whether I believed God could keep me even in such a frightful place as this was reported to be.

Yes, I did believe He could keep me, but I decided that I had better ask the Lord first for myself if it was all right to go with her or not, before committing myself. What if she were a demon sent to take me to my final destruction?

Whenever I am faced with tough decisions like this, I find that it is best to ask God directly. So I shot up a quick prayer for His guidance as to whether or not I should accept this amazing offer from a cloaked stranger on a black horse, standing at what seemed to me to be an entrance of Hell itself.

Instantly I began to hear in my heart Psalm 23, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.” A great peace and assurance flooded my soul—an assurance I most certainly needed and would cling to for dear life through the strange events that followed.

“Yes, I will come with you!—Can you assure me that my body will be safe while I’m gone.” I replied in full faith and determination.

“I can assure you.” Having said that, she added, “I will prepare you now for the journey ahead, for it will not be an easy one.”

Having said that, the figure on the horse suddenly pulled out her sword and without a word of warning thrust the point into my chest. I let out a startled gasp and stumbled backward, but I felt no pain, rather a warm, reassuring strengthening filled every fiber of my being. The blade glowed momentarily and then emitted a burst of light that engulfed my body. I felt myself being transformed in an instant. I was no longer an aging man in the autumn of my life but I was young again, strong and youthful like the figure on the horse. I felt so very alive, and full of the desire for an adventure. I was overflowing with wild exuberance and youthful abandon, ready to rush in where angels and old men fear to tread. And there was more. This sudden renewal of my body brought with it a warm, wonderful, tingling, sensual sensation. I felt my body awakening as if spring was returning to my manhood. I took on the stature and physique of a fit and firm, mature and muscular young man. That was a sensation I had not known in years. I felt I could mount up with the wings of an eagle, that I could run and not get tired. I felt totally renewed and regenerated. The alluvial accumulations of old age, the aches and pains, were gone, washed away by the flood tide of life now flowing through me.

Covering my newly rejuvenated, and I might add, significantly less well clad youthful body, was a short white tunic-like gown of a very fine linen-like fabric. Over this was some kind of armor-like covering that reminded me of ancient Roman times. It was made of hardened leather or a metal-like substance and covered my back and chest. The upper part of my arms and legs remained bare, but my forearms and shins had coverings. The private parts of my revitalized manhood felt shockingly “breezy.” It took several moments to adjust to the overwhelming yet exhilarating sensation of being so suddenly different, so bodily aware, so very young again.

“I am sorry I had to do that so quickly to you, but we are in a battle zone and must keep moving,” the young woman said, bringing her horse up alongside of me. The animal was so huge that the top of my head seemed only level with its back. The young warrior took her foot out of her stirrup. It was a stretch but I managed to get my foot in it. She then reached back and took my hand and with incredible strength lifted me onto the horse behind her in one powerful pull.

My next sensation was of awkward embarrassment. To suddenly find myself in the bodily form of a young man dressed in what seemed less than adequate clothing with my legs spread apart, mounted on a huge horse and pressing against the delightfully shaped buttocks of my youthful guide … well, it was interesting to put it mildly. A hot, flushing sensation rushed over me at the instant I realized how very intimate the situation was. All of my personal body space was suddenly gone. All the sexually awkward feelings of my youth came rushing back to confront me, but these sensations were interrupted suddenly, as the horse turned and lunged forward nearly sending me flying off its back and onto the ground. I grabbed out and caught hold of the young woman’s cowl and held on. Her long hair splashed suddenly across my face. I felt myself flush with color. My tongue and throat felt that dry and nervous “I need to swallow” sensation that hits a man in a sensually charged situation. My heart was pounding under the bombardment of so many emotions and sensations rushing through me at once. My mind was in turmoil over the sudden rise of my newly acquired libido and I struggled somewhat unsuccessfully to maintain what I thought to be the appropriate level of physical response of a believer chosen for this adventure.

For the moment I was thankful she was in front of me so she could not see my face—although I suspected that anyone with such spiritual powers as she had, could easily know more about me than I dared imagine. My suspicions were confirmed when she turned with an understanding “I know all” smile and said, “Please, don’t worry about that right now. We’ll attend to that later.”

My Catholic mind replied, “Well, at least I don’t have to worry about going to Hell for my thoughts and the way my body is responding. It seems that I’m going there anyway!”

“Okay, Buccopherous, go up!” she commanded. Up the horse carried us through the rocky tunnel-like passageway. Up and up we clambered through what must have been a passage or a portal that linked our worlds. The dark walls of the cavern seemed strangely alive. I felt like I was being watched by a thousand eyes. I not only could feel the watchers, but they could also reach out and feel me. A thousand cold fingers from ages past, reached out and touched me. We seemed to be passing up through various strata of rock formations, and each level seemed to harbor untold thousands of souls staring in dismay. In some places the winding passage was so dark and narrow I could only cling to my attractive host and hope we would come to an opening soon. I nearly screamed out as a cold, clammy hand grasped hold of my leg. I would have, had I not then seen that we were nearly at the opening to the passageway, and the hand let go.