The Beast of 1977 (Book 1)

Chapter 11

From an aerial perspective, the scene inside the hallowed and raucous halls of Saint John the Baptist Church appeared at first glance to resemble an out of control gathering.

Both male and female black parishioners hooped and hollered at the powerful words that Mr. Mercer shouted as he stood firm behind his almighty wooden pulpit clear down in front of the church.Outfitted in his customary black and red robe, Mercer preached with the fire of a man hell-bent on saving each and every soul that was seated in front of him.

His arms flailed back and forth and up and down while his deep voice spewed words of God's love and forgiveness from one end of the old building to the other.Old women sat in their pews, just waving their frail hands from side to side, too weak anymore to jump for joy, while old men nodded their heads and clapped their hands, assuring both the pastor and themselves that every word was soaking through just fine.

The younger crowd squirmed and fidgeted in their seats next to their parents, impatiently waiting for what they would consider an ordeal to be over a lot sooner than later.

Down clear in the front pew sat both Isaac and Lynnette, with Isaiah amazingly fast asleep in his mother's clapping arms.Isaac sat glued to his pew, as he had been doing ever since he was smaller than his son, listening to every sentence that his father was shouting in his high stature.

The young man was in good spirits that Sunday Morning. He tapped his feet every time the organist hit a specific note that happened to coincide with one of the pastor's "highlight moments" in his all important message.

Every so often Isaac would turn and look over to his right to see Lynnette shouting the words "Amen and Praise God!" She, much like him, wasn't all too much into church going, save for Easter and Christmas.There was a slight, proud smirk on the young man's face. A look of both peacefulness and warmth being amongst his familiar surroundings after being away for so long. No longer was he

carrying the dreaded feelings of trepidation with him every time he dared think about what took place back in November. Sitting next to his family only made him realize what he truly missed, and ultimately nearly lost.

The louder his father preached on the book of Galatians, that was all the more rowdy the crowd's intensity seemed to increase. Though Isaac was not all too animated, he always found it within himself to be a curious bystander. The man glanced from side to side and from front to back as though he were inspecting the melee. He kept on and on until a stiff aroma ended up seizing him completely out of nowhere and all of the sudden.

He smelled the scent before, but never was it as breathtaking as it was that morning. The odor seared into his nostrils to the point where Isaac had to wipe his nose just to keep himself from sneezing.

He gawked around the church in the hopes of locating the area from which the stench was emanating, but the more his nose skulked about, the stronger the aroma seemed to grow. Content © provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

Ever so gradually, he leaned over and sniffed Lynnette while she wasn't noticing only to discover that she was only wearing her perfume which he had smelled all morning long.

He then turned to his left. Just three feet apart were another set of pews and a young, full-figured woman clothed in a black dress, black stockings and a black hat, clapping and cheering while joyfully jumping up and down in her seat.

At first glance, he smiled the interruption away, but Isaac was finding that the odor was far too powerful to be ignored, at least by him. The more the woman's backside left her seat, the more Isaac's eyes began to drift away, as though he were becoming sleepy. His lips began to move; he was whispering the same words that his father was speaking, only Isaac's words were three seconds ahead of his dad's. It was as if he knew every part of the sermon, even though it was the very first time he had ever heard it in his life.

With his sullen eyes pointed directly at the large woman and his lips mimicking the pastor's, Isaac deeply inhaled. To anyone else who would have been able to smell it, it would have resembled a putrid stench, something to be discretely taken care of immediately by a member of the fairer sex, but to Isaac, it was utter bliss. Isaac breathed in the strong odor that was soaking badly inside the overweight woman.

Soon, and much to his own shock, everyone inside the church had vanished, everyone that is expect six people. Gone were his father, Lynnette, his son and the vast majority of the congregation, all that was left was six unfamiliar souls that sat in various other pews within the sanctuary. Three young black men and three young white women, all of whom were clothed in blood soaked rags from head to toe.

With drowsy eyes, Isaac studied each individual who had their heads pointed to the floor beneath them. Isaac couldn't find the will to get up out of his seat, all the man could do was continue to sit and watch the persons quietly remain in their places.

The church itself was completely silent. A person could actually hear the other breathing, it was so quiet. It was quiet enough for Isaac to hear what sounded like something moving across the carpeted floor towards him.

The young man turned around to see a tall figure clothed in a blood soaked white sheet standing right in front of him. Isaac sat, but rather than become afraid, he just gawked at the individual as it stretched out its arms to him.

"The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside still waters." All six of the young people gathered began chanting in unison. Isaac spun around to see them all standing and reciting the 23rd Psalm in perfect synchronicity in all their bloody glory.

"Come home." The hooded figure in front of Isaac hissed before lunging at the man.

Isaac jumped back only to find Lynnette grabbing him by the back of his suit jacket and staring at him as though he had lost his mind. Isaac looked back at her with his amber eyes as though he was gazing at a total stranger all of the sudden. He was in shock to see her hand touching him.

Mr. Mercer had momentarily stopped preaching to take a long look at his son before he resumed his sermon.

The young man sat back and began to clap his hands along with the rest of the crowd. Everyone else in the congregation was seemingly ignoring Isaac; it was all part of the morning's entertainment as far they were concerned.

"Nema!" Isaac jubilantly said out loud to his father.

***

A half an hour later, church let out, with the usual after service cheer that went along with leaving after an extended Sunday morning.

Joyful faces smiling at one another and wishing love and peace for the following week ahead. With half of the crowd inside and the other half out on the front steps, Isaac and Lynnette found themselves caught in between both streams of chaos. People glad to see them back in church again, and congratulating them on their engagement. Hugs, kisses and handshakes were traded back and forth while questions on Isaac's whereabouts were being evaded with artful precision by the young man who would have rather not have been snared into the subject in the first place.

Mr. Mercer, still dressed in his robe, came up beside Isaac and Lynnette and asked, "Hey, before you two head home, would you like to come with me and Deacon Hawthorne to Don's for supper?"

Both Lynnette and Isaac's faces lit up at that second with the visions of free food and hopeful leftovers to take home with them.

"We sure would, Pastor." Lynnette jovially smiled while putting on Isaiah's coat.

"Good." Mr. Mercer smiled back. "Let me get my clothes changed and I'll meet everyone outside."

"Man, I sure do miss Don's fried chicken." Isaac drooled. "Not as much as I miss momma's, but it's darn close."

Mr. Mercer happened to snag Isaac by the shoulder and whisper into his ear, "Son, I wanna see you before we leave."

Isaac shook a couple of more hands before following his dad back to his study that was located next to the restrooms in the back of the church.

The second Isaac stepped through the door, he immediately caught sight of his father taking off his robe and politely lancing it on a coat hanger that sat next to his desk where his bible, a portrait of Jesus looking upwards and a picture of his wife was placed.

"Have a seat, son." Mr. Mercer anxiously sighed while wiping sweat away from his brow.

Isaac sat himself down on a white stool in the middle of the floor and waited for his father to speak.

"Son, I wanted to talk to you about something, and—

"Dad, if this has anything to do with me not coming home last night, I can explain." Isaac hurriedly cut in. "I was at Lynn's house, and—

"No, it's not that." Mr. Mercer said as he leaned against the desk. "I wanted to talk to you about...the other night. I didn't want to bring it up the other day because you were so upset over not getting the job."

Isaac sat in his seat with his eyes focused directly at his father in a forceful, cold manner, dreadfully awaiting whatever was to come out of the man's mouth next.

"Son, what were you doing in my bedroom the other night around two a.m.?" Mr. Mercer suspiciously questioned.

Isaac thought to himself at first before saying, "Two a.m.? Dad...I can hardly remember anything anymore. For the past few days, I've been having these blackouts."

"Blackouts," Mr. Mercer chocked. "Why didn't you tell me about this, boy?"

"Because, I didn't want to worry anyone. I did tell the psychiatrist back on Friday when I went to see him. He said to go to a doctor. I told him that I didn't have the money for that."

Frustrated, Mr. Mercer shot up from off the desk and said, "Isaac, this is very serious! You just can't take this so lightly!"

"I'm not taking it lightly, dad." Isaac vehemently protested. It's not like it happens every day."

"When was the last time it happened?"

"I dunno," Isaac shrugged, "I think back on Friday. But it was only for a few seconds."

"Son, I can't believe you're taking this so calmly. Don't you know how dangerous this sort of thing is?"

"I know, dad, and I'm sorry. For the life of me, I don't remember being in your room at two a.m. I remember you and I talking earlier that night, but—

At that very instant, Isaac heard a scratching racket at the door behind him. Immediately, he spun around and stared at the closed door.

"What is it, son?" Mr. Mercer questioned with folded arms and a concerned face.

The moment Isaac realized that he was the only person in the room that could hear the sound, he turned back around and shut his eyes for a few seconds in the hopes that the clawing noise would go away.

Isaac then opened his eyes, and just like that, the racket that was taking place on the other end of the door had ceased. Isaac looked to see his father with his back facing him.

"Son, I want you to—

"Why didn't you cry at mama's funeral?"

Isaac abruptly asked. Isaac could tell that the question had caught his father completely off guard, and in all rights, he himself couldn't comprehend why he had asked such a thing at the most inopportune moment.

Isaac sat and watched as his father slowly turned around to face him. The man's large hands were trembling while paleness engulfed his chubby face.

"I never told anyone before Friday, but before mama went to the hospital, she and I argued. The psychiatrist said that those delusions I was having last year may have come from guilt."

Mr. Mercer opened his mouth, but for the longest time nothing came out.

"Son," he stuttered, "your mother and I knew that she was sick long before she went to the hospital. Neither of us wanted to upset you with it all."

Isaac remained stuck to his stool while listening to a man that in his eyes appeared like someone who was creeping on the verge of a breakdown.

"Boy, for days leading up to your mama's death, I cried like a baby. By the time her funeral came around...I was all cried out. You didn't have anything to do with your mother dying. Is that what's been on your mind all these years?" He deeply frowned.

"Maybe," Isaac shamefully mumbled.

Mr. Mercer knelt down, placed his right hand on Isaac's shoulder and said, "Do you see what happens when we keep things away from each other? It's funny, I can talk to seventy-two people every Sunday about God, but I can't even tell my own son why I never cried at his mother's funeral. We learn something new every day." He timidly smirked.

Isaac then looked his father in the eye and uttered, "I don't want you to think that I hated you all these years, it's just something that came up back on Friday."

Mr. Mercer pulled Isaac close and kissed him on the cheek before softly saying, "I know you didn't, boy. I think this is the Lord's way of saying that everything is gonna be alright."

Feeling weightless, Isaac got to his feet. "I'll go warm up the car."

Mr. Mercer just pressed his lips together and nodded before rising and turning away towards the wall.

As Isaac began for the doorknob, he suddenly paused. He twisted the knob and ever so carefully pulled open the door before poking his head out into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear.

As Isaac rounded the corner that led to the front door of the church, the stiff aroma that he had caught earlier snatched him halfway down the aisle. He clutched his aching stomach and listened as it rumbled as though it were about to explode.

He looked back at the first pew where the large woman once sat. He was only four rows back from the stench, and yet, the odor was as prevalent and strong as if it were right there in front of his nose.

Isaac breathed in and out while gazing up at the rafters that looked as though they were rapidly closing in on him. A dominant sense of claustrophobia set in at that instant. The more he exhaled, the dizzier he became. He wanted ever so much to reach the front door but both of his legs weighed a ton each.

He grabbed one bench after another, trying his best to escape not only the aroma but also the clawing noise that he heard back in his father's study that had returned and was quickly gaining on him.

Suddenly, the scratching grew more angry and loud the closer he dared reach the front door, until at last, he was able to grab the final pew. Isaac looked back to see nothing behind him but the old, empty church that he had grown up in, silently staring back at him.

Isaac clutched the door's handle and boldly pushed it wide open, allowing the cold, winter wind to enter the building before forcefully slamming it shut behind him.