HEAVY METAL MIRACLES

PART 2

CHAPTER 3

DREW ALDO

TO DO EVIL IS LIKE SPORT TO A FOOL, BUT A MAN OF UNDERSTANDING HAS WISDOM (Proverbs 10:23)

            “What, did you come to gloat, Nancy Drew?” Ben Weaver had asked as he glared at me from his side of the prison visitation booth.

            By calling me Nancy Drew, he was also referring to my longtime friend Nancy. It was she and I that discovered the body of the young lady he had murdered. Upon discovery, we notified the authorities, and with solid DNA evidence, Ben was charged with first degree murder, as well as kidnapping and rape.

            In upper elementary school, and then middle school, Nancy and I solved many a mystery. Most involved something like stolen lunch money, gym shoes or missing pets. Given our names, Nancy and Drew, we both got labeled with the moniker of the girl from the young adult detective series written by Carolyn Keene.

            “No, I didn’t come to gloat, Ben,” I told the twenty one year old man who was doing life without parole.

            “Why else would you come?” he glowered.

            I didn’t understand myself, other than I was prompted by the Holy Spirit for some reason I was yet to figure out. So what was I to tell him? To me, Ben Weaver was the epitome of evil. More than half a decade earlier, he had stolen and mutilated one of my mother’s cats in some type of twisted ritual. Nancy and I had enough evidence that we were sure he did it. But not enough to prove his evil deed.

            “To be honest, I don’t know, Ben,” I responded kindly. “The simple answer is, God sent me.”

            Ben often had a crazed, possessed look about his eyes. But now there was fear. “Why would God send you? To tell me I’m doomed to hell? Well, tell your God I’m already in hell!”

            “He knows,” I replied. “Maybe he sent me to tell you it’s not too late.”

            “How could it not be?” Ben choked out a sob. Then he let out a guttural groan as he wacked himself in the side of the head with the phone.

            I winced, thinking that had to hurt. Then a guard stepped up to him. “One three six, knock it off or you’re going back to your cell.”

            “Sorry, sir, I won’t do it again,” Ben told the guard. Then I noticed the number on his orange jump suit was 136.

            He looked at me with pleading in his eyes. “For real, God can forgive me?”

            “For real,” I replied.

            Then, not only did the old Ben appear, the demon or demons that possessed him showed themselves. His eyes became unhuman, he bared his teeth, and the most ghoulish laugh I had ever heard emanated from my phone receiver. By the grace of God I looked him in the eyes and quoted Romans 10:13, “Whoever calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved. Jesus loves…”

            At the name of Jesus, Ben growled and slammed his head into the partition. Two guards grabbed him. It took two more to restrain him. Before he was out of sight and out of sound, he yelled with sinister mirth, “Give Nancy a kiss for me.”

            Nancy and I had had a bit of a falling out by the time we were in high school. At the core of our disunion was my Biblical world view clashing with her secular humanist world view. She began to hang out with people with similar perspectives. She became increasingly hostile toward me due to my beliefs, despite having a bumper sticker that said “coexist.” Although I disagreed with some of her opinions, they didn’t make me feel anger toward her.

            Nancy was a year older than me. So when I was a senior in high school, she was a freshman at the same local college where Ben was a junior. After a coed at her college went missing, Nancy and I became reacquainted when I quite literally ran into her in Baylor’s Woods.

            Baylor’s Woods had over one hundred acres of hills, covered with trees. It was bordered on three sides, like a triangle, with the Cedar River to the southwest, a county park with a campground to the southeast, and a gravel road on the north side. I always had mixed feelings about Baylor’s Woods. About half of the woods were dark and spooky, even when the sun was shining, while the other half was pleasant and beautiful.

            Not only was it bordered on three sides, there were a couple different aspects to the public access forest preserve. There were the bluffs by the river, where visitors to the county park could enjoy a challenging hike and beautiful view. On the north side of the woods was a century old cemetery with dozens of unreadable tombstones.

            This cemetery was a popular spot for people into the paranormal. There had allegedly been numerous sightings of ghostly figures in or around the graveyard, as well as crossing the country road, apparently going to and from an old barn.

            I believe people have indeed seen things. But I also believe it is demonic activity, and not some hauntings of departed humans. Biblically speaking, when you die, you are simply resting in the grave and awaiting the resurrection, like a form of sleep. Ecclesiastes 9:5 is a good example.

            (For an excellent study guide on the state of the dead, with plenty of scripture proofs, you can contact Amazing Facts ministry. Ask for Lesson 10, ‘Are the Dead Really Dead?’ They are well done, illustrated, and are free.)

            The reason the subject of spiritualism is so important, is paranormal activity is only going to increase as we approach the end of time. It is going to play a key role in last day deceptions. Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light. (2 Corinthians 11:14) Also, another excellent example is 1Timothy 4:1, which warns of deceiving spirits and doctrines of demons.

            Even though I understood these truths about spiritism, it still felt a bit creepy on the darker half of Baylor’s Woods. It was on this side where Ben Weaver had a tree fort with some of his chums. This was also the area where Nancy and I found the discarded carcass of my mother’s cat.

            For some reason, I felt compelled to go by the north side of the preserve on my way to the park. This way was almost never used by those using the county park because it dead ended at a condemned bridge over back water. Thus you had to back track a mile and a half to the highway.

            So why was I making my merry way by going out of the way, I didn’t know. But God knew. Imagine my surprise when I saw parked in the tiny dirt parking lot, a baby blue Chevy Spark with a “coexist” bumper sticker adorning the back window. Nancy!

            What would she be doing on the north side of Baylor’s Woods. Who was she with? I parked my blue Ford F150 pickup next to Nancy’s Spark. I got out and made my way toward the area where we found the remains of my mother’s cat more than half a decade ago.

            About fifty yards from Ben’s tree fort was a large sandy pit. It was crater like, and maybe thirty feet across and thirty feet wide. It was ten or fifteen feet deep. After middle school, Ben and company graduated from the undersized tree fort to the sand pit with more room for beer parties.

            My run turned into more of a walk as I approached the sand pit. When I looked down I spotted a hooded figure flipping over beer cans and booze bottles with a long stick. It had to be Nancy, right? Right when I was about to call out, soft sandy soil gave way. I lost my footing and catapulted downward toward the figure.

             The collision wasn’t avoidable. But as our bodies slammed together, I was able to grab her shoulders, spin us, and have her land on top of me instead of the other way around. She let out a blood curdling scream in the process. Her stunned face was inches from mine when the dust settled. Then it relaxed into a relieved smile. “Thank God it’s you!”

            “I thought you didn’t believe in God.”

            I kicked myself for such a flippant remark. It would have been bad enough if we were still hanging out, but I hadn’t even seen her in almost a year. She squinted at me with hostility. “It’s a figure of speech.”

            “God is also a figure of creation and redemption,” I replied with a grin. I had stuck one foot in my mouth so I might as well cram the other one in as well.

            To my pleasant surprise, she smiled. “It’s good to see you, Drew. Glad you dropped in.”

            “Glad to see you, too,” I said and meant it. But then I frowned at the strange place we had crossed paths. “But what are you doing out here?”

            “I could ask the same thing.”

            “I’m looking for you.”

            “You are?” she asked, with raised eyebrows.

            “Yeah, I was on my way to the park when I noticed your car.”

            She studied me for several seconds. Her face seemed even closer, but then she said, “Oh, I suppose I should get off of you.”

            I refrained from telling her she didn’t have to. After scrambling to her feet, she reached out with her left hand to help me up, and I noticed either an engagement or promise ring. I felt a surge of disappointment. Why? Although we had made peace not long after our clash, our days of solving mysteries and hanging out had been over for almost three years.

            I always hated the oedipal theory. But I couldn’t deny that Nancy was a lot like my mom. Petite, fiery, and a tomboy. They both had similar facial features as well. Small nose, lips on the thin side. But unlike my mother’s short black hair, now sprinkled with salt, Nancy’s hair was a red gold. Ironically it was a similar color to the fictional Nancy Drew.

            “It’s creepy out here in the haunted part,” she said, looking around. “Even during the day.”

            “Don’t tell me you believe in haunts.”

            “I believe too many people have witnessed things out here.”

            “What people have witnessed is demonic activity.”

            She rolled her eyes and shook her head. How is it we got along so well as kids? But as we so called matured, things like pondering one’s existence and contemplating the origin of things, complicated our relationship due to our opposing views. Then throw in sexuality as an added complexity. More reasons why Jesus said to become like little children.

            “If you believe it’s haunted,” I asked, “Why are you out here by yourself?”

            “Determination,” she said with chin up. “Besides, it’s daylight. If you believe it’s demons, why are you out here?”

            “I’m protected by the heavenly realm.”

            I expected another eye roll, but she just gazed at me as if pondering the legitimacy of my declaration.

            “What do you mean you’re determined? Determined by what?” I asked.

            “Justice.”

            “Justice for what?”

            “For a troubled girl who went missing, and the authorities said there is nothing more they could do about it other than keep a watch. They’re assuming she just ran off, since she has a history of being a bit of a vagabond.”

            “What makes you think she’s out here?”

            “Because the last person she was spotted with was Ben Weaver.”