Sam’s vision was blurred when he opened his eyes for the first time following his altercation with the beasts. The old man that had pulled him from the current of the Fox was only a few feet away; he appeared to be putting the finishing touches on a camp fire. Somehow, the old man had managed to drag Sam’s lifeless body underneath the shelter of the bridge. A steady rain had begun to fall creating a constant hum as water bounced off the branches of the trees that lined the banks of the creek.
It would have been quite beautiful on any other day.
“What were they?”
The old man looked up from his fire with more than a little surprise that Sam had wakened, “Bansheers son. They are called Bansheers.”
“Why …” Sam paused as he realized there were too many ways to finish his question. He wasn’t sure where to start.
“They are lesser demons my friend; pawns of creatures far more dangerous. Bansheers seek to end your physical life – their masters seek to end your spiritual life.”
Sam attempted to sit up before realizing there was a deep pain within his side that nearly made it impossible. With a moan, he managed to pull himself up aside a tree stump.
“That wound will hurt for awhile son. We’re going to have to guard against infection. My wife makes a salve that should help. I’ll take you to her as soon as you’re up for a little walk.”
Sam opened up his shirt to inspect his injury. The old man had packed what was no doubt a deep wound with gauze and wrapped him in a bandage. It was crude first-aid at best but it had seemed to stop the bleeding. His torso was on fire as if he had been injected with some kind of poison. Sam was torn between seeking medical attention, psychiatric help, and asking the old man more questions.
“Be of sober spirit, be on the alert. Your adversary, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion. Seeking someone to devour.” The old man seemed to sense Sam’s desire to learn more, “Are you familiar with that Scripture son?”
Sam nodded, “First Peter, chapter five.”
“Good.” The old man nodded, “It’s not meant to be taken figuratively son. The enemy wants to literally devour us. Bansheers are harbingers if you will … harbingers of a great battle that is sure to take place here. They feed off of our sin. They’re attracted to it like moths to a flame. They always gather near a water source and they find great joy when a man …”
Sam’s eyes locked with the old man’s, “When a man what?”
“When a man takes his own life,” the old man continued, “When a man takes it upon himself to end the life that Jesus Christ Himself died for, the strength of the bansheer is bolstered. It makes them more aggressive … makes them forget that theirs is a battle that is already lost.”
The old man’s words were followed by an awkward silence. Sam had not revealed the thoughts that had permeated his mind as he stood on the bridge, yet the old man seemed to know. Everything that had happened since Sam left his house was as if he was living in a dream. The bansheers, the old man, spiritual warfare … it was like being stuck in a nightmare. Rather than losing his life on that bridge, he had descended into some kind of freakish lunacy.
Sam briefly entertained the notion that he had died on that bridge – and he was currently experiencing hell.
“Young man …” the bearded one interrupted Sam’s thoughts, “bansheers never appear by accident and their arrival always signifies the beginning of something foul. My name is Jeb and I’ve devoted my life to fighting this battle … but I’ll need help. I don’t know what led you to that bridge, but I do not believe we are both here by accident.”
“What is it we need to do?”
“We need to get you to my wife so she can tend to that wound. Then we need to gather what saints are left in Simonton. We’re in for a long battle. Are you with me?”
Sam looked away from the old man and stared out into the woods that lined Fox Creek. Mere hours ago he had contemplated taking his own life; now he was being asked to join a battle for the souls of Simonton, Ohio. There was a sweet irony in it all that was lost in the moment. Sam was being asked to believe in the unbelievable. Demons, spiritual warfare, saints … it all sounded like something from William Peter Blatty’s nightmares. Sam had seen the bansheers with his own eyes. Their claws had spilled his own blood; yet he still found it all hard to believe. There was no way others would join in this fight.
“Are you with me?” There was urgency in Jeb’s voice, “Will you join me in this battle?”
Sam’s choice was clear. Ignore everything he had witnessed today or sell out entirely to help the old man.
There was no middle ground.
Hello God … it’s me, Clark.
This blog represents the thoughts, opinions, and work of one imperfect disciple of Christ and his occasional guest posters. It does not express the opinions of any institution, denomination, or local church. I am a graduate student studying the Bible, a writer, and a student of Christ. 
