Ben and Matt stood inside a small clearing just a short way into the woods. They stared uneasily at a shallow pit in front of them. The air almost crackled with energy. It was as if an electric charge pervaded the area, causing the hairs on the back of their necks to stand on end.
An ancient ginkgo tree, perhaps 75 feet tall, had toppled during a recent spring storm. Its aged roots, which had not quite given up their hold on the heavy clay soil beneath the soft forest loam, had scooped out a broad shallow pit, perhaps ten feet across and several feet deep. Its peculiar leathery fan-shaped leaves still retained a dark gray-green color.
There, down in the bottom of the pit, lay what looked like an ancient decaying wooden box protruding out from under the roots. Cold air seemed to seep out of the cracks, or was it that all the heat from the surrounding area was being sucked into it? It was hard to be sure.
The boys eyed the box cautiously. Neither wanted to admit he was scared but neither was willing to get much closer.
“Wow...” breathed Ben, “Look at that.”
“It looks old,” offered Matt. “What do you think's in it? Buried treasure?”
“I dunno. What if its not what's in it but who's in it?”
“Wanna take a look?”
“Sure... But...”
“Well, it is kind of muddy—not that that bothers me! It’s my mom. She'd be upset. I only have one other pair of shoes with me, my church shoes.”
“Yeah... I know what you mean. My mom wouldn't be too happy either.”
The two boys stood there, afraid to get closer but not wanting to leave either. Ben turned up the collar on his jacket against a sudden chill in the air. He wondered briefly if it was just his imagination.
Matt picked up a baseball-sized rock near the edge of the pit. Taking aim he thew the stone at the box. Other than punching a hole in the side, nothing happened.
“Cool,” breathed Ben as he picked up a rock himself. Taking aim, he hit the box on its top, slightly to the left of where Matt had hit it. Another crunch and another hole.
“Watch this!” said Matt, winding up with another rock. Holding his hand up he prepared to throw – and froze. A dark heavy mist was slowly seeping out of the holes and cracks in the moldering wood. It had a thick, bluish quality and hung low in the pit. The rock dropped, forgotten, out of Matt's hand.
Matt and Ben moved closer to each other and edged cautiously closer to the pit. Mesmerized they stared into the swirling mist that was now obscuring the wooden box, filling the pit. Standing at the very edge now they felt as if a subtle, yet powerful, force was drawing them in. They leaned forward, gazing intently into the depths of a murky pool.
Leaning... Staring... Closer... Closer... The dirt along the edge of the pit began to crumble and give way under their feet.
Karen reassured her daughter that everything was fine and asked her where the boys were. Dr. Minger's daughter, Serena, said that they were looking at a fallen tree. At the base, where it had uprooted, they saw what appeared to be a large wooden box sticking out of the dirt. The boys wanted to look in it but Alex had gotten scared and ran back to the church.
“Where?” asked Karen.
“Back there,” pointed Serena, “There's a path by that big tree. It goes back into the woods where we found the pit. Its not far.”
“Thanks! Take Alex and your sister inside. Your dad is in the office with Alex's dad. Tell them what you saw. Tell them that I went to check on the boys as well.”
“Yes Ma'am.”
The girls ran into the building to find their dads while Karen hurried in the direction that Serena had indicated. She found the path easily enough. It looked like a heavily used deer trail winding into the woods behind the church parking lot. “Ben! Matt!” she hollered as she jogged along it.
Ben's mind seemed clouded by the same malevolent mist that now filled the pit in front of him. He could feel himself losing balance as the dirt began to give way under his feet. He was dimly aware that Matt was starting to fall into the pit as sudden sound pierced the fog like distant foghorn.
“Benjamin Paul Brown! Where are you?!”
Ben shook his head and blinked his eyes. Momentarily confused he looked around just in time to see Matt topple over the edge of the pit. Without thinking he lunged to the side, grabbing Matt's arm just in time, nearly tumbling into the pit himself.
He felt a powerful tug on his shoulders and fell hard on his side, slightly away from the pit. Matt fell on his chest, half in and half out of the pit. He started sliding in as if being pulled, his eyes glazed with fear. Ben managed to get both hands on Matt's arm while breathing a quick prayer for help.
“Benjamin Paul Brown! Where are you?!” shouted Karen again as she came upon a small clearing with a large fallen tree. She hurried forward and came around the tree just in time to spot Ben grab Matt and fall to the ground. Incredulously, both boys seemed to be being pulled slowly into the pit.
“Ben! Matt! Hang on! I'm coming!” Karen ran around the pit and threw herself to the ground alongside her son. She grabbed Matt's other arm and began to pull and pray.
Paul and the men were praying in the church office when the girls burst into the room. He started to reprove Alex for disturbing them but caught sight of the look on her face. “Alex, what's wrong!”
“I saw the box, Daddy! The box that the bad men tried to put you in! Ben and Matt are out in the woods looking at it.”
“Where's Mom, honey?”
Serena spoke up, “Mrs. Brown said to let you know what happened and to tell you that she went out to find the boys.”
The men looked at each other uneasily. “I have a bad feeling about this,” said Paul.
Paul and the men headed out of the office toward the parking lot. Serena led them down the path toward the clearing where Karen and Paul where struggling to keep Matt from being pulled into the pit. It looked like they were losing the battle.
Dr. Minger ran forward and grabbed his son's shoulders and pulled as well. Paul rushed to take Karen's place while Willie Sykes replaced Ben. Both fell back exhausted while the men continued to tug on Matt's arms and shoulders.
The men dug in their heels but could feel the soft ground begin to give under their feet. It was as if they were battling some powerful, irresistible force. Despite their efforts they could feel Matt starting to slip out of their grasp.
“Dear God,” breathed Karen in a quiet voice as she held the three crying girls in a huddle well away from the pit, “Please help us!”
Paul, sweating profusely despite the chill, knew he was losing his grip. Desperate, he prayed for help while struggling to hold on. A sudden realization pierced through his thoughts like a flash priority message from headquarters.
“Uncle Brandon! It's the shamballah opening!”
“Of course!” snapped Brandon, “Quick! Chuck, Curtis! Start praying! Only the Lord can help us!”
Brandon and the others quickly dropped to their knees, calling on the Lord. Claiming their position in Jesus Christ as believers, they plead the blood of Christ over Matt and the men holding onto him. They implored God to break the hold on Matt and deliver him from the pit.
“In the precious Name and authority of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the power His shed Blood,” cried Paul, “I command whatever devil or demonic force has a hold of this boy to loose him now!
There was one last horrific tug, wrenching a loud, painful cry from Matt's lips. It was as if something in the pit had made one final attempt to yank him out of the men's hands. At the same time the men felt a powerful grasp on their shoulders and hands, pulling them abruptly back from the edge. They fell in a heap with Matt on top of them.
Praising and thanking the Lord, they quickly got to their feet. Dr. Minger wrapped his arms around his son sobbing, “Thank God! Thank God you're safe!” over and over.
Karen cautioned the girls to stay where they were and rushed over to examine Matt. Other than being cold and sore from nearly being pulled into and somewhat shaken, he seemed to be all right.
“Look, Mommy—” began Alex, pointing at the pit.
“Alex! I told you to stay back with Serena and Lizzie. It's not safe...” Karen's voice trailed off as she, and the others looked where Alex was pointing. The heavy mist was draining back into a gapping hole. Moldering fragments of rotten wood lay scattered around it as if something had burst up and through the old wood.
“What now?” asked Curtis.
“Well,” answered his dad, “It might be prudent to rope this area off before someone else falls in.”
Heading back to the church the men made for the church office while Karen herded the children downstairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Sykes and Mrs. Minger had just returned from shopping and were putting some ice cream in the freezer when they arrived.
They were shocked to hear what had happened in the woods. Carla Minger grabbed her son and held him tightly for a few minutes. Pausing to wipe away a tear, she held him at arm's length and looked him over closely. Satisfied that he would live she reprimanded him for going near the hole while Mrs. Sykes dished out some ice cream for the kids.
Matt, somewhat embarrassed as any 12-year-old boy would be by all the fuss, secretly enjoyed the attention. It was reassuring to know that his mother loved him enough to care for him, though he would never admit it out loud. Besides, the ice cream looked pretty good. It looked even better when Mrs. Sykes gave him an extra scoop.
The men, meanwhile, had gathered upstairs in the church office. They knew that something had to be done about the hole in the woods before someone else went near it. Curtis said that there was an unused roll of caution tape down in the utility room from last year's parking lot repair. He volunteered, along with Willie and Dr. Minger to go and cordon off the area around the hole with it.
“Just be careful,” warned his dad, “You saw how dangerous it can be.”
As the three left the office, Paul turned to his uncle and Mr. Krankovich. “Well, I think we can guess why the Simon and Arnold Narsch want this property so bad. I'm afraid things could get a lot worse if we don't do something right away. After all, we’re practically sitting in the center of a giant pentagram right at the sixty-year convergence of the twelve and thirty-year cycles that Pastor Williams mentioned in his letter. I think we should call the church members and have an emergency meeting this evening.”
“Good idea, Paul,” said Brandon; “They should know what is happening. We should have a time of prayer as well. Who knows what the Enemy will try next.”
Pastor John and his sister, Janet Bartlett, came in as Brandon retrieved a copy of the church directory from the desk. Paul showed them the letters and the map and told them what had happened in the woods. Pastor John agreed with his concern but said they had another problem to contend with at the moment.
Motioning for Paul to follow him and Janet, he headed down the hall to his father's office. It was untouched from the last time that Pastor Williams had been in it nearly four days ago. Once inside he turned to Paul. “Its about Janet's husband, Bill. He just hasn't been acting right ever since yesterday morning...”
Across town, another meeting was just concluding. Arnold Narsch was seated behind a large metal desk in the shipping office of Narsch Industries. The ancient wooden chair creaked and groaned ominously under his weight as he shifted positions uncomfortably. The thin foam pad was too worn to provide much comfort to a man of his bulk.
The warehouse foreman, Dan Logan, stood nervously in front of him. “Yes, Mr. Narsch, I understand, Sir. 2:00 AM. That's right. I'll make sure the package is there on time. You can count on me, Sir.”
“Good, good,” purred Arnold, “And make sure your friend, Bill Bartlett is there to share in the festivities. If there are any, shall we say, complications, we may find him useful.”
“In-in what way?” stammered Logan.
“My dear fellow, you merely illustrate why you are a lowly shipping clerk and I,” Arnold nodded his head condescendingly toward Logan, “And I am head of this company. Mr. Bartlett may prove to be a bargaining chip or perhaps either a sacrificial lamb or a scapegoat. Now, be a good fellow and hand me my walking stick.”
Logan turned to retrieve an ornate mahogany walking stick from beside the door for his boss. The highly polished bronze tip at the bottom contrasted with the dark wooden shaft. An unusual ivory inlay underneath an ornate raven's head formed the top. The raven's head, copied from the Narsch Family coat of arms, was carved from a particularly dark piece of ebony. Two rounded, bronze colored opals were set in the wood for eyes.
The chair gave one final groan as Arnold Narsch leaned forward and pulled himself to his feet. His eyes narrowed as he reached for the walking stick. Leaning toward his employee slightly, he whispered menacingly. “Not a word of this. Not to anyone. I will not tolerate another fiasco!”