Gifts From God, Magic From The Devil.

Gifts From God, Magic From The Devil.

By

Albie Benson

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright 2011 Albie Benson

Cover design by Albie Benson.

The right of Albie Benson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This book is a work of fiction, all the characters are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Also available by Albert Benson on Smashwords,

Mind Jinks

Kissed By Fire

The Little Avaganda Book Of Poetry

The Dog’s Dinner, The Avaganda Book Of Short Stories.

Prologue

The crowd loved this, they hadn’t had so much entertainment for ages, well, not since the last time, and that was a big disappointment, hardly lasted ten minutes. But this was marvellous, the sun was shinning, the treats were really tasty, the tomatoes were lovely, soft, but not so soft that they squashed with the slightest movement, but firm enough to throw. The eggs were putrid, and the witch had been ducked twenty times and was still alive, still shouting, still cursing all and sundry, especially the self styled Witchfinder General Matthew Hopkins. He stood five feet from the ducking pond, legs wide apart, hands on hips, dressed like a Lord in all his finery. The man was a leather dream, from his highly polished thigh high leather boots to his leather breeches, belt, waistcoat, gloves, cape and hat. And every time she cursed him he laughed, spat onto the ground and raised his hand for his henchmen to duck her again, and every time she was raised the crowd laughed and pelted her with rotten eggs and over-ripe tomatoes.

To one side, held in check by more of Matthew Hopkins’ henchmen was the woman’s niece and ward, the thirteen year old Martha Jackson, she was so sickened by the treatment to her aunt that she didn’t even notice or feel the man holding her right arm was rubbing himself against her and surreptitiously feeling her emerging breasts.

‘Confess witch, ask forgiveness of the Lord.’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong,’ she screamed, her eyes bulging, as dark sprays of water flew from her mouth. ‘I’ve helped these people.’

Hopkins’ raised his right hand and she was ducked and held under whilst the henchmen were waiting for the order to raise her. It was a long time coming; too long. The crowd murmured and looked at one another, they didn’t want their fun to end, they were hoping for a hanging, or even better, a burning.

Hopkins ignored their murmuring, he’d had enough of procrastinating with these vile daemon worshippers, they should die, and die as quickly as possible, by whatever means were at hand. He waited until the bubbles stopped, waited some more, then signalled to his henchman, who pushed and brought the makeshift ducking seat back to the surface.

Much to the delight of the crowd and the anger of Hopkins the alleged witch coughed, breathed, and glared at him, totally ignoring the squashy tomato that splattered onto her cheek.

He nodded at his henchman and the seat splashed back into the water and held down. This time Hopkins knew she would die; it would be an hour before it was raised.

Much later Martha was preparing her aunt for burial, the town Council and church had decreed she would not be buried on consecrated ground, she must be cremated and her ashes spread at a crossroads. Martha silently cursed Matthew Hopkins and promised that she would find a way where Hopkins and all his ancestors would be cursed for all eternity. She cursed the townspeople for their callous treatment, everyone her aunt had helped had been there, pouring scorn and ridiculing, throwing eggs and tomatoes. Her aunt had cured infections, ailments, helped alleviate arthritis and gout, and hundreds more complaints. And how had they repaid her? By sending for Matthew Hopkins. Well let them suffer with their gout and rheumatism, infection and disease. She would learn, and they would pay, they would all drown, but not before they’d produced the next generation, because she had the gift, God’s Gift.

Chapter One

‘Someone will find out.’

‘Who? You’ll be three feet underground.’

‘Peter, Peter, please.’

‘Shut up you pious little creep.’

‘But Peter.’

‘Shut up I said.’ Peter Hopkins lifted Matt’s legs and dragged his tied body across the dirty, almost rotten floorboards.

Matt winced and yelped as a splinter pierced his back. ‘You’ll be caught.’

‘How? You’re supposed to be in Canada, remember, an adventure gap year with your University chums? Who is going to come to this back of beyond looking for you, eh? I’ll tell you, no one. Most will think you’ve been eaten by a bear or something.’ Peter dropped Matt’s legs and the bang reverberated in the empty derelict room. He grinned with malice. ‘I sent your precious chums an email telling them you would be unable to join them, in your name of course.’

‘Please Peter.’

‘Matthew Jackson, my righteous brother in law, keep your mouth shut, this is my moment of triumph, until I tell you otherwise, be silent. Six months of planning, your high and mighty father about to pop off any second; did you seriously consider I’d ever let you have it all?’

‘Peter, we can still work together, both of us for the good of our families, for God’s sake think of Jenny.’

‘Now what’s wrong Matt? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of dying. No, not you?’ Peter put his hands together as if in prayer. ‘Not the family’s redeemer, with your unparalleled faith in God Almighty? I’m doing you a favour, I’m giving you the chance of meeting your Maker. Now I bet the question you are going to ask is how am I going to do it?’ Peter put his hand in his pocket and produced a covered syringe. ‘I can see what you’re thinking, what do I have in here? Deadly Nightshade, Atropa Belladonna. You know what that is don’t you?’ Peter could not control his evil laughter. ‘Not so long ago small quantities of this was used by ladies of substance for beauty, it made their pupils dilate. Some died.’ He burst into his sickly laugh again. ‘Enough here I should imagine. Did you know it’s also called Devil’s Cherries most apt, don’t you think?’

‘I think you’re mad.’

‘Mad, mad? Yes, mad to have put up with you and your family for so long. Do you think I’d let you just come along and take over, after all the hard work I’ve done?’ Peter spat hatefully as he knelt next to Matt.

‘Peter, Peter please.’

‘Matt, shut up. Now, where do you want it, in you’re arm, or rump?’

‘For God’s sake, don’t be so stupid.’

‘Stupid, you call me stupid?’ Spittle sprayed from Peter’s lips as he straddled Matt’s chest. He was much larger and stronger, and could easily hold Matt.

Matt struggled ferociously.

Peter felt for his heartbeat and smiled sadistically at its wild beating. ‘Oh Matt, you’re becoming too excited.’ Peter said as he took the cover from the needle, and, without saying another word plunged it straight into Matt’s heart and squeezed the plunger.

Matt screamed.

Three hours later Peter threw the last shovelfull of earth onto Matt’s grave and levelled it flat, then he spread leaves over the whole area, making it look natural and undisturbed.

It took him nearly two hours driving home. He smiled as he opened his door and thought, no power on earth can stop me now. ‘Jenny, Jenny, I’m home, sorry I’m late, meeting at the office, you know how they go on.’ He walked into the living room, taking his coat off on the way, flinging it onto the couch and continued onto the cocktail cabinet. ‘Jenny,’ he shouted again. ‘Where is that bloody stupid woman?’ He poured himself a large Scotch and sat down. ‘Jesus, I’m bushed.’ He took a large swallow and smiled as he remembered the look of horror upon Matt’s face. It was only then he noticed the writing paper propped against the carriage clock. He quickly stood and read the script. ‘Started in labour, am going to hospital, see you there, love Jenny.’ Peter crushed the paper in his large hand and threw it into the fireplace. ‘Jesus, what a time to go, why couldn’t the selfish cow have waited till tomorrow?’

Chapter Two.

Bill Jackson sat on his bed and slowly untied his shoelaces. His head was throbbing from the argument with the hotel manager. Why am I working here, God why? But he knew why, to make enough money to buy his passage home. He knew he didn’t have long left, perhaps only months, maybe even less. This second-class New York hotel only employed him because of his English accent, the manager thought it added a touch of much needed class. Some hope.

He knew he must go home soon, his younger brother was dying, he could feel it as sure as he could feel the heat in this pokey room. It was two years since he’d seen his brother, then it was only for a couple of days. But they didn’t want him there, none of the family, they all disliked him intently, now they were wealthy. They all knew there was something strange about him; something they couldn’t understand, nor want to understand. It wasn’t his fault, couldn’t they see that, he had to be on the move, he was just too dangerous.

Then the feelings hit him, like a physical blow to his chest, feelings he had felt many times before; feelings that signified death to someone close, but not his brother, no, it was someone else, it was his nephew Matt.

Something was desperately wrong. Not Matt, no please not Matt. The feelings gnawed and chewed inside, making him feel sick. He had to go, he had to go now.

Quickly he changed from his well-worn second-hand uniform into his own clothes, packed his meagre belongings into a small holdall and quickly walked towards the manager’s office. He mentally calculated his wages, of which he had not drawn a penny, and reckoned he should have nearly six thousand dollars. That should be enough to secure a flight home and some spends.

Without knocking he opened the manager’s door and entered. The manager, a well built man of about thirty with an old knife scar running across his chin, looked up from his books in surprise. Bill noticed another man, an enormous man, one he hadn’t seen before, sitting quietly in one corner intently studying a porno mag.

‘What do you want Jackson?’ the manager asked impatiently.

Bill inwardly winced, the man’s voice grated, like a fork being dragged across an empty plate. ‘I’m leaving.’

‘When?’

‘Now, I’ve come for my wages.’

The manager gave Bill a wry smile, sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. ‘You’ve gotta nerve Jackson. Didn’t I tell you the rules when I first helped you outta the gutta and gave you a job?’

‘What rules?’

‘At least one month’s notice is required or all wages are forfeited.’

‘No, you didn’t tell me that.’

‘Well I’m telling you now. Get out, and get back to work.’

‘I calculate you owe me six thousand dollars.’

‘Get out of here Jackson before I ring the immigration. You’ve been nothing but trouble since I hired you. ‘

Bill sensed the other man straighten in his chair. ‘I want my six thousand dollars.’

‘Want, want? Hell, Mickey, throw this bum out, and make sure he doesn’t hurry back.’

Mickey slowly stood flexing his shoulder muscles and cracking his knuckles, and with a sadistic leer, ambled towards Bill.

Bill took on the posture of a frightened man, his shoulders hunched up, his neck shrunk and he held his hands out in submission, then he opened his eyes wide with mock terror.

Mickey’s sadistic smile became broader, he would enjoy this.

Bill waited until Mickey came nearer, then let loose. With his body behind the swing, he brought his right fist up and punched firmly into Mickey’s throat, right into his Adam’s apple. Mickey gasped and doubled. Bill then brought his other hand down, karate fashion, onto the back of Mickey’s neck. Mickey slumped to the floor like a bag of dried cement.

Bill turned and faced the shocked manager. ‘Now, my six thousand dollars, pronto.’

The manager held up both his hands. ‘Okay, okay,’ and reached towards a drawer behind his desk.

Bill instantly knew he had a small revolver hidden and would certainly kill. Bill moved with a speed that belied his age and slammed the drawer onto the manager’s fingers. He screamed in pain, but Bill continued pushing with one hand and with the other grasped his throat and squeezed, blocking off his windpipe. He struggled but could not force Bill’s hand off. He collapsed. Bill breathed in deeply; he was too old for all this messing about. He looked around and gave a silent prayer as he noticed the safe door was open. He counted six thousand dollars and left.

Chapter Three.

‘Hiya weird.’

Tommy’s anger exploded, he ran towards the youth and grabbed him roughly by his shirtfront, tearing off some buttons.

The youth showed shock and surprise, his eyes widened with fear, ‘Hey Tommy, I was only jiving man.’

Tommy spat into the youth’s face, ‘Don’t ever call me that again.’

‘Okay Tommy okay, don’t get so riled man.’

Tommy released the youth’s shirt and walked away. He shook his head. The nickname Weird was very appropriate, Weird Tommy Jackson. The sensations were becoming stronger now, he couldn’t concentrate on anything, his mind was a mixed up jumble of emotions. He had the feeling something was going to happen soon. And that old man, he couldn’t get that old man out of his mind, he was in some way linked to him, he could hear thoughts, thoughts filled with danger, the old man’s thoughts.

Am I going mad, perhaps this is the start, confusion, disorientation, what next, violence?

He sat on a park bench and put his head back letting the hot sun bathe his face, helping him to relax. Another bonus was the lack of people, besides the old woman feeding the pigeons, the park was empty, unusually so for a Sunday.

The old woman looked at him, and then looked around.

Fear, he sensed her fear, as much as if she had said to him, ‘I am frightened.’

She thinks I’m a mugger.

He stood and walked from her, feeling confused, and at this moment, unwanted and rejected.

Am I psychic? I can’t read other peoples exact thoughts, but I can sense their intentions, their emotions, their hopes and desires. Extra sensory perception, an E.S.P. that’s what I am and it’s the pits. Probably most people would think it was fantastic, but its not. Peoples’ emotions must be the worst facet of the human race, fear, hate, lust, greed, and jealousy, everyone seems to be jealous of someone else. My Dad is jealous of me because I’m young, our next-door neighbour is jealous of my Dad because he is a successful doctor. My Mother is jealous of the lady across the street because her hair is naturally blonde. Stupid, why doesn’t she just buy a hair lightener?

He passed people; he sensed their emotions, fear, jealousy, hate. Some smiled, but still hated because he was black, or he was tall, or because he was muscular.

God, I can’t seem to escape from it. I must talk with someone, someone who knows, someone who could tell me what to do. The old man, he knows, he is the same as me, he'd know what to do. I wish he were here.

He stopped as he heard the singing and looked towards its source, a large white wooden church. Emotions of love, of happiness flooded into him. He quickly walked to it and entered.

The church was crowded with blacks, whites, Mexicans, Orientals, singing and clapping, enjoying themselves, praising the Lord.

The singing stopped and everyone sat down, Tommy took a seat at the back. There was an air of excited anticipation, he could sense excitement and love, this building was bursting with it. It was infectious, it made him feel good, here was no jealousy, no hate, no fear, no lust, only love, love in abundance, with plenty to go around. Tommy felt relaxed and, almost, at home.

The Preacher stood and the congregation clapped enthusiastically, he raised his arms. ‘Praise the Lord,’ he shouted.

‘Praise the Lord,’ the congregation shouted back.

‘Praise the Lord,’ the Preacher shouted louder.

‘Praise the Lord,’ they shouted louder.

‘Hallelujah,’ the Preacher shouted.

‘Hallelujah,’ they shouted back.

The Preacher held out his arms and blessed everyone, then he spoke, ‘For too long many people have been misled and corrupted by Satan!’

‘Yeah!’ they answered.

‘For too long he has been creeping into our minds.

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’

‘For too long he has tried to tempt us.’

‘Yeah.’

‘For too long he has made the innocent suffer. I say to you NO MORE.’

‘No.’

‘His time is near, when he will realise the way of the Lord is the only way.’

‘Yeah.’

‘The way of the Lord is the way to resurrection.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Don’t be tempted.’

‘No.’

‘Don’t be taken in by false promises.’

‘No.’

‘Because the wages of sin are death and destruction.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Do not listen to those who proclaim that God is dead.’

‘No.’

‘Because He is not, He lives.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Brothers and Sisters, for too long we have had to live with evil, the evil in some men’s hearts is contagious, it has spread over the earth like a loathsome plague. But no longer.’

‘No.’

‘Never forget the Devil also lives, he is there giving his agents powers, powers we do not understand, powers only our faith protects us from. But innocents are made to suffer. Just as our Lord Jesus Christ suffered upon the cross, so are children and innocents suffering. It is sad, we can only feel sorrow for their suffering, we can only cry and wonder why the Lord allows this to continue, some shake their fists, yes there is anger that the Devil is allowed to do his loathsome work. But no longer brethren, no longer.’

‘No.’

‘Because the Lord is keeping his promise, Corinthians 12-14, the gifts of God, the gifts of prophesy, the gifts of healing, the gifts of speaking in tongues, the gift of discerning of spirits. These are gifts our Lord is giving to us, to use against Satan.’

‘Yeah.’

‘We will be His warriors.’

‘Yeah.’

‘We will fight in His name. We will fight fire with fire.’

‘Yeah.’

‘We will fight evil with good.’

‘Yeah.’

‘We will fight injustice with justice.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Cruelty with Kindness.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Misery with charity.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Our very bodies will be the Law of God. We will fight His foes, and for those who cannot fight this great battle, He will send warriors who will fight His enemies on our behalf, ones who will fight them on their own grounds, their own lairs. But the war has just begun, we may lose some battles, many warriors will fall in the struggle. But, in the end, the Lord will win.’

‘Yeah.’

‘But, let us not forget,’ his words quietened them, ‘that God has given each, and every one of us, the greatest gift, the gift of love. And, because of this, in the end, the Lord will win.’

‘Yeah.’

He bowed his head and the choir quickly stood and started singing, the congregation also stood and swayed from side to aide in time with the music, clasping one another’s hands and raising their voices in supplication and enthusiasm.

Chapter Four.

The strange sensations returned, putting Peter Hopkins’ nerves on edge and making his head swim. His stomach seemed to knot tightly with tension and his hands felt cold and clammy. For nearly seven months these feelings had haunted him. Anxiety they said, but lately they were becoming more frequent, growing in intensity, lasting longer, he felt as though he wanted to kill someone to relieve the tension. He felt strange, disassociated from himself and the surroundings, as if his mind was detached from his body, outside looking in. Suddenly, the feelings left. He was angry. Why should he be subject to this, why not some other cretin? ‘Stupid doctors, they don’t know a toss,’ he muttered as he angrily massaged his face.

‘Mr Hopkins.’

He turned towards the voice, it was his butler. ‘What do you want?’

‘I’m sorry to bother you sir, but did you see the note from your wife, she has started in labour?’

An uncontrollable anger arose in him, he would kill this object, this lackey. ‘Don’t you dare tell me anything, who the Hell are you anyway?’

‘I’m sorry sir, I, I just thought.’

‘You thought, you think too bloody much for a servant.’ Peter said as he advanced towards the butler.

The butler slowly walked backwards, suddenly terrified by the fierce anger of his employer.

Peter advanced, his head jutting forward, his back bent, his face a mask of hate.

The butler turned and ran, and Peter burst into laughter, he loved seeing the hired help squirm. His size, six feet six inches and built like a heavyweight with hands large enough to crush the average man’s head, helped. He loved intimidating people, leaning over them and watching them almost diminish. Except for Matt. ‘That pious little creep, well he won’t bother me anymore.’ He laughed, but Jenny came into his mind and his head began to throb, ‘She’ll have to go, as soon as I’m in control she is dead.’ He knew he would have to go to the hospital and see her, but the thought irked him, why couldn’t she just die, and the brat as well.

He parked his car in front of the hospital’s main entrance and was locking the door when an average sized man wearing a uniform, approached him. ‘Sorry pal, you can’t park there.’

‘Why not?’ Peter asked sharply.

‘Why not?’ the man repeated almost disbelievingly. ‘It's a no-parking area, that’s why not. You just can’t park willy-nilly everywhere. If I let everyone park here no-one would be able to get into the hospital for parked cars.’

The throbbing inside Peter’s head became more intense, really hurting him, he didn’t have time for all this shit. ‘Look, its nearly ten o’clock, how many people are you expecting at this time of night?’

‘That’s not the point, the point is.’

‘Shut up, I’m parking my car there okay?’

‘No, its not okay, are you going to move that car?’

‘Or what?’ Peter said, moving his face closer.

‘Or I have the police come and remove it, and then you’ll have to pay.’

Peter looked around, there was no one in sight, he roughly grabbed the man’s lapels and practically lifted him off the ground. ‘Listen you little creep, I’m parking here okay, if you bother me again I’ll tear your horrible little head from your horrible little shoulders, understand?’

The man nodded in fear.

But the encounter had pushed up Peter’s adrenalin level;