November's End

November's End

1

A figure far away anxiously wandered through the wood. He was wearing old hunting clothes above boots that were clearly too big for him. The mop of hair on his head was complemented by the dark shade of his eyes. Lost, he might have appeared to some. But to the man who was watching him, he was definitely searching. What for? The boy looked around frantically, but patiently, like one who knew he would not find what he wanted. Determination was also hard on the boy's face. It made him look older, maybe in his thirties. As clear as that, though, was the look of fear. It was all over his eyes, made them darker.

Why was he searching, and what was he afraid of finding? These questions the man pondered while he peered through his spyglass. A bit odd, to be sure, most people would think from seeing this, but police work was slow today back in town twenty miles away. Jones only followed the case as any natural policeman would, maybe just a little farther than most would have gone. This was worth it, though, he had a real suspicion.

A few more minutes of hiding and hunting went on, then the boy stopped dead in his tracks. He stood there for nigh five minutes, unmoving. Jones orbited around to get a better view. The boy was crying. Suspicions raged through the detective's mind. This was the place. The boy knelt and touched the ground, then brought up his hand with a white object. Most would think it a piece of broken porcelain. Jones knew it was bone: a fragment of the occipital region of a skull. Yes, this was the November child. He'd heard the details of the case just a month ago. It had been closed away for 13 years, but the detective had to figure out what happened here. He knew something wasn’t right, and he knew no one else wanted to. As it would have been unwise to approach the grieving boy now, Jones quickly went back to the station.

 

2

There was a coin, different from the rest in the world. The face carved in the gold surface, no one could recognize. The face had a game. It was written in the tail end of the coin: 

If anyone will touch this coin death will catch him
death will kill her
death will kill him
whoever has laid eyes on the one plastered on this surface is henceforth bound
you will find me in your pocket
you will find me in your dresser
not another will see me until you have died
you will reach out your hand and death will meet

These are the rules. They were followed by many. The first to lay an eye on it was a special man to the coin. Instead of killing him, it appointed the man into its charge. This man would be the killer, the rule-keeper. The coin willed him to be the first to touch, but the last to die. In this way it spared the man, but in the end would keep its rules' law. The coin named him death. Death thought he was his own. He assumed his eyes were now opened, but they were merely tainted. His thoughts were stained red by the coin. His lust was now only for blood. He indeed longed incessantly for more humans to touch the changer. He savored his destruction of every toucher, though death was always quick with his dealings. No time for escape, except once. Just once there was one who escaped the rules.

But that was thousands of years after the first toucher died, when death was given a weapon. A wooden pole with hardened rock at an end. Sticking out of the rock was a curved piece of metal. When he appeared the instant this first woman touched the coin, the metal gleamed with her blood. This was his satisfaction. Just as reaching out to the coin was for a human. And death, though seen by himself as a free man, had only one real choice to make: the rock, or the metal.

Patient, he was; always lurking around us, hoping for moments to strike. Waiting in the dark for a touch, unseen by the flesh until their contacting. Many people, once they saw him would think, as their last thought, that death looked old and feeble while he sprang upon them. The rest would tell he looked like a little boy or a girl even, if their decapitated heads could speak. The coin did not favor any humans, so neither did death. They all meant the same thing to death: food for his lust. But the coin was the real eater, and even it didn't understand the truth of what it was doing. It would learn a bit more tonight.

3

The boy walked off the dusty street in through the swinging doors. He was a man, though. He knew he was a man; 21 was his age. Everyone still kept telling him that his thoughts and fantasies belonged to a child. Fantasies? They were the truth! At least his search for truth. He did nothing but search, and think his thoughts. Boyish as they may be, he knew they were true. If believing that his dad was slaughtered by a man so fast he couldn't see what had happened was boyish, then yes he might be like a boy sometimes. The inside of the old, quiet bar came into view. His first step in was proceeded by a creaking in the floor boards. A few eyes lazily turned his way. One pair he recognized. Darn, he thought, wrong pub today.

The pair of eyes were immediately raised and, apparent with humor, a voice hollered, "Hey Ben! Find your dead dad yet?" Then the sound of a donkey came from his disgusting mouth. Ben assumed this was laughter. The friends around the man all chuckled along. Obviously, they were drunk, too. Benjamin November stood there unmoving, awaiting the next insult.

Chuck wasted no time after quickly taking another swig of his jug. "Aw, that's too bad. I was really hopin' for ya."

Ben started to walk forward to the counter.

“You know what, Ben?” Chuck continued.

Ben reached the bartender, and said, “I’d like a bottle of anything.” He had a rough day, so he thought he’d earned it.

“You know what?” Chuck squealed with his vermin hootin’ behind him. “I’m thinkin’ by now you ain’t never gonna give up lookin’. So why not just do off with yourself, and find him in hell?”

Ben usually could take ill humor well, but now he was seething. What does he know of hell?

There grew a silence, as the happy audience felt the tension in the room becoming dangerous. Chuck apparently didn‘t pick up on this. “He’d probly appreciate it more than you bein’ a little bi-”

As soon as Ben’s drink hit the counter, he was like lightening. He threw the bottle with all his strength straight at Chuck’s hideous face. The contact exploded the glass. The idiot was sent flopping to the floor in his chair.

"My Father is dead. I am not looking for him," Ben shouted as he strode toward the unconscious body and its friends. "I need to find whoever killed him, and right now, I really wish it was you." That's when he stopped, as something caught his eye. A glimmering in the corner. He walked closer to it, almost oblivious to the threats he was receiving from all around. Just then there was a voice coming from the inside of his head.

"Don't go, don't go looking there." This stopped him. That voice was so familiar.

"I want to look over there." Ben thought.

"I know. Everyone wants to Ben, but that is not the right way to go." This all seemed so familiar. It reminded him of that terrible day his father died. Yes, there was that same hint of a glimmer. Ben took another step toward what was cautioned.

"Do you know who I am?" said the voice.

Ben's heart started thumping heavily. It was telling him this was the Lord. That was impossible, though. If God existed, He would not want to speak to him. "No" Ben replied.

"I am your God." This was undeniably true. Ben felt fear suddenly enter him. "No Ben." the voice said louder. "Don't fear; there is nothing to be afraid of." Ben's fear turned to awe. "There was never anything to be afraid of."

Ben might have believed him, but a sudden impulse drew his mind to the flashing. Awe transferred to anger. "Nothing to be afraid of? I watched my dad die... You let him die! And you waited all these years to talk to me until now when I see something that might give me the truth about why he's dead!"

"I am the truth!" thundered the voice. "I know why he died. My heart broke for your father! All his life he was searching, but never for me. I begged him just as I am begging you. I wept! I told him the danger of looking." This voice was so powerful. Ben staggered, then collapsed, still seeing the glint of something in the corner. He didn't know what to think. "Ben," in such a calming voice, "Why do you still search as if I am not enough?" A tear fell down his cheek. "Would you like to sleep?"

Ben could barely visualize the shapes of people over him. "Yes." he said.

Death was waiting; always waiting, but now he was severely impatient. The boy hadn't touched the coin. That happened from time to time, but he didn't even see the face! Why? What went wrong? death was panicking. Again! How could this boy escape the gaze twice? His coin was no doubt raging. He remembered it well the night he took the boy's father. O', how glorious it would have been! To feast on two souls, but the one escaped. The coin now knew, though death didn't, the earth soon might not be its domain. And it was very afraid. Help might be needed.

 

4

Ben awoke. He was on the floor of a house. Yes, his house. The only object in his mind was a question. What was that? That voice he'd heard, could that really be God?

"Good morning Ben!" he sprung around. "It's good to see you well." There was a man leaning against his wall, speaking to him. He was devilishly handsome at every angle.

Ben was confused. “How, how did you get into my house?”

“I brought you here.” the man said. “Seemed like you were in pretty bad shape. Looked like a bar fight.”

“How’d you know where I live?” Ben inquired.

“You were conscious enough to let me know.” Ben didn’t remember a thing after he fell asleep, but this man looked like he was telling the truth. “Gosh, Ben, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Did anything unusual happen last night, or is this ordinary for you?” Ben was not sure that he should tell this man what he thought had happened last night. “You didn’t see anything unordinary?” after he shook his head.

What an odd question. “Not really.” he said.

“Now Ben,” the man sounded genuine, but something didn’t feel right about him. “I went to all this trouble to get you out of this mess; the least you could do is be honest.” Ben nodded his head. “Did you see a light that seemed different?”

How did the man know? “I saw something glitter.” Ben said, casting off his suspicions.

“That’s what I thought.” The man excitedly exclaimed. "Weren't you just tingling with curiosity?"

"I guess."

"You guess!" The man waved his arms then said, "Why, Ben, did you want to grab it?"

Ben decided to be to be honest. "It reminded me of losing my dad."

"Oh," the man said, smiling, as if entertaining a child. "Is that right? Well let me clarify something for you. You may think you recognized it, but that is not the reason you desired it." Ben felt uncomfortable. Did this man know his innermost thoughts? "You desire it because you are like everyone else; like me. We all sense the pleasure and clarity this object brings, and rightly we do! When I listened to the calling it was the best moment of my life." Ben still looked confused. This man's expression suddenly turned to surprised. "You did touch it, didn't you?" Ben felt strangely embarrassed. He sheepishly shook his head. The man laughed. "Why on earth would you not go to your calling once you saw it? Get hit on the way over?"

"Sort of," Ben said, "someone told me not to."

The man still looked amused. "And why in the world would you value their judgment over your own?"

"I think it was the Lord." Ben confessed.

This may have taken the confident man off guard. He took a step backwards, and for a half-second his face seemed white. But quickly he resumed his old posture, so that Ben wasn’t actually sure he’d moved. "You mean God?" The man mocked, "If God exists, he's not going to waste all his time on someone who can't even think for himself. I'm certainly not going to waste my time here anymore. Actually, I'm a little disappointed in your willpower. It's really a pathetic decision to leave things like this up to a 'God.'" He started heading out. "But Ben, next time a real opportunity chances upon you, take the gift like other men do. I hope to see you then." With that, the man left the door.

Ben tried to make sense of what exactly happened in the last 12 hours. Eventually, he settled for strange circumstances and coincidences, but deep in his mind he knew that whatever this was could not be overlooked, and it made him uneasy.

The man walked briskly out of the dumb boy's house. "I hate this job." he muttered to himself. He was shaking. He may have just failed the convincing. He was scared of the future. He hated thinking about the future, or the present, or time. He shouldn't have to dwell here. He should be above time; beyond it's crippling reaches. But he is stuck here: Earth: how utterly unpleasant. He's stuck with these humans who start out knowing absolutely nothing but the pain of life. How could the Creator love them?How in the world could a creature like Ben deserve more than he?

The man thought these things as he changed. He was changing. He was no longer a man, and death saw. So this was the devil. He thought so; he'd seen him in many different forms. This better have worked, death thought. There's only one way this coercing couldn't have worked, because there's only one thing that the devil fears.

 

5

"God." Ben exclaimed after hours of debating with himself whether last night was real. "What is going on?" He asked without expecting an answer. Surprisingly, one came then. An unforeseen thought:

"Your life is going on, but you do not take the time to know how or why." The thought was clear, and Ben could think of no response to it. "Do you know what you saw?"

Ben had so many conflicting emotions. Somehow he felt guilt for desiring what he did see. "No," he said. "How," attempting to change the subject, "How did my dad die?" Though, worriedly, he felt that he already knew.

"Will this answer help you with your struggles?"

"Will it hurt me?"

"Truth always hurts, until it burns away doubt. You have a lot of doubt, Ben."

"I know." Ben admitted as the need for answers gnawed at him. Steadily he gained a desire for whatever truth would be uttered.

He felt a sigh from God. "Lewis died from what everyone has died from: Mortality: Sin: Selfishness." A long pause followed. Ben was actually relieved that his father's death was that simple with no other outside forces, but then He continued. "Lewis walked as you walk, thought as you think, and saw what you saw. I put so much of him in you. In one way, at least he differed from you, though. He looked upon what you saw yesterday, and he grabbed it. That innocent, beautiful temptation convinced him to touch itself if only for a second, which was all death needed. He died because he listened to the things around him that demanded his attention. Instead of me." Ben was holding back tears, until now, when God started to cry. After a while, God said, "Ben, find life. Go the way to my house."

Ben was even more bewildered now. "I don't know where your house is! How can I know the way there?"

God began a soft laugh. "I am the way. I am all of your truth. I am your life." Ben wondered at this. Could his answers be this simple?

"I set you free, Ben, but you're still sitting in the dark. Why? I've given you complete freedom to get up, but you just sit here, stroking a coin."

"I don’t understand!” Ben pleaded.

"You will learn in time. I've chosen you specifically to spread my message to others."

"What?"

"I will give you my Words, and you will share them."

"Why? I am probably the worst choice you could have." Ben didn't know if he was feeling overwhelmed or scared or unworthy of this.

There was a pause. "There's going to come a time when that will seem to be the truth, Ben, but take heart! I make the right choices. You will forget what I told you more and more as time wears on." Ben's heart started to sink. "I'm letting you know so you can trust me when it's over. You will put yourself through some hard times." Ben was getting another headache. "There is absolutely no reason to touch your dad's killer, Ben, but I will not abandon you if you do." With that, his thoughts ceased. Ben felt abandoned already.

No! This was the worst time for Him to leave. Why can't He stay? What was the purpose of building him up, then tearing him down again? God told him that sin leads to death, and that he would sin, but then come to His place. Wouldn't that mean that his sin wouldn't lead to death? This sin couldn't be so bad. If it was, then why didn't God stop Father from touching it? If the pleasure of that gleam brought death, God could have diverted it from Dad's sight, and he would be here right now. There was also the fact that the nice man- granted he was odd- who brought him to his house today said that he touched "the coin" and was perfectly alright, maybe more superior than before.

These thoughts battled in Ben's head. Satan was there even now, planting seeds of doubt into the boy's head. Some were growing fast. He thought this situation might need a little more convincing, just in case, though the boy surely wouldn't need more than its own cursed nature. How foolish these humans were. How despicable. How could they believe a God could ever love their pitiful selves. Unlike himself, God has made them all for his amusement. A joke for him to laugh at. He chuckled to himself just before he vomited out of pure hate for these creatures and himself. No, he loved himself, didn't he. He was by far the most beautiful one residing this planet. He often reminded himself of this.

 

6

The next day the coin chose to show itself to the boy for a second time. Right when he woke up, he saw the coin glitter on his musty desk. The boy closed his eyes immediately, and looked away. Ben was out all day, and when he came back, he avoided the desk entirely. Curiosity constantly beckoned him to look. Eventually, he took one quick glance, and saw nothing. He tried again, and laughed to himself; he'd been afraid of something that wasn't there all day. What would Jon say to all this?

The next morning he woke up at 6 o'clock, feeling terrorized like never before. The thing. It was under his sheets! How did it get there? He felt it on his stomach, separated from skin only by his nightgown. Afraid of the touch, he did not move at all, but lay still for some minutes. He soon looked again at his clock, and saw that two hours had past. This frightened him greatly. He thought he may as well touch the coin now, and be done with it. This desire was overwhelming almost all other thoughts. Ben recalled then what God said to him. Would he give in this easily? No, he would fight! He summoned enough courage to roll over to his side. He shuddered as he felt the cold metal slowly slide off his stomach. Quickly he darted up, and jumped out of the bed, not giving his mind another chance to be tempted. There was something terribly pleasurable about this gold, he couldn't deny.

He thought he spotted it later that day, but didn't dare to check to make sure. These appearances occurred randomly for a long time. In his dresser, on the grass, next to his horse. Without realizing, his father's importance began to fade in his mind while the coin seemed ever more vital. He knew it was dangerous, but thrillingly so. He spotted it again on August 9th and didn't reflexively look away. Instantly, thoughts of argument were brought to his head. This coin, now with no more glint, looked ordinary. Beautiful, simple, nothing to be afraid of. That's what God told him. And only things that won't hurt are not to be feared. He stepped forward twice.

God's voice hit him again. Ben stopped. "You will not hear me out loud again until you die." Ben started to cry. "It's alright Ben. I want to let you know that you have a choice, so choose what you will, but this coin brings death. Please don't choose it, child. Do not choose death. Choose life! Why would you move towards death?" Ben took one more step forward, but then decided to leave. He felt gratitude emanating inside him from the Lord.

From then on Ben grew more confident in himself, thinking it was his will power that saved him from the death. Yes, this was good. It wouldn't have to wait much longer now.

 

7
Detective Jones had thought about the November case for weeks and still didn't understand it. He had lately been busy, but now finally he was able to investigate it again. He decided to question Ben, the obvious suspect, first. While he was honestly a little frightened of Ben, he didn't actually think him capable of murder, especially as a child. But no other theories seemed plausible. He knocked loudly on the door. It was slowly opened by a young man.

"Benjamin November?" he asked.

"Yes?" Ben replied.

Jones smiled and shook his hand. "Hi, I'm detective Jones. Is it alright if I ask you some questions?"

"Alright." The boy said.

"Do you live alone Ben?" Jones inquired.

"Yes" Ben eyed him suspiciously.

"Why is that?"

"Never had time to marry."

"Ah, business is too busy. What is your profession?"

"What is this about?" Ben asked, instead of answering.

"I'll be honest, it's about Lewis. The day he died." Jones said. Ben's eyes tensed, and angled downward. He studied the wearied figure before him for a moment before going on. "I know people already questioned you about this, and I'm sorry, but I really need to hear what happened from your perspective."

"Alright." he nodded his head, clearly nervous.

"Where were you both that day?"

It was hard for Ben to get words out of his mouth. "We went to the Appellations. for a vacation."

"Hunting?"

"No," Ben shook his head, "just a vacation."

"Alright" Jones scribbled on a paper with his pen. "Do you have a cabin up there?" he asked.

"A lodge"

The detective stopped writing and was silent for a bit before he asked, "What were you doing when he died?"

The boy's eyes misted. "We were on a stroll."

"Where exactly?"

"About twenty miles up the road." His head gestured to the dirt road along his house.
Jones didn't know how to word the next question. "And, how did he die?"

"He was murdered." Ben's voice grew softer.

"Yes, that much is clear. How was he killed?"

"From a club." Ben answered.

"And who was wielding the club?" Jones inquired as Ben's eyes met his. Then they seemed to look past him. After a silence Jones cautiously repeated his question.

Ben was transfixed. "Nothing of consequence." he softly spoke. His eyes were still fixed on a point behind the detective.

Jones quickly glanced back, and saw nothing but the tree in Ben's front lawn. "What?" He asked for clarification.

Ben seemed almost hypnotized by his tree, then suddenly his eyes snapped back to Jones. He looked guiltier now, or at least more nervous. Finally he said, "Something killed him."

Jones looked confused. "But you just said that." Ben seemed perfectly alright with his answer. "Ben. Who killed your father?" he asked sternly.

Ben looked pleadingly at him. "It wasn't me! Don't you understand? It wasn't me!"

The detective tried to calm him down. "I never said I thought it was you."

"Well everyone thinks it was me." He was in anguish by now. "They think I'm either evil or just insane. How could I kill my father? I was eight."

"That's part of what puzzles me, Ben." Jones said, reassuringly. "But you killing him is the only story that seems to make any sense at all. So if you didn't kill him, you better tell me who did." Ben didn't react to what Jones said. His eyes were again elsewhere. Suddenly he whipped his head around inside, looking for something. "Ben!" Jones shouted to no avail. Ben's eyes locked on his piano behind him, a look of horror on his face. Jones looked past Ben to his piano. Nothing was wrong with it.

Ben's head turned again, and he anxiously looked into Jones' eyes. "I need you to leave right now. I am extremely busy." he said, then quickly shut the door.

"Wait! Ben! What is this?" Jones had nothing but confusion and concern now. "I can help you!" The door locked. "What is going on?" he asked himself.  He got no answer.

 

8
Ninety two days. That was the second worst night of death's life, when he failed on this one child in a bar. There were three months between that day and this one. Ninety two days, and it was finally time! He was so ready for this boy to die. He held his tool firmly, gripping in anticipation of glory. The devil was also present with a few of his elite to admire their hated work, but death hated this boy more than any thing. He would relish the moment his blade made contact with new flesh. He would take the limbs off one at a time. The screams would be horrific. His master was right down this boy's hall. On his table. The coin's patience had also been drawn thin, but it has paid off. This boy must be nearing insanity by now. Most humans did on their own. Most humans look and touch and die. But that's not enough for Ben; no he will treat him special. And then there he was, walking through his door. His eyes immediately turned to his sentence. So shiny it looked to him, so perfect.

Suddenly, panicked, he couldn't remember exactly what God had told him to do. He was lured slowly forward down his hall. He saw it clear now. A simple coin. The head on it looked oddly familiar, but seemed to change whenever he thought he’d recognized it. Ben tore his gaze away, but looked back only a second later. It was then gone. Ben experienced a longing disappointment, then again horror; he felt it in his pocket. He knew it was present even without feeling it's weight. It was much less heavy than what he thought gold should have been. He touched the outside of his pocket, and shivered. Slowly, he slipped his shaking fingers into his pocket. His arm hesitated. He knew that he shouldn't touch this menace; this legend; that he would regret it. But as if that knowledge didn't mean anything, his fingers reached down his pocket anyway.

The tip of his middle finger touched the gold, and instantly death leapt onto his back. The following seconds were greatly elongated so death could make him feel more. The poor boy fell face first onto his carpet. His arm was broken at the right elbow as death screamed in delight. Then the rock struck the left shoulder, cracking it as well. Ben screamed, and death was now laughing hysterically. The blade came next. The jagged piece sank into the whelp's left shoulder, and then the arm was pulled off. He'd never done that before, and he was glad when he did now. Death was enjoying this too much. He stomped on the boy more, then decided to end it; the coin was impatient for its kill. The scythe was raised for the kill, but for an unknown reason death could not bring it down. The spectator and his demons left before the brightness enveloped them all. Death was not realizing what was happening. The coin reluctantly fled. He had better leave too.

Ben felt himself slowly being picked up, and placed on his feet. He walked slowly away, mind in a haze. He was limping with something holding him up. When he looked to find out what it was, he saw a man. This surprised him, but it had no other effect. The feelings of agony and nausea were blocking most other functions of his brain. They reached the candlestick phone, and Ben painfully tried to remember what to do with it. Eventually, contacting the hospital found its way into his head.

"Hello this is-" said the friendly female voice from the phone before he interrupted.

His voice was shaky. "My arm is off. I... please. Please help me!" His mind trailed off. The lady mumbled something vitally important to him, but she sounded so quiet. Ben could not concentrate enough to understand. The phone dropped out of his shaking fingers. "I'm going to die now" he explained to her. He had failed. He deserved the harsh sleep like all others. Ben laid down, and died within the minute.

9
Ben had a family. He hadn't seen any of them in a long time. He only still kept contact with Jonny. Seeing his little brother had always reminded him of better days with his father.

Ben's father was alive 18 years ago. The three of them (the father, and the two brothers) spent a large amount of time together. The mother and the sister didn't understand them; going off on adventures far from home. Their father made them tough, but that was not his intent. He simply wanted to cherish them with what he knew, as any father should. These children needed their dad, but death gives no heed to such minor details in his work.

To better bond with his children, Lewis November decided to vacate with all three of them individually. He had begun with his son Ben. Honestly, he was a little more exited for Jon's trip; he needed it more. But what he'd hoped to accomplish for his family was never done. Ben came home from their trip alone. No one knew what happened to his father. Ben was picked up and brought to a hospital after wandering for two days in the mountains. He was hallucinating, they said. Unfortunately, the relationships with the family he had were not the same after this.

"Benny!" said little Jonny when he saw him after their dad’s death. He hugged him warmly. "I thought you were dead, too!"

Ben just stood there in the doorway, unable to talk. A tear slid down his cheek. His mother rushed up and embraced him. "It's alright." she kept saying in between sobs. Ben wasn't sure what she meant by "it." He could not think of anything that was all right now. The mother was married to Lewis when Ben was six, three years after his real mother died. She honestly tried to love him with all her heart, but she couldn't seem to bond with the boy as well as the others. And when dear Lewis died, she felt even less close to his son. She couldn't help but feel a subtle, but deep sense of envy towards Ben. Or maybe it was blame. Jon loved his big brother. He may have, however, picked up some of his mom's feelings. When Jonathan thought about it, Ben never gave an answer for how Father died. He always just referred to strange stories Father would tell them at night.

The police came around to telling the hurt family that it appeared someone had killed their Lewis. "Clubbed 'em in the head,” but they found no evidence of anyone other than the lad and his father in the woods.

 

10
“Ben. Benny!” came a voice beyond familiar. "Oh Goodness you're awake!"

"I'm awake." The boy replied as more of a question. The face of Jonathan November slowly came into focus. Jon had his unnaturally large smile on his cheeks that only looked normal because of his bulbous nose. "How" Ben started, "...I'm not dead." Again more of a question.

"Indeed you're not!" Jon laughed.

Benny sat up stiffly in the hospital bed, using mainly his left elbow, for his right was slung. He quickly fell back on his left side, then gasped when his shoulder throbbed with pain. "Ah!" he shouted as he flinched and pulled his right hand over to the aching area. Ben looked concerned as he sat up slowly again. When his eyes scanned across to his left hand, it wasn’t there! The whole arm, he soon figured out, had completely vanished. He stared, tear-eyed and confused, at his sibling who told him that his arm was cut off (ripped off seemed too harsh of a term to use). Ben couldn't believe this. He could feel the nerves in his arm from the fingers to the collar bone emitting an agonizing cry of pain to his mind. A while was spent with him trying to convince himself that his limb actually was there. He had to painfully move his broken arm through the empty space where it should have been; searching for what he could not see. Finally he gave up. It was very strange; he couldn't remember how it had happened. The last few weeks, or were they months, were all in a sporadic daze that he could not make sense of. He gulped, "How did this happen?"

"The doctors said they don't know. I just checked with the coppers, but they said they weren't able to give out any information on the case." Jonny declared disappointedly.

"The case?"

"Well it is quite a mystery how your arm came off."

Ben nodded slightly as he kept glaring about the room. He was absolutely sure he was dreaming, or dead. At some point Jonathan began rambling a long list of excuses for why Mother and Sis couldn't be here, but Ben did not catch a syllable of it. His attention was bought by a sensing in his mind, a nervous feeling that he was actually alive, and that his encounter with doom was still not nearing a finish. Dread seeped over his thoughts as this sense was affirmed by a glitter in the corner of the room. It held his gaze until Jon left; assuming Ben to be asleep. But Ben was far from sleep. He was looking upon his failure and his doom. The arm that touched this beast was now separated from him. The thought made his unreal arm hurt all the more.

When it left, Ben was torn between longing to see the thing again and hoping he never would. He knew the rules now. He knew the total cost, but he knew that when the choosing comes, he doesn't seem to know the cost well enough to deny a touch. Ben slept a little, with uneasy dreams. He often awoke spastically to noises he thought were death, but in fact were nurses bustling about. Then there was a scream. So loud and agonizing it was. Then a thump just outside his door. So sudden that Ben jerked around, afraid he would see his doom. But death was elsewhere and at this moment doom was under another’s fingertips. The scream came from a nurse who had stumbled upon her colleague’s body in the open hallway, head clean off, eyes still staring. The blood quickly spread to the coin, who savored the touch as it was camouflaged in red. This of course soon brought much commotion in the hallway for the next few hours. Ben tried to look like he was asleep as he listened to the police enough to figure out what had happened. He caught a glimpse of Jones, and hoped the detective would leave him alone. He saw with his eyes half closed Jones giving him a stern glare. Suspicion was in his eyes. Could Jones actually think he did this, too? When the police left, he was frantic, and tried to leave, but couldn’t easily stand up yet.

The devil walked in then. Ben nearly cried out. The devil looked just enough like the man in Ben’s house those months ago to be recognized. But now every feature of his empty body was cruel. A few of his demons stood and stared at Ben for fifty seconds. One looked similar to a wolf, but evilish and it stood up like a human. “I will explain to you how your end will come,” Satan said. He spoke then in a strange, foreign voice. Ben could not move. “You will see your brother fall to his master. He will die poorly, with no hope. Then you too will perish.” Ben wanted to shout at him, or cry, or faint, but he was frozen. Finally, a single tear of despair fell down his face. He will die just as his father did, as will his brother that he so loves. Satan smiled. “Sleep well.” He said, then left.

Ben laid there, still paralyzed with fear, for some time. Eventually He sat up. A day passed with him staring at the wall. Then Jonathan walked in. Relief flooded into Ben’s veins, but it did not cure his unease. Jon made another smile. "How's the arm?" He asked, immediately regretting it.

Ben noticed that his arm was missing. Again, came the unceasing tide of aching to his nerves. The first stab jarred him, but he managed to blurt out, "You mean the lack of one?"

Jon meant the broken arm, but he quickly said, "I guess so. Is it bad? Do you need some beer?"

"A beer'd be nice.”

Two mugs came back with Jon. Ben accepted one gratefully. At the very least, it distracted his body from the pain, and his mind from the overwhelming fearfulness. Unfortunately, though, self-directed disgust has no such easy remedy. The alcohol seemed to only make this worse. They of course still talked and laughed as brothers do. Jonny did well in not bringing up his brothers’ lack of limb. He didn’t even look at the stub like all the passersby did. Even the nurses stared; it was an ugly, jagged wound, and extremely difficult to mend or cover up.

The whole time Ben could not stop thinking about how much he loved his brother. This slowly began to increase his guilt. His brother noticed, and was sorely confused by it. Jonny didn’t bother to ask what was causing this, but he knew that the only time he’d ever seen Ben have this same fear and doubt and possibly guilt on his face was when their dad died ten years ago. The issue seemed far less important than Ben’s physical condition now, though.

Ben’s view was somewhat opposite this. He was sad, and he was sick. He had failed Father and himself. His father left him, and his brother was currently leaving. Jon walked out into the mopped up hallway with promises of returning. Gone altogether, he would soon be.

 

11
Helen took her time to answer the hard knock on her door. Where were the servants when she needed them? At the door was a nice looking man in a police uniform. He introduced himself as Theodore Jones, Detective.

"What do you want, Theodore?" She demanded.

"First of all, ma'am, I wanted to offer my condolences for the near death of your son. It must have been very terrifying for all of you." Jones said.

"Yes" she said unconvincingly, "Jonathan is at the hospital now looking after him."

"Oh I, in fact, just came from there myself. He looked asleep." Jones assured her. "And I also wanted to ask you a few questions about your son."

An annoyed, knowing expression was on her face. "Alright."

He began, "Do you know how he wounded his arm?"

"I've no idea." She replied.

"Does he ever visit you from time to time?"

"Visit?" She laughed. "No, I haven't seen him since he was 19." Her face only hinted of regret.

"Oh, well what was he like while he was living with you? Was he strong for his age?" He asked.

"He was fine." She replied flatly. "He was a good boy; always did what he was told, but really detective, if you came to ask if he killed Lewis, then ask."

This took the man off guard. "Alright, do you think he killed your husband, ma'am?"

"I," she started, but then paused as if really pondering, then finally answered, "I don't think there are any others who could have possibly done it. You know what the police found. There were no tracks other than Lewis' and Ben's going in or out of the wood. The only reason they didn't convict him was because he was a child. This case is ten years old anyways. Why are you asking me all this?"

"I understand all that, ma'am. I just wanted to be sure from his own family."

She looked angry then. "Why don't you talk to Jon. He's the only one who thinks Ben is really innocent."

"Then what does he think happened?"

"I don't think he even ponders what happened. He just needs his brother, but it's highly improbable that he actually believes what Ben told him had happened."

The detective was suddenly very intrigued. "And what did Ben say?"

A look of disbelief that he had asked that crossed Helen's face. "That a monster appeared and hit him on the head and then disappeared again."

Jones was a disappointed, and he left politely to resume his police work. But he still didn't think it was possible Ben killed his father. Something was out of place. An image of the decapitated nurse outside Ben's room flashed into his mind. He shivered and wondered if that was coincidence.

 

12

Jonny came back many times the next month. Each time Ben didn't look any closer to being healed. Indeed, he felt worse and worse always seeing his brother. The fear and guilt of Jon dying never left his mind. And each time Ben was determined to warn him of the doom, but never knew how. Being warned didn't help him in the end, anyways.

Jon brought a gift one day. "They're from Mom and Sis," he lied. In the box were chocolates.

Ben looked surprised. "Tell her thank you." he said.

Jonny nodded. An odd silence followed that they weren't used to. There was simply nothing more to talk about besides what they had both been putting off saying. He eventually added, "She hopes you're getting well." He lied again. The statement greatly lightened Ben's mood. He might as well keep up the lie. "She wants to know what happened to you." Then Jon's eyes focused on something glittering on the far corner of the window sill. He squinted, it was a coin. That's funny; he hadn't noticed it before. It seemed like he was staring at it for a long time.

"That's nice of her." Ben said suddenly.

"What?" Jon snapped back to Ben's reality.

"You, or Mom, wanted to know what happened to me." Ben said, "And what happened was I went to live alone and look for Dad because She didn't like me or believe what I said."

Jon still looked confused. "Oh" he said awkwardly, "I think she meant what happened to your arm," remembering the conversation. Ben was silent. "Ben, what happened?" Jon needed to know. He glanced back to the sill: it was gone. Jon was getting a bit annoyed.

"Dad died be-"

"No." Lines of frustration appeared Jonathan's forehead. "Don't bring Father into this. Why do you always have to bring everything back to him? What happened to you, Ben?"

The lines transferred to Ben's face. "You wouldn't believe me."

"And why wouldn't I?" Jon shouted.

"Because it's the same reason Dad died!"

"Dad died because of you!" The statement caught Jon more of guard than his brother. That's the first time he had blamed Ben for the death of his father. He had always kept that thought at the back of his mind, not wanting to believe it was true. "I'm sorry, Benny. I didn't mean that."

Ben nodded, but he knew his brother meant what he had said, even if he didn't want to believe it. Tears were welled in four eyes. Eventually he said, "You’ll soon die because of me, too."

Jon's tears stopped due to concern. "What? What's going on, Ben?"

Ben replied as quickly as he could. "The man killed Dad with his scythe," at this Jon's eyes hinted of annoyance, "he cut off my arm, and now he's going to murder you. You have to leave!"

Jon was speechless for a moment, then got up and left. "You're such a child. How do you still expect me to believe that? Why can't you ever tell us the truth!" With that he was gone, leaving his frailed big brother alone on his hospital bed.

"No! You can't leave! Please don't leave!" Ben knew this was the last time he was going see his brother. "Don't touch anything!" Was all he could shout before Jonathan walked out the door.

 

13

Two days passed, and Jonny didn't return. Ben was without hope now. His broken arm was healing well enough, but the remainder of his other limb was still bloody. Doctors tried everything they could think of, but the shoulder would not heal. It had been grazed by death, and was therefore dead. Ben started to cry. He was terrified. He was a pathetic excuse for a human, failing everything he did. Why didn't God let him die earlier? He couldn't be of any actual use to an uncompromising God. He didn't deserve to live.

Then God came to him. Not in a reassuring, solid presence he'd felt before, but there nonetheless. Ben did not know whether to feel gladness, anger, or shame at the coming of the Creator. At this, the Spirit told him that He hadn't come back, because He'd never gone away before. The Spirit asked him what he felt. Ben couldn't help but feel a deep sense of love, but he said he didn't know. God said he wasn't asking about what his body felt, or what his emotions felt, but what he himself felt. Ben couldn't seem to place himself in his mind, so God asked him if he would like to know who his self was. Ben felt a spark in him then, as if to prepare his body for burning, but he was not prepared for this. This voice that he heard was weeping:

I have spent every moment of your life gazing at you, hoping you would glance back. You call yourself weak, and I know. I can see everything. You think that you're not worthy of my plans, that you are too weak to not sin, that you don't even deserve my attention now. I know you're confused, but I see you and I'm right by you even now. I see your sufferings; I always have. I see your pain and your hurt, and I know what you see is darkness, but I see light. I see yourself, and I see my child. I see your heart, and I see a beautiful longing. I see your mind that you have called sinful, and I see my creation. I look at your soul, and all I see is my son. I see glory. Whatever blemish you bring upon yourself is washed off with my Love for you. Dark cannot contain you! death has no say in you. I see your soul and I see everything I made it to be, waiting to burst out. I see holiness: pure beauty inside of you. I see your flesh, and I know it is weak, but I am strong in you. I took your weakness, and I threw it away. I already paid for your sin, and I burned it. It does not exist anymore. Why give failure even a thought? I see you, and I see love, for I am inside of you.

 

14

Ben got up, and walked out of the hospital, tears gushing like rain. He sped to his house, tearing off the cast as he ran. He found his horse still grazing there in the back. With it he galloped to the city as fast as he could. Jones and death both saw, and were greatly intrigued.

Jonathan looked very surprised when his brother showed up at the door soaking in sweat, tears, and blood.  Ben hugged him tighter with one arm than he ever had with two. He didn't care what Mother was thinking when she saw him in her house. "I love you, Mother," he said, then walked past her to Jonny's room. Jones got to the door then, very politely invited himself in, and ran ahead of Helen.

Where was that wretched coin? Ben was afraid he wouldn't be able to see it anymore. He also had no idea what to do once he saw it.

Jon came in after him, saying "What are you-" but then stopped, as his gaze hit something hidden from other’s eyes. Death waited in ambush as vengeance came closer. The wretched boy and his kin were almost here now. He would finish the entire family off today, one by one. The boy coming here was unexpected, but the more the better death thought, as it often did. There will soon be much blood.

The coin now showed itself visible to both children. Good, this should be very interesting to see who will go first. Satan became a spectator as well.

"Jonny." Ben addressed his brother's sudden quiet. Then he followed his gaze, and there the thing was. Ben was again immediately tempted to reach to the floor, and pick it up, but he was able to put the thought out of his mind. He remembered his brother's life was on the line now. Almost worse than the temptation, now was the fear of death. "Jonny, listen to me," Ben said loudly, "You cannot touch that coin."

Jonny slightly acknowledged him. "It looks so familiar." He said to himself as he stepped forward.

"No, Jonny! It will kill you!" shouted Ben. The detective and Mother rushed in behind them, worried.

Satan quickly grabbed this opportunity and whispered, unseen, in Jonathan's ear. "He wants it for himself. Hurry!" Jonathan listened. He sprang over to the coin.

Everything was moving so fast. Ben had to make a decision, and he knew what it had to be. The fear that kept building up could not stop him. He dove faster than he knew he could, stretching out his arm to the coin before his brother did. Its retribution was descending before he stood up, but he turned in time to face death. With his only hand he grabbed hold of the approaching menace, despite its quickness, and flung it into the wall behind him. Death hit a wooden beam, uncomprehending that a human could move that fast. His weapon clattered beside him as he fell to the floor.

Slowly, the boy bent down to the scythe. No time was wasted. He brought the heavy rock down onto death. The creature writhed in pain, then stopped moving after a second hit. Ben's world slowly settled to normality. He realized his mother was screaming. Jonny was frozen in place. Ben looked down, and saw the coin still on the ground. He picked it up, and closely inspected the face. Finally he recognized it as his own. It was a strange version of himself, though. "This is your flesh." he felt God say, and he almost laughed. When he looked up to his family again, their eyes were locked on the coin, and they all looked rather horrified of what they saw in it. Jones, Jonny, Mother. A long pause followed until their eyes drifted all elsewhere, ashamed or confused. "Tell them my Truth, Ben. Tell everyone you can tell." Ben was happy to.

They had quite a nice dinner after that. Helen gave the maids a night off after they cleaned up death‘s mess, while her and her children all helped cook. Ben glanced out the window just as it started to snow for the first time this year. This was his beginning. "What's the day?" he asked his mother.

"December 1^st" she said.

End