My Encounter with a Demon

About ten years ago, when I used to sell insurance, my boss had me accompany him to a small town about 80 miles east of where I was living because he had an entire day of appointments. He demanded that I drive him all over town in my spunky Tercel without offering a donation for gasoline. Distressed at having to follow his directions and not knowing precisely where we were, I was careful to observe landmarks; so that I could find my way back to the Interstate.

Later that afternoon, he directed me through a business district where the road sloped downhill and narrowed to a single lane on my left. As I approached the stop light, I noticed an odd boarded-up, ugly brown structure immediately to my left. A low, boxy rectangle of a building sat on the corner of a not-quite-busy thoroughfare. I noticed how strange it seemed that there were no windows on either side of the building. As I slowed down for the red light ahead, I had a sensation that the building site had once been used to lock up men-men in chains. As I slowed down to allow the car next to me pull ahead into my lane, I glanced at the building again as certainty flooded my senses.

I felt the "vibrations" of someone in shackles calling out for help, "seeing" the shackles on the walls and having the distinct feeling this site had once been a place of torture. The feelings were more intense than that of people locked up. It had not been a jail. Not knowing how the area had been used in the earlier century, I had the feeling the place was extremely volatile. With a sureness that terrified me, an overwhelming sensation of horror filled me with a terrible knowledge. If I kept looking at the site, something bad would happen.

At that moment, the light turned green. Hurriedly, I pressed on the gas pedal to follow the three cars ahead of me, afraid of being forced to stop at the light. Seeing a shape rush at me, my car slowly moved sideways, as if a rogue wind had suddenly appeared. I fought the steering wheel, turning it with all my strength to hold onto it while the force attempted to push my car off of the highway. It was as if a giant hand had been placed against my car and shoved it.

Daring a quick glance at the shape, there appeared a diagonal of translucent light with the shape of a man inside, his mouth growing wider and wider, silently screaming violent epithets as he roared and blew his breath with gale force wind. Watching in disbelief as the mouth grew wider than his face, wider than the building next door, chills raced down my spine. At that point, my boss screeched, grabbing both sides of his seat to brace himself against collision. His mouth flew open in terror, eyes bulging and mouth drawn back, draining his face of all color.

My gut told me we could be killed, murdered and squashed like bugs against the opposite brick bank building sitting innocently across the street. There was no time to talk. I reacted from instinct, to protect us from this other-worldly force, pressing the gas down as the speedometer crept upwards to 35 miles per hour. As we passed the building and headed up a winding slope, reaction set in, as my body broke out into a cold sweat. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I began to tremble, having only the desire to immediately leave town. Fearing what I had seen may not have been the same as what my manager saw, I kept quiet, sighing audibly as I searched unseeingly for tissue, wondering what my manger's reaction would be.

When he sighed in relief, I snuck a quick glance at him, not overly surprised to see beads of sweat on his forehead. As he began to relax, we continued our silent trip around a bend in the road, thankful only to be away from the sense of doom. He suddenly spoke, saying he just remembered an appointment he had forgotten, demanding that I finish his appointments.

Astounded that he would leave me there all alone, I looked down at his appointment book, noting there were still three appointments to finish. Since the first appointment was closest, I pulled into the driveway, lulled into thinking this appointment would be a quick one. The couple pulled out all of their medicine bottles, asking question after question, successfully keeping me penned with anxiety filling my heart with visions of every superstition I had ever heard.

Two hours later, as the reds and yellows streaked the horizon, the sun dipped beneath the horizon; I hopped into my car and locked the doors, picked up my phone and without hesitation, cancelled the remaining appointments. The following Monday, I quit.

Although I have never been back to that small town, research revealed that the area had once been a prisoner of war camp during the Civil War.