“We are legion!”–their voices screamed through this man’s bloody and bruised mouth. He flipped end over end and dropped back onto the bed, bouncing a couple of times on his back before coming to rest. He then shook violently up and down, spasms erupting across his body like an earthquake.
He managed to scream–“Help me!”-while shaking.
The crowd who had come to take him away (some had torches, some had swords, some had guns) removed the people who had been praying beside the man’s bed. He felt hands on him–rough hands. They grabbed him as he fought and struggled, but he wasn’t doing the fighting. Someone else was using his hands and fists to fend them off. It was no use. The crowd was just too strong.
The man felt shackles placed on his ankles and on his wrists.
The struggling started to cease.
The demons inside of him were going away. They were allowing him to be lifted up off the bed. They were allowing him to be led out of the room and into the street.
The moon was high in the cool autumn night.
A truck sat idling.
The man was forced into the back of the truck, as men gathered around him, chained him to hooks placed in the metal frame of the bed.
Slammed closed . . . to be continued next Sunday at 6 A.M. Did you miss a post? Check out the Category “Tales from the Blog” in order to catch up. Have a great Sunday.