A Supernatural Diary

Abaddon and Sarah’s Visit

October 11, 2012
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I’d gotten the house in order finally, and my husband had taken my daughter to Chuck E Cheese’s. It’s important to get my daughter out of the house for these visits, because imagine what they’d say if my five (nearly six) year old went to school telling them that a gargoyle couple visited last night?

When the doorbell rang, I was surprised. They usually just show up in the entryway and yell up at me. The coffee was finished and I was ready, so I went down to open the door. There appeared to be no one there, so I stood aside and hoped I’d done it long enough. Then I shut the door.

Almost immediately, my entryway was crowded by the gigantic gargoyle.  I took an involuntary step backwards. When I agreed to this gig, I hadn’t really realized just how huge these men were. It’s one thing to write it, and another to be squashed into a small six-by-eight entryway with one. I’m glad he had his wings in, though. That would have been a disaster. Imagine trying to explain that one to your insurance company, “Oh, well, you see… I had a gargoyle over so I could write his story. He sort of got agitated and ripped out a couple of walls.”

I can hear you laughing, but the fact is, one has done it. They paid to get it fixed, but the contractors looked at me like I was loonyballs. Not so funny when it’s you. We pretended we were having our kitchen redone, but some things just can’t be explained in a way that makes sense to regular people. On the bright side, there’s that quality of disbelief working in my favor. People believe what they want to believe.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, and we’re all very grateful for what you’re doing here.”  His voice was deep and rumbled through his chest when he talked. I’m sorry to say, but I was afraid of him.  I’d like to say that this whole thing has made me more open-minded, but I have my own history.  I have a strange love-hate relationship with very big men. I love them. My husband’s six feet, and I’ve dated taller.

But I’m also easily frightened by big men. So there I stood, facing a big guy with black eyes like pits in his gold face. I was scared of him, and I was packed into a tiny space with him. Besides which, I was raised Christian, so I had a visceral fear of the possibility that he wasn’t some other race, but actually a bona-fide demon.

A musical laugh sounded from beside him. “Don’t let him intimidate you. He’s a pussycat.”

My eyes turned towards his wife, and I think I nearly fainted. I’m in my early forties, and I’m starting to look it. I’m having that ‘crisis’ that a lot of women have, so when I looked at her, I felt even worse. She was beyond beautiful, even though intellectually I knew she was older than I am.

I did my best to batten down the insecurity hatches and smiled at her. “You must be Sarah,” I greeted her. “Welcome to my home, both of you.” I managed a tremulous smile for Abaddon, too. Sarah was easy to smile at, because she looked almost human, but Abaddon didn’t look remotely human.

I led them up the stairs, trying not to realize that I’d forgotten to clean the smudges from my daughter off of the hand rail. Why did those idiots that owned the house before paint all of the rails white?

“Please, have a seat,” I invited, gesturing at the table. I’d set it with coffee and pulled out my best plastic table cloth for it.  That’s all we own now that we have a kid.

Sitting down, I got out my notebook. That’s the way I do these, I get the old notebook out and I take notes. Mostly just so that I don’t screw things up like who has what abilities.  I start to get confused after a while, since I don’t get to watch them use most of them, except in my imagination as I write the story.

“You know why we’re here?” Sarah asks, doling out coffee creamer for her and Abaddon.

“Of course.” Yes, I know why. “I’ll be writing your story as fiction.”

She smiled. “We need a historian. Too much of our history has been lost through the ages. If people think it’s fiction, they won’t go out of their way to destroy it or to demonize us. Perhaps one day…” She sighed. “Maybe one day we really will be able to come out to the world, and they won’t murder us because of prejudice.”

“Gay people were once murdered. They’ve survived coming out.” They both look at me, and I realize that I’ve just done what I’m best at… the social gaffe. I try to hide behind my root beer as I dig for a pen. “Sorry.” I find one, to my immense relief. “So let’s get started. I’m afraid I’m not the best at chit chat, and my husband’s not going to be gone all that long.”

Sarah smiled at me. “It’s okay. We were told what to expect.”

Great. My stomach sank to my toes. They had to warn people before they sent them over to my house, just in case I said something stupid. I know it’s true, and I realize that I’m a complete social idiot. But really… couldn’t we all pretend it wasn’t true?

I swallow my pride, “Who would like to start?”

They look at each other, and there’s warmth and love there that I once had in my marriage. Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband, but it isn’t always fawning looks and kisses.  Not that I expected it to be, but I want to be nauseated by their display, even though I’m actually just envious.

“I should start,” Abaddon answers, but Sarah cuts him off.

“Your history goes way too far back. We can bring some of it, but we should really start at when we met.”

At his nod, Sarah began.  As I listened, taking  notes on occasion, I realized that I was going to have to do some serious research. What the hell is “shallow water blackout”? I didn’t ask, because I didn’t want to ruin the flow of the story.  I listened for what felt like hours, and I could feel their emotions as they spoke.

It was another amazing experience. When I’d met Desiree and Hamish, it hadn’t been as powerful. They’d both looked like normal humans, nothing like this pair. They sat in my living room like movie characters, laughing and disagreeing as they told me their story. It was surreal.

They didn’t finish that evening, disappearing as my husband’s car doors opened and closed outside. I sat feeling numb, before quickly cleaning up, smiling as my daughter chattered avidly about Chuck E Cheese’s and how much she loved it.  I turned the coffee maker off and helped put her to bed, listening to stories about Barbie and the Popstar and how she couldn’t wait for the movie to come out.

There’s something disorienting about going from a world of gargoyles and werewolves, back to the real world, and realizing that those worlds intertwine more than anyone could ever imagine. If people knew what I know, would everything be different?

“Good night, Mommy,” my daughter told me, wrapping her arms around me. I fought down a wave of fear as I wondered what I might be opening my family up to by being willing to let these strange people into my home and my life.

When I went downstairs and began to write, though, I knew that I had to do it. Their stories need to be told, and we all have plausible deniability.  Gargoyles don’t really exist.

“How’d your meeting go?” my husband asked, believing I’d just had friends over.

“Great,” I told him. “I’m going to write now, I have some great ideas.”

“Okay, cool.” He kissed me on the head, and my heart warmed. It was a glimpse of what had been just a few short years ago.

I sat and stared at the blank OpenOffice document page on my screen. I wanted to run out there and hug my husband, but I didn’t know how. Not really. It’s so much more complicated when it’s your own marriage.

With a sigh, I started writing. As their story poured out onto the page, I realized that this was what I was born for. I love to write, and I knew then that I had a destiny.  I hadn’t really sensed it with the first book, but with this one, as I recognized the epic nature of their lives, I began to understand how our lives were all intertwined.

Fear ran through me. A familiar, old fear. What if I succeeded? Would the crazies come after my family?

The strangest part of all was that I could relate very well to Sarah. She was raised Catholic, and I was raised Seventh Day Adventist. But we were both exorcised to get rid of ‘abilities’ that our parents didn’t approve of. She had never really believed fully, but I had.

We both struggled with the fear that the gargoyles were really demons. Sarah was fortunate because she had a deep personal connection to one, but I’m not so lucky.  I’ve seen all the movies with the people whose eyes get covered in darkness and they turn into evil monsters. I was raised with the basic idea of fallen angels and that ‘demons really ARE real’. It’s hard to shake it off, even after I shook off the religion itself.

The next time that they arrived it was late in the night. My husband lay asleep upstairs, my daughter in her room sleeping.  I pretend insomnia for these late night visits, but they wear me out.

“Shannon?” Sarah prompted me. She had said something that I’d daydreamed right through. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

I’ve always felt that being honest was the best. I haven’t always managed it, but I’ve always believed it. So I told her the truth, “I’m still fighting the conditioning that says gargoyles are demons and tricking me.” I mean, let’s get it all out there, up front, right?

I was surprised when she smiled a sad, understanding smile. I figured she’d be offended. After all, ‘offending people’ is my unwanted middle name.

“I hear you. I wish I could help relieve that fear for you, but I experienced it myself. Maybe it will help if you pretend that you’re imagining it all.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I looked down at my notes. I’d written up to chapter 18 already, so I knew she could relate all too well to what I was experiencing. I looked up at her, and I felt my heart contract. She had suffered so much. I looked then at Abaddon. They both had.

“I’m sorry for what you went through.” I meant it, too. I wanted to give them both a hug. I know that I’ll never be able to do their story true justice, just like I couldn’t quite do it for Hamish and Desiree’s. But I determined right then and there that I was going to try, god damn it.

When they left that evening, I hugged them. They tugged at my heart strings. I hadn’t known them for that long, but when you sit and listen to the raw agony of a person’s story and watch them cry and hold each other, you can’t help it. You start to really understand them.

I’m still battling my Christian past. When they left for the last time, I sat and wondered if I had become an instrument of the Devil. Am I preparing the way for the apocalypse?

Then I shook my head. It’s funny how we can be so totally convinced that we’re worthless, so convinced that we’re just a regular, uninteresting person… and then sit and chew our nails off wondering if we’re an instrument of the Devil. Because you know… I’m just THAT important.

Beyond that, though, I know in my heart and my soul that these are good people. Decent people. They aren’t monsters, they certainly aren’t demons. We’ve accepted the teaching that they are, but that doesn’t make it so.  It’s awful hard in this world of ours to discover the truth, but there’s one thing I believe above and beyond everything else.

The heart knows.

Watching the genuine love between them made me reach out to my husband again.  I don’t believe that, if actual demons exist, they are capable of love. Abaddon and Sarah are obviously deeply in love.  We may hate them, but that doesn’t stop them from forming very human bonds of love with one another. And my heart sings for their joy.

The heart knows.

Anyway, I won a retreat up to Vermont in the end of October. It’s at When Words Count Retreat.  I’ll be there from Oct. 31-Nov. 2. While I’m there, I’ll get to stop in and meet with Thanatos and Alexis.  Their book is in the works. I’ve been told about them, and I’m excited to meet them.

Winning that retreat is excellent cover for my visit to them, too. Funny how things can come together almost perfectly, isn’t it? It will be amazing to see the places I’ve written about first hand. It’s all very exciting… and it’s all fiction, of course. Except I really did win the Retreat in the sweepstakes.


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    All posted contents of this blog are © 2012 Shannon Phoenix. All rights reserved.

    This blog is intended for entertainment purposes only, and any resemblance to any persons in any of the stories hereon, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental. These 'diaries' are a work of fiction and are not to be construed as genuine representations of the state of the world, the state of the author, or any other persons, places, or things.