The Devil's Canyon

At least his writer’s block had been completely shattered; he wrote every day until he ran out of food. He drove to town just to stock up on potato chips and soda. When he got back, he started his computer and typed for nine hours. He was trying desperately to capture the new intensity with words. He had had an intense vision that had begun with a military march leading to an execution.

There was something different about this march that he’d never witnessed before: the prisoners were dressed in white and being led by troops dressed in green, but it was the formation of these two colors that was disturbing. It was an evil formation, some sort of symbol. He knew in his gut what it meant—the symbol they created radiated evil. Evil was an ungrounded energy that pervaded the scene, a strange unsettling vibration that had a will of its own. As they marched, he realized that they were all completely possessed by this God forsaken energy.

The prisoners were not being touched or even guided by the troops. The green and white symbol that they formed was holding them all in place and moving them along. Where were they going? They were heading down a hill toward a fence. This fence had a name: the guillotine fence. The first batch of prisoners was lined up with their backs to the fence, and then their hands were tied behind them through the fence. Then they were all quickly beheaded with a sword. One prisoner sat on the ground where he had his arms and legs sliced off in six inch sections. When only his head and torso remained he strangely and calmly looked around at the audience. He’s still alive! the people realized in shock and awe, and then his head was cut off. Women screamed with grief!

This was evil in its purest form, and it was conducting events around the world. That is what Tom was writing about: the strange power of this evil and its unholy ability to rip a baby’s face off with a smile. With extreme intelligence, it found the most painful and disgusting things to be rather peaceful and pleasing. This evil was an actual pervasive entity. Tom found himself writing from its perspective, and it knew everything.

Finally, he clicked off his computer and took a long hot shower before getting into bed. He had even changed the sheets, but still felt strangely unclean. Before he fell asleep, he felt as if a hand was touching his leg, and then it whispered in his ear before flying off. He didn’t hear words, more of a clicking sound that reminded him of an insect. He saw the image of sand dunes under orange sunlight, but the light felt filthy and ancient. And that clicking sound was like some kind of communication used before words. It said, “I’m here.” Tom knew that was true and then fell asleep.