Possessions of the human kind is not just of the mind but of your very soul-a
soul which can be sentenced to either heaven or hell…there is no in between.
What you must know prior to reading this book is the very things which
happen to the characters may happen to you. What completely inhabits them is
fully able of overtaking you if you do not have Jesus Christ in your heart. It is a
possession…a possession of the human kind.
Some of this story is based on actual events.
It’s November in Humanity Ville and sun has not peaked its warm embrace in
town for years. Those living in the up and coming town think nothing’s peculiar
about it nor the fact no one has moved to their town for years…until now.
A stranger walks up the paved Main Street of Humanity Ville in her heels and
long, flowing dress set for an interview at “The Hope Psychiatric Facility” in the
heart of town where men, women and children veer away from due to its dark,
ominous appearance regardless of its name.
The nostalgic town is well built with wooden walkways and buildings almost
set back to the 1800’s. There is a Barber shop, and High School lined along the
walkways with practically every store in town intermingled with homes and an old
abandoned building people say is haunted.
Yet the feeling is palpable that no matter how the town appears what worries
the people is what’s unseen and only underlying beneath the surface.
Shivering, the woman continues up the slippery paved road towards a hill
passed the unfriendly spectators who wonder why this gorgeous, blonde hair and
green eyed woman carrying a suitcase wants to step near the very facility they all
avoid as a plague. Some think they should warn her and say, “Turn back now!”
But, they’re quiet all the same.
The rain pours down unexpectedly beating onto the woman so she runs under
the doorway of the nearest corner store dragging her heavy suitcase on the
ground. The fog slowly thickens through the streets while those standing around
suspiciously watch her then back away keeping their distance.
Smiling she touches up the pink lipstick on her full lips with her pink finger.
“Hello.” She said in a welcoming tone sweeping the droplets of rain off her
forehead unknowing the trail of mascara dripping down her cheeks.
Yet her kindness is only tossed aside and shattered by a window of silence.
Puzzled, the woman remains under shelter from the storm squeezing the water
from her purple dress which is sticking to her, then slings her purse over her
shoulder. Looking at the time, on her now broken watch, she realizes how
important it is to make the interview no matter how the weather conditions are.
Hesitantly, with a deep breath, she sighs then heads back into the rain as the
thunder crashes and lightning flashes. The fog grows thicker throughout the
streets while the woman struggles to see through the haze and walk.
The rain continues beating down upon the strange, new woman while she
prays under her breath, when oddly the rain suddenly ceases.
An old man in a plaid shirt walking with a wooden cane quickly hobbles
towards a barber shop when the young woman widely smiles.
In a kind, gentle tone she asks. “Excuse me sir? Do you know how to get to
the Hope Psychiatric Facility? I’m running a bit…”
Stunned, the old man glares at the woman then enters into the establishment
freakishly motioning to what seems to be the only barber inside who is African
American and a little skittish especially of white folks. The barber angrily eyes
the newcomer then steps outside, with a cane, and waves his ten inch sheers
standing on the curb of the corner of the street.
“Now you get on outa here lady! This is a town that stays to themselves and
this man he uh he aint done NOTHIN ya here? Nothin! You aint welcome here
so get on outa here ya here? OUT! All he wants is a doggon hair cut!”
Storming back into the barber shop, he calms the old man down as the
woman remains in the street furrowing her brow perplexed and confused. The
sudden outburst from the barber draws a small crowd of people who eye bawl
one another expecting and whispering that ‘This is just another trouble maker.’
The woman is clueless at what to do or say except smile at the children who
linger nearby curiously glaring at the head soaked woman.
As the crowds quickly disperse a little boy pulls away from his mother and
scurries into the street and up to the woman tugging on her wet dress. She looks
down at the small child who oddly points up the road then runs back to his
mother’s side. Jerking his arm correctively, his mother stammers off glaring
oddly at the sky above.
More to come. If you can’t wait, go to Authonomy.com and put this name in the search, “Possessions of the Human Kind”.