Terror ...Weird or Witch?

There was terror in those in charge on that breathtakingly beautiful evening. Terror of being alone, terror of the darkness filling their imaginations with devils...
—Paulo Coelho

Fire Starter

Jesse’s a scary dude.

I took a walk with him one night and every streetlight we passed went out. I got this picture in my head of a pathway with circles of streetlights in front of us and behind us only darkness.

“Watcha thinkin’ about Pete?”

James was staring at me funny.

“Just chilling.”

“Those peeps finally leave?”

I peeked out the curtains. “There’s a few stragglers—most of them went home, I guess.”

He snapped a tab on a can of beer and plopped onto the sofa chair. “Yeah, show’s over for tonight.”

“Where’s Jesse?”

“In his room.”

“That TV reporter keeps bugging us for an interview.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well that ain’t gonna happen.”

“Where’s this all going, J?”

He took a gulp of beer and stared at the curtained window. “Don’t know, don’t care. It’s Jessie’s call.”

“Why’d that lady have to run her mouth?”

“ Stupid broad…caused me so much grief this week. Tried to keep her from Jesse, but he knows, ya know—tells me go get her and when I do, he falls for her sob story. Next thing I know we’re all over the news.”

I watched James’ boyish face. He scowled trying to act tough but I saw fleeting emotions flicker across it like cloud shadows over a field. He was scared like me. We were both in too far to turn back now.

“Is Jesse going to make that speech?”

He nodded glumly. “Can’t stop him, but I think there’ll be trouble.”

“That reporter lady’s calling us a cult—said on the six o’clock news that we’re like the militias—that we’re dangerous.”

“That’s a joke. Still, I told Jesse to go soft on stuff —he didn’t listen—as usual.”

“The deputies are angry too—don’t like the crowds, but too afraid to do much for fear of causing a riot.”

“Oh yeah—let them try to shut us down—there’d be a riot all right.”

“I wanted to get some endorsements from the local churches, but that’s all gone south.”

“They don’t like outsiders. Suspicious, I guess.”

James crushed the empty beer can in his hand and tossed the crumpled metal onto the coffee table.

“Suspicious, you say—that don’t even come close. Hell, they just don’t want to share a piece of the pie.”

“It’s more than that J—they think Jesse’s a witch.”

“Cause he knows stuff—does stuff?”

I shrugged. James was getting wound up.

“Ya, standing in their pulpits, acting like little Popes—tellin’ people not to come out to the meetings for fear they’ll be corrupted.”

“You gotta cut them some slack J—it must seem weird to them—hell, it’s still weird to me.”

“What is it that Rev Smiley calls Jesse?”

I wince, but tell him anyway, “He calls him Beelzebub—says he’s into charismatic witchcraft.”

“Hah! —He should talk—that fat walking example of gluttony.”

“Shhhh. Don’t let Jesse hear you say that.”

“Don’t care. That tub of hog lard would be the first one to tar and feather us and run us out of town on a rail.”

“Still, Jesse said leave him alone.”

James’ eyes were black with rage. “The question is, will he leave us alone?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll bet he’s already gone to Tom Wade—you know, having the Sheriff on your side is half the argument in a burg like this.”

“You don’t know that, J.”

“Something wrong?”

I looked up and saw Jesse standing in the doorway. He spotted the crumpled beer can on the coffee table and frowned.

“Just had one,” J explained.

“Put it in the garbage, James.”

J grabbed the can and made his escape to the kitchen.

“You’re upset, Pete—what’s bothering you?”

I could have lied, but what would be the point? He knew me better than I knew myself.

“I’m just worried Jesse. The reporter’s stirred up a hornet’s nest and the Sheriff and Rev Smiley are out for blood—Do you think it’s wise to hold the meeting tomorrow?”

“What would you have me do, Pete?”

I hated it when he asked me questions like that. What could I say—I want you to run? That’ d be the truth, but it wasn’t in his nature—that was my fear speaking.

“If there’s so much opposition here, maybe we should respect the town’s leaders and move on.”

Jesse stared at me and looked right through me.

“Why do you listen to that voice, Pete?”

I felt stupid—poor, blind, naked and foolish. I wanted to die. I wanted to hide.

He looked stern and part of me inside died.

I failed him.

But then, I noticed he wasn’t staring at me, but past me.

I felt a shadow lift from my mind and a heavy, comforting peace descend and wrap me in a warm hug.

There was a burning in my chest and a confidence that almost made me swagger.

He smiled.

The next day the entire town turned out. The meeting tent was filled to overflowing and the people waited with an air of patient expectation.

Just after Noon, Jesse appeared on stage and began to speak quietly, in a normal conversational voice, but the hush seemed to magnify it like a loudspeaker and broadcast it to every corner of the town.

People he never met, perfect strangers, he greeted by name and revealed the secrets of their hearts. Everyone who opened up to him went away healed of disease and every emotional and spiritual infirmity.

One by one the townsfolk left the tent, tears of joy streaming down their faces. Until there was only one left—Reverend Smiley.

Finally, he too came forward.

Jesse sent James and I outside the tent while he talked with the Reverend.

“What do you want?” Jesse asked.

The Reverend seemed engaged in some inner struggle, but finally spoke. “Yesterday at Noon, I told you my son is at university in Kansas, ill with pneumonia—Were you able to cure him?”

“I was,” Jesse said.

The Reverend nodded and walked away.

He approached the Sheriff and gave him a sign.

The deputies set the tent ablaze.

In ten minutes it was over. The plague had been purged. Jesse was dead.

The Reverend and the Sheriff looked on with satisfaction.

Job well done, My People, the Lord spoke to their hearts.

Some church members brought the Reverend the news. They told him his son had recovered from his disease.

He smiled contentedly.

© 2025, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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