Sandalphon - The Weaver’s Last Judgement Chapter 3

The low gray sky hung over the farm, threatening rain. I pulled a wet pumpkin vine up by the roots and tossed it in the wheelbarrow waiting between garden beds. A flock of Canadian geese squawked overhead, flying south for winter. I took in a deep inhalation of the late November air, drawing in the scent of rich soil. My rubber boots were covered in muck, and my sleek canvas coat was streaked with it too.

As I pulled another vine from the ground, my promise to the Weaver swam through my mind. I'd been distracted from my work with her since Halloween. Taking on two demons in a few days had left me gun shy, and I was in no hurry to continue with the process She'd outlined for me.

I knew I could not avoid her commands for much longer. Thanksgiving was in a few days, and the last thing I needed was for a demon to deconstruct my entire life because I'd been too focused on compost to obey Her.

I pulled out the last squash vine, tossed it into the heap, and grabbed the handle of my wheelbarrow. It had been two weeks since She'd spoken to me. At that time, I'd made an excuse that had resulted in her continued silence.

The longer I went without communicating with the sadistic spider, the more nervous I became. She didn't like to be ignored any more than I did. Despite my efforts to normalize my life since being possessed by the demon Lilith, I knew my avoidance would not end well.

I dumped the contents of my wheelbarrow onto the compost heap. With that done, I washed my hands in a standpipe and proceeded to harvest the last of the Brussels sprouts for Thanksgiving dinner.

As I closed the garden gate behind me, I glanced in the direction of the sheep barn. Atlas emerged with a cart stacked with hay bales. I waved, and he gave me a slight nod. His eyes were distant and his mouth was a hard line. He wore his usual fall work attire of bib overalls, a beige canvas jacket, and rubber bottomed work boots. The bare flesh of his head gleamed white in the dim sunlight, and I felt the urge to tell him to put on a hat.

We hadn't been on the best terms since the event in our bedroom. It wasn't like I could blame him for his distance. When he married me, doubt he’d expected to live with a dead woman who was routinely possessed by violent demons bent on consuming his soul. That didn't make his rejection any easier.

Adelaide's bus pulled up and stopped outside the house. She stepped into the driveway wearing her new puffy black coat, her flower print backpack slung over one shoulder. We walked up the stairs together.

"How was school?" I asked, holding the front door open.

"Meh. There are these idiot boys on the bus who yell in my ears and make gross jokes. But I got an A on my math test."

I cringed at the thought of the boys, violent rage boiling in my chest. Inside, we were met by the warmth of a low fire in the hearth and the smell of the crockpot simmering in the kitchen.

"I'll call the school to complain," I said, ready to bring down the furry of all the angels and demons onto their pubescent heads.

"I don't even know their names. Besides, complaining will only make it worse."

I gritted my teeth, my multidimensional mind slipping to realities where I could curse a man's genitals with just a cucumber and a dash of cayenne pepper.

"At least you'll have a few days off for the holiday," I said.

"Only one more day!" she said, walking upstairs.

Protecting my daughter from infantile morons motivated me to take action more than the threat of demonic possession. I set the Brussels sprouts on the kitchen counter and opened my mind to the Weaver.

"Is there something you can do about these boys?" I asked her.

Silence.

She was obviously still pissed at me for prioritizing gardening over her occult rituals. Whatever. I'd have to take matters into my own hands. I needed to go shopping for the holiday, and I could pick up a cursing cucumber while I was there. I walked upstairs, the old floorboards creaking under my feet, and opened my daughter's bedroom door.

"I'm going to head into town to do the grocery shopping for Thanksgiving," I told her. "Dad is out in the pasture."

"Can you get me some candy?"

"Uh... Okay..."

The last thing she needed was more sweets, but I took pity on her for what she'd been through at school. I quickly changed my boots and jacket and went back outside.

Atlas was throwing hay into the field for the flock. My heart hurt whenever I looked at him, and I didn't really understand why. The Weaver had told me I needed to commit to things. To the work She'd given me. To my life. To my husband. But as a person who was almost entirely disconnected from reality, I found it fairly challenging to commit to anything at all.

"I'm going into town to get Thanksgiving groceries," I said, walking up beside him.

My hand instinctively went to the small of his back and my body buzzed like it did whenever I touched him. He turned to me, his eyes lighting up in a way I hadn't seen since the demon almost ate him alive.

"Do you need anything?" I asked.

"A twelve pack." He'd been drinking a lot since Lilith.

I felt his existential pain through the tips of my fingers and pulled my hand away. I was failing at life, and I only had my own apathy to blame.

"Sure thing," I said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

He turned for another hay bale at just that moment. I missed his cheek, kissing the air. Atlas didn't notice my fumble and continued to throw hay into the pasture. I frowned, my stomach sinking.

"Okay. I'll be back soon." My voice sounded choked.

My shoes crunched on the gravel driveway, and I climbed into my twenty year old orange Chevy Suburban. It got terrible gas mileage, but I loved the clunky old SUV too much to trade it in for a new car. Which I was pretty sure the old me had really wanted.

My memories swam as I headed down the narrow gravel road and turned onto the highway into town. Being a fundamentally different human being than I'd been six months ago never ceased to give me psychological whiplash.

"Weaver?" I asked aloud. "I'm ready to summon the first angel tonight. I'd like to get it over with before it ruins Thanksgiving for my family."

"What are holidays to you, Anastasia?" Her voice broke through the hum of the tires on the road and the silence inside the car.

"My family likes to celebrate," I said. "These things are important to them."

"What is important to you?" she asked.

"I honestly have no idea."

A fallow corn field full of bent yellow stalks and brown soil sat on the right side of the road. To the left was a shrubby forest full of deciduous cottonwood trees that had lost all but a few shriveled yellow leaves. Mist clung to the road, lowering my visibility.

"Why do you celebrate them then?" she asked.

"I told you, my family likes them."

"You are incongruent."

"Of course I'm incongruent. I have no identity. Duh..."

I felt like a rebellious teenager whenever She spoke to me, but that was the relationship dynamic She'd set up, so it wasn't really my fault.

"Do you think it wise to summon the angel of the mundane while being incongruent?"

"It possibly be worse than the last two demons you sent me."

A truck passed on the opposite side of the road, the mist swirling around its knobby tires. My old truck shuddered from the air pressure.

"Why do you think I've given you the task of traveling the Trees?"

"I have multiple theories. One being that I'm dead and this is my life review. The other is that I'm in hell and you are the demon in charge of torturing me."

"Cute."

I passed a sign stating that I was entering Byron Creek population three thousand. I had the urge to turn on the radio to drown out the sound of Her voice, but then I remembered that I'd initiated the conversation.

"Why then?" I asked.

"You are MY initiate. I have important work for you that is only possible if you travel both Trees and unlock their meaning."

"Why don't you just tell me," I grumbled.

"You are weak, stubborn, and obstinate. You can't do anything until you have seen the truth behind your world."

"Can you at least give me a clue?"

Thunder cracked and lightening spread like a spiderweb through the gray sky. I gripped the wheel of the car. Why I argued with an all powerful entity like the Weaver made no sense to me, but I couldn't seem to stop.

"Here's your clue, Anastasia. Angels are no less dangerous than demons."

"What? Why? I thought angels were guardians. Now you're telling me they're dangerous!"

Silence.

"Great..."

I pulled into town and parked in the lot outside the grocery store. The big red sign in thick script letters hovered over the beige box of a building. I grabbed my purse and slipped out of the car.

At the entrance, I grabbed a shopping cart and began to move up and down the aisles, dropping supplies into it as I went. I was on mom autopilot, which was surprisingly effective at keeping myself and my family alive. Not quite as effective as appeasing the sadistic spider god who'd chosen me to do her bidding.

When I walked down the liquor aisle, I lifted a twelve pack of beer into the cart, my heart contracting. I hated that Atlas was drinking so much, but there didn't seem to be anything I could do about it.

At the checkout, I unloaded my groceries and waited while the clerk scanned each item. The girl at the cash register was in her early twenties with shoulder length blond hair and turquoise doe eyes. She wore a green apron pulled tight over a large round belly that suggested she might pop at any moment.

Her name tag said Sally-Mae, and I made small talk about the weather to alleviate the silence between us.

"What are your plans for the holiday," she asked, ringing up Atlas's beer.

"Just a cozy dinner with the family. How about you?"

"Oh, my fiancé is on deployment. So, I'll be spending the day with my parents. I just hope this one doesn't decide to join us before he gets home for Christmas."

"When are you due?"

"January first," she said, ringing up the last of my items.

"You've got time then," I said, putting my bags into my cart.

After I paid for the groceries and wished Sally-Mae a happy Thanksgiving, I headed for the exit. As the automatic doors slid open, a child barreled toward me, cutting off my path. I stopped short and the toilet paper on the bottom of my cart slid to the ground. The child had a bowl haircut, jeans with ripped knees, and a red flannel shirt. Her booted foot kicked the toilet paper across the linoleum floor, and she kept moving.

"Tara!" Her mother yelled. "I'm so sorry," the woman said to me. "She's such a Tomboy. She never stays still."

"It's fine. I had a lot of energy when I was that age, too.” I had no idea what I was like at that age. I barely had two memories to rub together of that far back in my life.

I grabbed the toilet paper off the ground, dropped it into my cart, and went outside. The sun was making its dash toward the horizon, leaving the world in a late afternoon haze.

I loaded the groceries into the car and got behind the wheel, looking out at the busy parking lot. Women of every age were bustling in and out of the grocery store. A few men were scattered between. I frowned, wondering what the angel Sandalphon could possibly do to ruin Thanksgiving.

Back at home, I unloaded the groceries and put them away. Atlas was still out in the barn as darkness fell. Adelaide was busy with her homework in her room. I went up to my art studio in the attic with a cucumber I'd purchased at the grocery store and prepared to curse the boys harassing my daughter.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" the Weaver asked me.

"I thought you wanted me to take responsibility for my life. This is me doing that."

"You should be summoning Sandalphon, not cursing middle schoolers."

I sighed, dropping the cucumber on the table I'd turned into an alter. For the last few weeks I'd been collecting artifacts between bouts of dissociation and extreme grumpiness. The alter was beginning to resemble the alters of the witches I embodied in various other timelines.

"Cucumbers are more useful in salad,” the Weaver said.

"Okay. I get it. You want me to summon an angel who's just as dangerous as a demon. What I don't understand is my actual motivation to do such a thing."

"Maybe I should confine you to one timeline, make it impossible for you to travel the astral plane or communicate with the unseen. Would that make you happy?"

"I don't know what would make me happy," I said, sinking into a ratty old yellow armchair.

"Guess what? I do. Now. You'll never be worthy of the power you are capable of until you do this work. Do you understand?"

"I understand," I muttered, rubbing my face with my hands.

I closed my eyes and let my mind drift until I landed in a timeline where I was a high level occultist. The information I needed downloaded into my brain like I was hooked up to a high speed internet connection. I suddenly knew exactly what would summon the angel Sandalphon into my art studio before dinnertime.

"I can use this cucumber for something," I muttered, standing from the chair.

A few moments later, I'd arranged my alter, sliced the cucumber and a finger, and muttered words of invocation in Latin and Hebrew. I smeared my blood onto the vegetable and spoke the angel's name. Distant harp music strummed in my ears, so faint I could barely hear it.

"Sandalphon?"

I listened intently, but all I could hear was the sound of strumming. The invocation should have worked, unless things just operated differently on this timeline. I frowned, worried I'd screwed up the spell.

With a sigh, I backed away from my alter and went downstairs to the kitchen. The roast had finished cooking in the crockpot and was ready to be served. After I dished everything up and set the table, Atlas turned off the TV and Adelaide came downstairs. The conversation was sparse and disjointed while we ate. It was as if no one wanted to be there. After dinner, I was left alone to do the washing up.

The next few days were a haze of housework and preparation for the holiday. On Thanksgiving morning, I made sure everything was ready to cook. We'd decided on rack of lamb, Brussels sprouts, mashed potatoes, soft dinner rolls, and pumpkin pie. Work on the farm didn't stop on a holiday, so Atlas was off with the sheep. Adelaide played video games with her friends in her room, leaving me to stress about dinner and everything else.

In the early evening, there was a knock at the front door. I went to open it, wondering who would come out to the farm on a holiday. On the other side stood a tall, blond, handsome young man, wearing dark jeans, wire rimmed glasses, and a wool coat, a leather backpack slung over one shoulder He bore a striking resemblance to Atlas and me.

"Mom!" he said, leaning in to hug me tight around the shoulders. Out of shock, I allowed the embrace without protest.

"Mom...?" I muttered under my breath as he let me go.

"It's been too long," he said, brushing past me.

I watched him drop his backpack on the sofa. My mouth was so wide with shock, I could have caught flies if there were a lot of flies in my house.

"Are you okay? I should have come home to see you after the accident, but I’m here now," he said.

"Oscar!" Adelaide said, running down the stares. She threw her arms around the young man who was presumably her brother.

How often does a woman find out she has an adult child she can’t remember giving birth to.

"Is that pumpkin pie I smell?" Oscar asked as Adelaide. The two of them walked into the kitchen, inspecting my work.

"There's a meat and cheese board in the fridge," I croaked, my mind racing a million miles a minute.

"Are you okay, Mom?" Oscar asked.

"I've been having memory issues since the accident," I told him. "I'm just a little confused."

"Why don't you sit down," Adelaide said. "We'll set the table."

I did as my daughter instructed and watched my children complete the final preparation for dinner. Atlas walked in from outside, scraping his boots on the welcome mat.

"Oscar!" he said upon seeing his son.

The two embraced, my new-to-me son towering over his father by several inches. Atlas slapped Oscar's back the way men do when they embrace and the sound echoed through the room.

My family sat at the dining table, and I watched them from the sofa, my mind still reeling.

"Anastasia?" Atlas asked. "Are you going to join us?"

"Yeah." I rose from the sofa and shuffled into the dining area.

"Mom's having memory issues," Adelaide whispered to her father. "I don't think she remembers Oscar."

"Of course I remember Oscar," I lied.

"I should have come home right away," Oscar said, grabbing my shoulder as I sat beside him. “But I’m here now.”

I closed my eyes for a few seconds, seeking out the Weaver. "Is Oscar Sandalphon?" I asked silently, almost able to believe that my summoning spell had created an entire adult child out of thin air.

"Perhaps... He is pretty tall."

The harp music strummed in my ears as my family passed dishes around the table.

"Why don't you say the prayer, Anastasia?" Atlas said. "Maybe you can ask your spider god to bless us." I could hear the sarcasm in his voice. Anger at the Weaver for making me tell Atlas about Her heated my face until I thought it might melt.

"Spider God?" Oscar asked.

"It's a long story..." I said, wanting to change the subject.

I proceeded to say a prayer of gratitude to a generic universal consciousness that was definitely not the Weaver, and then shoved an entire roll into my mouth.

After dinner, Atlas and Oscar watched football on TV while pounding beers and eating pumpkin pie. Adelaide helped me clean up for a few minutes and then answered a call from a friend, leaving me to do the cleaning alone. I watched my husband and son bonding over sports while I scrubbed a dirty pot.

A sharp surge of resentment and self loathing sliced through my brain like a hot knife through butter. I gasped at the pain, dropped the scrubbing pad in the water, and went outside through the kitchen door.

Cold air pricked my exposed skin as the whirling ball of self hatred throbbed in my brain. "I should have been born a man," my inner voice said. "Just like Tara the Tomboy. I'm all wrong. I shouldn't exist."

My thoughts shouted their insults, diminishing my feminine power until it was nonexistent. I sobbed and tripped down the back stairs into the waiting darkness.

"Weaver? Why? What is this?"

"Now you are beginning to see."