The Curse Of The Moloch (14) Jeremiah Micaiah lay in the black void not seeing or hearing. His small world was a clean white-sheeted bed in the county hospital, surrounded by varied medical apparatus that monitored his heart beat, pumped him the breath of oxygen, removed the wastes from his body, and fed him solutions to sustain life. Slim plastic tubes protruded from his orifices, and thin electronic wires were attached to his chest and the top of his head. His right foot, heavily incased in plaster, was held high by pulley and rope. The hurt body was salved with healing ointments and partially covered with protective soft bandages. Jeremiah didn't see or hear Miz' Jezebel, his tearful mother, as she sat on a hard backed chair near his bed in the agony of her vigil. She did not complain of her discomfort nor did she accept any offer for the needed haven of rest for her weary body. Miz' Jezebel just sat in the hardness staring at her quiet son; her voice of prayer was her only solace. The poor woman's eyes were red with tears as she called out to the blessed Lordy for the healing of her son. "Lordy, Lordy," she pleaded again and again, but no answer was heard. She did not address any words to Jeremiah in his entombed mind, words that would help in directing his way towards the clearing of the wounded brain. Miz' Jezebel only repeated the call to the 'Lordy'. Miz' Jezebel, the vigilant mother, did not witness her son's awakening; she had taken the last bus back to the settlement for that needed rest. It happened that night about two weeks after Jeremiah's admittance. The dark hours of the night saw the emptiness of his curtained section in the ward; all was still. No noise was heard except the light snoring of one patient. Suddenly Jeremiah awoke with a scream from the depth of his throat. "They be comin' after me, they be comin' after me!" He clawed at his bandages as his wide-opened eyes stared in terror at his sight of ugly creatures of the nether world as they flew about him in the flutter of their tattered wings. The imagination of his mind increased in their torment by creating a volume of monsters in all their ugliness; creatures of horror in all their fiendishness surrounded and plagued him. "Git away... Git away." He screamed louder and louder as he tried to escape from their devilish tortures and curses. His loud terrified cries created alarm; it woke up the other patients and their frightened voices called out for help. The night nurse heard the tumult in the ward and ran to investigate. She saw the movement of Jeremiah and heard his screams of terror; the nurse tried to calm him, without success. She then ran hurriedly to the nearest phone and called for a assistance which appeared in the form of two other nurses and the duty doctor. The strength of the four was barely able to hold the struggling patient steady as the doctor injecteds anarcotic filled syringe into Jeremiah's body. The sedative took hold quickly and he plunged back again into the void. Then the nurses attended to his torn bandages and the adjustment of the scattered medical apparatus. After arranging Jeremiah on clean sheets, the nurses banded his arms and body, holding him taut to the bed. The only sound heard from him was the ejected deep asthmatic breathing from his hurt body. Jeremiah awoke early the next morning in the fog of injected sedatives; and his body floated on their vapours. His sight was blurred, and when he saw the hazy white of the attending nurse his terror returned. He tried to scream out for protection from the fantasy of ghostly creatures of the underword that surrounded him, but his voice was stilled by the opiates. He tried to raise his arms for protection but the bonds restrained him. Jeremiah was forced to lay back on the white of the sheets, and to endure the cursed words and the wicked tortures devised by the devil and his consort of demons and shadow spirits. Other ghostly apparitions surrounded him. The attending doctor and orderlies, that administered to his wounds and burns were seen as attendandants of the fire god, the Moloch. The agony of terror raced through his demented mind; from thick lips he mumbled his fears. His crazed mind increased in its caprice, and fantasized being taken by them to the sacrificial burning pit. The imaginary sounds of the blare of horns and the beat of drums deafened him as their sound increased in its tempo. His terrified eyes widened as he stared at the spears of the holy men as they pressed their sharp sticks in his body; the hypodermic needle found its mark on his arm, and it pumped an additional dose of narcotics. Slowly the numbness entered his body and again he entered a deep sleep. Time was locked in the deep void; time was unknown when he reawoke. A new terror entered his imagination as he saw a blurred figure in the darkness of cloth seated near his bed. "The Moloch, the Moloch!!" he screamed inwardly as he saw in his hallucination a calf-headed figure staring menacingly at him; not of the reality of Miz' Jezebel, Jeremiah's trying mother. He only saw claws unfold as her embracing arms reached out to console. With all his deep strength he tried to pull himself from the bonds but to no avail. Terror increased and he let forth a clear howling scream. Miz' Jezebel, now a frightened woman, watched in the state of shock as she witnessed the nurses and doctors in their struggle with her crazed son; she was frozen in her stance, unable to speak or try to help. She cried out in helplessness as she saw the fight and screams of Jeremiah, and in the movement of the syringe as it pumped additional sedatives into his body. When all was still, Miz Jezebel dropped in the hardness of an offered chair and wept bitter tears. After that terrible scene Miz' Jezebel was advised not to visit her son until there would be signs of improvement in his mental condition. At first she protested, but with the horrible memory of that incident still fresh in her thoughts, she agreed. With a heavy heart, the stooped worn figure left the confines of the ward; her only comfort still remained in the belief in the Lordy's presence. Afterwards at the advice of the head of the medical staff, Jeremiah was placed in a solitary closed ward with a strong male nurse to attend to his needs. He was watched closely at all times but he showed no signs of improvement; instead the continuing illusions and fantasies increased his fears to the point of madness. Jeremiah lived in a cocoon of narcotics as his physical wounds healed in their slow pace. He was relieved of the rope and pulley but not of the bands around his body. Bandages were removed and the wounds showed signs of healing; and the reddened long scar on his right cheek was the only memento of the mine disaster. Only his mind cursed with the deep imagination of supernatural beings surrounding his being, plagued him and it needed the continuance of sedatives to calm him. A few months elapsed, and the medical board met and discussed Jeremiah's physical and mental condition. Physically, they agreed, that the patient had healed well in body. His mental state was cause for concern and it was decided on further treatment, namely a stay at the state's mental institution. But the busy and the careless minions of the hospital staff forgot or just did not bother to tell of their decision to Miz' Jezebel, the patient's worrying mother. Her black draped form was there at the gates of the institution almost every day, gazing with tearful eyes towards her son's ward. � Chapter Thirty Jeremiah Micaiah was embraced by a tight fitting straight-jacket that prevented any movement, and his mind was heavily sedated when the orderlies removed him from the bed and placed him securely on a gurney. His face was a mask of horror with wide staring eyes; and his head crowned with tangled hair. The crazed patient just turned his head from side to side, and from his silent mumbling lips was the sign of attempted speech. The orderlies didn't understand his movements, but they just saw a crazed patient carrying on in his madness. Jeremiah continued in his disturbed state, desperately trying to drive away the imagined creatures and monsters that flew about him. The day of his departure to the mental institutions was trying in the eyes of Jeremiah. He was strapped and secured as he was wheeled quickly through the wide corridors of the hospital; the passing sight of doctors and nurse in the white of their dress increased his fears. His frightened eyes stared at the supposed adherents of the Moloch as they neared him; his now bandaged mouth was sealed and he was unable to call out his terrors. The crazed figure watched in fear as the wor shippers brought him to the pit of the sacrificial fire; struggle was useless in his bound state. Jeremiah was then lifted into a waiting ambulance; his body secured and guarded. As the ambulance drove with the wail of it sirens, he screamed inwardly, "Yah, yah Moloch!" in an attempt to placate the god and to prevent his sacrifice. Terror increased as the vehicle sped along the byways of the city to the institution; each flash of light through the windows was seen in his demented state as the signs of the reflected sacrificial flames. The long broad driveway into the grounds of the mental institution looked strange in the eyes of Jeremiah with its manicured lawns and coloured flowerbeds. He struggled in his bonds with fear in his eyes as the hushed tones called out, "Don' take me, don' take me!" He called mutely over and over again. His crazed imagination placed him on the grounds leading to the place of worship to the Moloch. As the ambulance drove through the driveway, he saw the blue gowned attendants of the temple; the servants of the god were walking around the grounds, some with their arms folded akimbo and their heads bowed as they muttered prayers. Then he saw, in the horror of his deep garbled fantasy, white garbed ghostly images neared and herded the servants of the temple to the gates of hell. Jeremiah's maddened mind was deeply confused as at first he saw the attendants of the god and now the keepers of hell. His crazed eyes stared widely at his imaginative sighting, but before he was able to call out a warning to the humble servants in blue, the ambulance stopped with screeching brakes in front of the entrance to the portals of hell. Jeremiah Micaiah entered into the depth of the nether world as his straightjacketed body was placed in a padded and securely locked room. He saw the eye of Satan staring through the thick frosted glass of the door; the devil coursed his gleeful sight on the miserable figure as he thought of other torments to inflict on the trapped sinner. Torments came quickly with the sight of hefty male attendants that entered the confines of his room; they removed the confines of leather and heavy cloth. Then they tore off his foul pajama pants, scrubbed the wastes from his body and dressed his body in clean linen. Afterwards they wheeled in a gurney which the placed the re-secured form of Jeremiah. He was wheeled into a small examining room, empty except for a large white stainless steel table covered with a white sheet. Jeremiah was relieved again of the jacket, grabbed by his arms and legs by the attendants of the temple and strapped on the coldness of the altar. Suddenly he was immersed in a white light that bathed the room in brightness. Fear engulfed him as he saw the high priest emerge from a darkened anteroom, and slowly approached the altar; the examining doctor scanned his records as he walked towards him. Jeremiah watched as he addressed his two faithful servants, and on his command they stood aside and held their arms akimbo. The fantasied figure of doom called to him on the name of the devil, "Jeremiah, Jeremiah Micaiah!" The crazed patient didn't respound to the call of the psychiatrist who was trying to make an initial contact with him. "Jeremiah, Jeremiah Micaiah, do you hear me," the ghostlike voice called out again and again but his fear deafened the sound. The patient was then injected and he drifted back into the void. Jeremiah Micaiah's long days of treatment was the same with added misery of having a tube shoved down his throat as he was force fed the nutriments to sustain his body. He also had the daily torment of being thrown on a cold slab of marble and devoid of his bounds and clothing, and having his body vigorously scrubbed; there was the added discomfort of having his head sheared baldly. Two years elapsed and Jeremiah, continual shorn and scrubbed, endured the misery of remedial treatment. His body endured electric shocks, cold pressure showers, and the rest of the kindly medical practices; through this agony of remedy the psychiatrist was slowly able to make contact with Jeremiah. The doctor probed the mind of his patient who was strapped securely to the examining table during the examiniations. With patience he found the way to enter the recesses of Jeremiah's mind. The patient responded slowly telling of seeing imaginary creatures and devilish monsters that plagued him with threats of sacrifice and damnation. The physician understood from the limited talks that Jeremiah's madness were caused by torments of these fantasies of the mind; with the aid of an electric shock he punctuated the spelling out of these vivid imaginations by his patient with a charged pulse. The burning force of the electric shock caused anguish to Jeremiah, and the thought of its torture caused him to have tremors. The psychaitrist continued in this torturous treatment - the name of the Moloch, the fire god on Jeremiah's lips followed with an electric shock - the name of Satan and of the other creatures of the nether world resulted in further charged pulses. Slowly these names were not uttered for fear of the buzzing shock. The doctor was satisfied by the treatment and the electric charges were slowly stopped; Jeremiah's physical bounds were then replaced with the restraint of various opiates. He was then placed in the secure section of those deemed curable. Jeremiah, with a slight tremor in his limbs, was able to attend to his simple duties of eating, washing and dressing. He was allowed the freedom of the ward. In this way he understood the boundaries of his confinement. Jeremiah exhanged a few simple phrases with other patients; and even grinnned at the attentive words of the orderlies. The correct pills were perscribed and nurses were on hand to ensure their consumption. Medicine that healed partially his insanity but left untouched the mental scars buried deep down in his demented mind ready to resurface. The continued treatment, that Jerememiah received, were only hour-long talks that probed deeper into his mind. He respounded well and the psychiatrist were satifisfied. In fact, the practitioner thought it to be such a strange case that he wrote a paper on his patient's crazed mind which he detailed his so-called psychiatric treatment; it was presented to an attentive audience at a seminar at a local university. The satisfied psychiatrist allowed an added measure of comfort to Jeremiah; he was alloted the limited period of monthly visits of Miz' Jezebel, his long-suffering mother. She saw during her short visits a creature of horror, one with a shaven skull with a constant silly grin on his features; a mentally deformed figure with a widened smirk that spread till it reached the reddened scar on his right cheek. She was appalled at the slowness of his speech not understanding his calming sedatives. Her talk to her son was simple in nature with its center of conversation on his health, wellbeing and on his somewhat quiet life in the institution. Sometimes she added a word or two on the life in the settlement and to give a note of best wishes from a neighbor or kinfolk. After an hour or so of the allocated time for the meeting, Miz' Jezebel would make her leave carrying her burden on the heaviness on her mind as her fleshy body on veined bloated feet made their way to the exit. At various times Jeremiah was allowed to walk arounds the enclosed gardens of the institute. With a baldhead bent and arms akimbo he shuffled on slippered feet through the paths around flower beds and shrubs. The other blue-gowned inmates liked him. There was little exchange of conversation; just the eye-catching projected through the fogginess of their drugged minds. Physically strong orderlies were on hand to insure their wellbeing; and those who gave the indication of trouble were forcibly removed. Jeremiah lived another year under the protection of the state, receiving the necessary treatment. Drugs were lessened to the daily doses of needed opiates, and slowly but slowly, he started to return to a partial state of normalcy. In his twenty-seventh year of his life he was shaped and formed into a man of the middle years. His chunky body was gross, being filled with the bland foods of the institute; his mind was in a constant foggy state, doped with the prescribed narcotics. There was little treatment offered for his miner's lung and the signs of the illness were seen in his puffed face coupled with thick lips and a veined nose. The psychiatrist looked at the medical chart of his patient and he was pleased with the results. Jeremiah respounded well to the treatment; and in the able doctor's astute opinion, the patient was ready for discharge with further care at the outpatient department at the county hospital. Jeremiah received a final checkup; and he was told of the good tidings of his so-called improved mental health. He was warned to take the assorted pills at the correct times prescribed; the patient nodded his response and smirked at the news. As the doctor looked at Jeremiah's idiotic features, he made a mental note to remind his patient's mother of the required medicaments. The psychaiatrist signed the necessary forms and Jeremiah was readied for discharge. He was placed in an open ward where his freedom of movement was not restricted. Miz' Jezebel, his trying mother, was notified and the date of release was indicated... ...And the bars of the narcotics held tight the fearful demons, shadow spirits and creatures of hell in the deep prison of Jeremiah's mind, waiting for release. � Chapter Thirty-One Two pathetic creatures walked the gravel path leading to the exit of the mental institution; they were pictured in the care worn form of Miz' Jezebel, an aging and troubled woman, and Jeremiah Micaiah, a sedated figure with a constant grin on his puffed face. Their pace was slow as they treaded heavily on gritty stones of the path. The elderly quard uttered a soft farewell as he closed the heavy iron gate. The couple continued on their way along the road to the nearby bus stop where they waited patiently for their transport. The sight of the two was amusing to the eyes of a few passers-by; they looked at the strangely dressed Miz' Jezebel bedecked in the outlandish garb of the hills, and Jeremiah clothed in ill-fitting clothes that choked his bulky body. 'Hillbillies' was the word that came into their thoughts as they laughed inwardly. But to those who cared it only invoked pity; the picture of the two with the background of the mental institution told of the sorrow. They knew it could only be a pathetic mother walking with her crazed son, a sight seen numerous times. The bus came quickly and they boarded. Jeremiah found the seats, but Miz' Jezebel held back as she had an argument with the bus driver, "Paid less when ah came h'yar in th' mawnin'... now yer chargin' two more dollars fer th' ticket... t'aint fair!" The bus driver argued back and explained of different routes and times. But Miz' Jezebel held firm and in the end the frustrated driver gave in to her demands and he coupled his defeat with mutterings on his lips. Then in anger he shifted the gears, and with a jolt, shot foward in the continuance of his route. The bus ride back to the settlement in the hollow was long and tiring with frequent stops and changes. They sat in their seats without the exchange of words; Miz' Jezebel stared ahead without seeing as her thoughts were on the misery on the future; Jeremiah just stared at the passing sights, and made motions or sounds at an inte-resting view that amused him. At the stops they only took a sip of water in the rest rooms, and at one point Miz' Jezebel treated herself and her son to a small bag of stale shelled peanuts. The parish center was reached in the lateness of the day, and Miz' Jezebel, tired and worn, sighed in relief at the blessed end. As they embarked there was no exchange of conversation with the hangers-on near the general store. One or two gave a nod of recognition but the rest stared as the tired woman retrieved her meager parcels and her son's tote bag from the storage compartment of the vehicle. The she harshly grabbed her son's hand and uttered the first words, "C'mon let's git home... me back's a' tired an' me feet hurt.. Gimme a' hand wi' yer bag.. tis' mighty heavy." They turned their travel worn feet to the dusty path that led to their grand house; they slogged quickly as the dusk of the early evening spread and cloaked the community in dimming light. Jeremiah, despite his foggy state of mind, took notice of the community with its shotgun shacks built within the cut stands of stunted pine; and he slowly realized that he was no stranger to the area. The clarity of his mind evolved and he was able to mark out familiar scenes, the forest riding the worn hills, the whitewashed chapel ready for the faithful and the familiar dwellings of his neighbors and kinfolk. "Golly maw me thinks we're back home, aren't we!" he slurred. Miz' Jezebel, his relieved mother, heard the blessed words, and on her worn and lined face a glimmer of hope beamed forth. Along the way the black coated corpulent figure of the good preacher of their chapel was encountered, and he greeted them with a cheerful tone. Miz' Jezebel was thankful for the chance meeting as she was full of misery and grief. The dam burst in her pitiful soul and she let forth a seemingly endless stream of sorrowful words; whereas the good cleric listened patiently and uttered the correct phrases of commiseration in return. After a while the good preacher addressed Jeremiah, and the young man answered to the best of his simple mental ability. A pause ensued. Then the man of cloth glanced at his dollar watch and exclaimed, "Oh my my, time's a'going.. got t' hurry along as th' good woman be a'waitin'" With a few pious words for the Lordy not to spare his might in the healing of the woman's son, he bid a cheerful note of departure. Miz' Jezebel bid farewell to the good cleric and Jeremiah only smirked. Then they both returned to their trek along the dusty road. The remainder of the two-odd mile walk was quickly consumed, and the sight of the grand house was seen through the evening gloom. A few short paces and a climb of three steps and they were on its splintery porch. Miz' Jezebel, without a thought to herself, told Jeremiah to make himself comfortable on the rickety cane chairs set near an unstable but usuable deal table, "I'll rustle up a pitcher ov freshin' lem'inade from th' cooler... an' a bit ov baked goods... back in a' jiffy". With out an extra word she scampered from her son's sight and bustled to the kitchen.
Go to part: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23
Copyright © 2002 Norman A Rubin |