Monsters are Real
"A Samuel Light Story"
By John Pirillo
Monsters are real.
They hide in plain sight.
They hide under beds.
They hide in closets.
They hide in the uniforms of policemen.
They are hidden in the hallways of schools.
They are real.
I know so, because I've seen them.
But they're not like you think.
They're invisible to most people, except some like me, who are blessed...or cursed...depending on your viewpoint...and able to see the creatures.
Now you'd probably like to know what they look like, how horrible they are. My answer will not satisfy your need to know. Nor will it make you a braver person, nor a calmer person. It might, as a matter of fact, quite frankly, scare you to death. Though that...not literally.
You see monsters are not the things you see in movies, or on TV, or in the games you play. Not even in your imagination when you read a book or in the comics you purchase. No, monsters are real, not fantasy things made up by people to make money.
Monsters are people.
Like Saddam Hussein.
Like Jeffrey Dauhmer.
They are people who have died. Some horribly. Some of disease. Some in car accidents, train wrecks, plane crashes, or from gang murders. But for whatever reason a person dies, they are all faced with a choice...to go into the Light, or to go into the Darkness.
The monsters choose NOT to go into the Light. And the confused sometimes too. That's what brings me into the picture. To help those who may have chosen to go into the darkness by mistake. To help them get back on track. To align them once more with the Bigger Picture.
That tunnel of white light doesn't go straight to hell, but to heaven's door. Another world. Dimension where you never grow old. You never die. You never starve or get sick. The world we're all supposed to head towards when it's our time to kick this heavy costume...body...off and away and reach into the land where the true reality lies.
This whole world is an illusion. Just a stinking well made one. One that is sustained by ignorance and suffering. Some of it intended. Some not.
My name is Samuel Light. And I'm a detective. A spiritual detective.
I can touch something or someone and know what ever I'm supposed to know at that time...usually how to help them. Sometimes how to deal with them so I, myself, am not harmed. But usually to guide the lost souls who have decided to meander on the walkway of life and illusion, rather than waltz into the Big Hootzpah of Delight that God wants us all to jump into. Heart and soul.
I do this work for a living. But I also do it for love. I usually don't make a lot of money. The people I help don't usually carry cash on them, nor have a bank account. In fact they don't usually have a physical body, which kind of complicates my life when I, who have a physical body, need to buy something to eat or drink, pay my taxes, my rent, or put gas in my car.
But that's not what this story is about. This is.
It was hot. Usually is in August. Smashing down into every cell of your body, making you feel like the proverbial turkey in the oven. Except that's it not an oven. It's Nevada. Las Vegas, Nevada. Maybe not as bad as out in the desert itself, but since Las Vegas is sprawled in one of the hottest deserts on the planet, it should come as no surprise to anyone, that this place can stew your gizzard as surely as a soup pot does.
"Eventually." I said.
Jimbo wiped his mop of hair and his forehead with one of his hammy fists, and then eyed me uncertainly. "This isn't one of those philosophical times, is it? Because if it is, I'm going to apply for my vampire's license and suck a little blood here."
He wasn't kidding.
We were both totally dehydrated. Squished dry by the lack of moisture in the air, on the ground and in our bodies. I was all up for just lying down and dying, but Al...He's my invisible friend.
Oh, didn't I tell you about him yet? You see Al's this angel guy that got attached to me when I was a kid. He's been bothering me. (Don't get angry, Al. Just kidding.) Bothering me since I was a pre-adolescent nightmare, waking up screaming at night because I could see these invisible beings leering at me and making horrible faces for the fun of it.
He would chase them away and everything would drop back to normal. I'd just sleep uneasily, fearful they would return, but knowing that at least I had someone who understood what was going on. I told my Mom of course. My Dad wasn't there. He never was. Abandoned me as a child. Happens. Not happily. But often. And not nicely.
Al gave us both thumbs up. I saw it. Jimbo didn't. Jimbo, my very best friend and partner in the crime of helping people, had gotten us both into this latest mess. You see, Jimbo, is this very rugged, and handsome tall fellow who just can't say no to the opposite sex, especially when there was the possibility of...you know what....moans and more moans in it.
It all began last Friday. We were seated outside a Starbucks, enjoying a malted coffee. It's this specialty item where they top the coffee with crème malt and dump lots of ice into it. Very cooling. Not very nourishing, of course, but who drinks sugar for nourishment anyway?
"Hey, Big Guy!" A lovely voice rang out.
We both turned to look. Which Big Guy? I'm a bit taller than Jimbo, but slender. He's bumping six two, but broader and thick muscled. We both work out, but he looks like he does. I don't.
She was great. About five nine with sparkling blue eyes. Aren't they always? Eyes that could drill holes right through your head and into your heart. Jimbo was so excited that he accidentally spilled his coffee all over me. Accident? Probably not.
I jumped up. "Jimbo!"
He used the accident to look good. He used his napkin and mine to help mop up the coffee from my now chocolate white pants. They had been starched and bleached just that morning. He gave me a kind look. "Sorry, Sammie."
"Yeah. Sure." I grumbled.
He finished, and then turned to face the blonde. "I know you?"
Of course he didn't. But Jimbo was what we guys call a mean grinder, or babe magnet. He could turn on the charm, like you might turn on a radio. Tuning it as high as was needed to get his object of affection locked and loaded into his love barrel.
"You, Samuel Light?"
Jimbo's smile vanished for a moment, and then graciously, he bowed aside to point at me.
I smiled. "Don't mind him, he's recently been detached from the family of apes and doesn't know how to manage his chromosomes just yet."
That's how it all started. Then she told us about an incident. Not just any incident, mind you, but one in which a dead relative had come to visit her...naked and hot to...well, you know. Do what relatives shouldna, hadna, ought not to.
I sat down. Even though I was already seated. Jimbo had meandered off for three more coffees while she spoke to me, then sat down and spread the gold around. He noted her stressed look, and then eyed me. "You ask her out already?"
She gave me a startled look, and then a suspicious one.
Jimbo put a hand over hers. "Don't let this fool, fool you. He may be good with ghosts, but he's bad luck when it comes to mortal women."
I laughed again. I shouldn't have. It always cemented his stupid talk and shot me in the foot.
She pulled her hand away from his, and then stood up. "Maybe I have come to the wrong guys to help me.
I took her hand.
I saw this frizzy haired old, naked man leering at her as she lay in her bed, undressed and ready to sleep. She was beautiful as an angel. He was gross and quite frankly...gross. I could see straight through him.
"Wanta?" He asked, playing with himself.
I was back. She gave me a startled look. I her.
"He's gross." I said quite frankly. "No charge."
Jimbo spit his coffee out all over the place. "What!" On her look he recanted. "I mean, what else can we do? It's obviously something we need to do to help this young and very sad girl."
She didn't believe a word of it, anymore than I, but she bought my talk. "You saw him, didn't you?"
"How did you know that?"
"Because I was there with you."
Either I was cranking up the spiritual juice, or I had just met someone of a similar nature.
Wrong to both.
The next day we were supposed to meet her near Stateline. We got up early to do so. Jimbo drove his big, honking truck. The one that cost him a few hundred grand. Did I tell you he came from a rich family? We talked about what we were going to do once we met with her. Jimbo kept shaking his head, giving me the evil eye, but I insisted. He finally relented and drove the rest of the way in silence. He only said one thing. "You're such a poor loser."
We drove off the 15, and turned towards a dirt road that swept into the hills. We drove about an hour, and then pulled over when we saw her car. She said it would be a bright red. It was. An old one too. Maybe twenty years. But clean. For that old that is.
She wasn't in sight.
"Where the hell is she?" He asked, as he went to the car to look inside.
I went to the back and he popped the trunk. I looked inside. Straight into the barrel of a sawed off shotgun and one of the ugliest fellows I had ever seen.
"Jimbo." I muttered.
He came around, his arms raised. She was behind him with another sawed off shotgun.
The ugly fellow climbed out of the trunk and blew a kiss to her. "Works like a charm."
"Always does." She said, catching the look on my face.
"What? Just because I'm psychic like you doesn't make me a do gooder."
"What about that naked fellow?" Jimbo asked, vexed at what was happening.
"Oh that's real all right." She admitted. "But nothing I can't handle."
She jerked her head to the man, and he went through Jimbo's pockets, grabbed his car keys, and then headed for the truck.
Jimbo groaned. "Not Betty. Please!"
She winked at him. "We'll make sure Betty gets a nice home. Bye, Big Guy!"
She winked again, then as the truck spun to life again, turned around and said. "By the way, drop your pants and kick off your shoes, then your shirts."
"Wait!" Jimbo blurted out. "We'll die out here with that kind of exposure and no water."
She tossed him a haughty look. "Sometimes a big guy just don't get a break, do they?"
Well. We finally reached the 15 and when we did a highway patrol car pulled up, and then a door was flung open for us. We climbed in. The Patrolmen gave us a grim look. "Looks like you guys are gonna tan badly."
"Part of the job." I told him.
He nodded, gunned the engine and sped us up about ten miles where a roadblock was set. At the roadblock was Jimbo's truck.
The tires had blown out.
The blonde and the ugly fellow were in handcuffs. She saw us in the car and gave us the three finger salute.
I grinned and waved at her.
Jimbo laughed, and then scowled at me. "Why do you always have to be so damned right?"
"Look, Jimbo, I was fooled too at first too, but something stunk about the way she played us. And...She didn't ask me about everything I had seen when I touched her."
"What was that?"
"The ugly fellow she saw wasn't her Uncle, but the fellow with the sawed off shotgun. It was their way of doing romance before they made love."
"Hey 50 shades of whatever." I answered, and then we got out, with blankets draped around our shoulders and headed for the truck and a long drive home.
Yeah. I'm psychic, but sometimes I just don't like how my cases turn out. My name's Samuel Light. I'm a spiritual detective, spelled with an S. You might ask why didn't I avoid the whole mess altogether? Reason not. She and her boyfriend had a lesson to learn. One that will probably lead to about twenty to thirty years hard time.