House of Spirits Part VII ( A Horrific Revelation.)

I pulled my eyes from the warrior and looked into the mirror to behold the most horrifying revelation of the evening! One that left me paralyzed by fear —totally immobilized— and hyperventilating. I did not want to look on the reflection, but stared in disbelief as sickness invaded the pit of my stomach!
    Then a warm sensation flooded my lap as I lost control of all bodily function.  Then I doubled over and vomited. It was more than I could bear. I sat up and wiped my mouth with a shirt sleeve then looked once more to the mirror to see a reflection of two dark serpent like spirits wrapped around my body. Together they resembled a two headed beast that slithered, hissed and sighed. I heard their voices: “He’s ours! He belongs to us! You can’t have him! He opened the door! We have legal right to this property!”
  I looked upon their demonic presence trembling and I began to wail, “Get them off! Get them off me! Please get them off me!” Methuselah placed one hand on each shoulder and raised his voice, “Peter, that’s why we’re here! We’ve come to help!”
   Then the Warrior, unsheathed his fiery claymore and lifted it high above his right shoulder. Looking at the serpents he demanded, “Tell me your names!” The dark spirits, recoiled and sighed, “You already know who we are.” Undeterred, the Warrior demanded, “Tell me you names. Who are you?”
    The serpents continued recoiling from the angelic presence. I knew a battle was coming and I would be the spoil. I began to hyperventilate and struggle for every breath when Methuselah leaned in close and said, “It’s okay! Michael has this!
     One of the spirits raised itself high above the warrior and opened its mouth revealing dark, viper like fangs, and declared, “My name is Anger!”  Then lunged forward striking at the Warrior.
  Though it happened much too fast for the natural eye to follow, Methuselah’s touch enabled me to see supernaturally as The Arch Angel, swung his fiery Claymore like a Louisville Slugger—severing the serpents head before it exploded into tiny dust particles and evaporated into the air.
    The remaining Spirit began to wither and squeal. “No! No! You cannot have this property!”  The warrior demanded, “Spirit! Tell me your name,” then lifted his Claymore for another swing. I hoped his aim was steady, because I knew if he missed, it would be my own head that rolled.
     But that fear was quickly dispelled when the serpent responded “You ask my name? Talk with Peter! He knows me well. He is a bitter soul.” Then it looked to the Warrior, and back into my own eyes as it smiled a haunting, chilling, demonic smile, and wailed, “That’s right! My name is Bitterness!” Then it vanished.  
   I looked at my reflection in the mirror and was relieved to find there were no clinging spirits then collapsed across the bar. Fear had done a number on me. I was an absolute mess. Methuselah, however, sat down next to me, leaned into the bar and casually said, “We’ve had bigger fights and I’ve seen nastier characters.”
   I lifted my head off the bar and wiped an unhealthy blend of sweat and snot from my face then asked, “Where did those things go and how did they become attached to me?” My heart sank when he responded, “They’re not things. They are spiritual beings and make no mistake, they will be back. As to how they became attached, well you opened that door.
  My head was spinning from the revelation of my own oppression and coupled with the conflict I had just witnessed, along with every other crazy thing that had happened since walking into the place left me totally exhausted and crippled every ability to reason. So I drew a deep breath and with a weak, helpless voice, asked, “What are you saying?” He looked me in the eye and in a tone that was no longer casual answered, “We won the battle, but the war is not over.”
 
His words hung in the air like a dense fog.  I felt myself coming unhinged allover again and said, “I saw Michael vaporize one and the other fled.”  What do you mean the war’s not over?” Am I doomed to a life of torment?”
  Methuselah placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “No, you do not have to live in that hell, but we have work to do.” Then he looked to the Warrior and said, “We’re going to need the TV remote.”
  Michael morphed back into mortal form then reached for the remote and laid it on the bar. The sound was down, but ESPN was running reruns of the late night lineup. I assumed he was going to turn the set off, but instead looked to me and asked, “Do you mind if I change the channel?”

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