Seeing Michael
by Ken Dean
forum: Seeing Michael
speculative fiction for the internet generation.

......... ....... ..... ..  

Seeing Michael


       Christina was walking down a street she would rather not be on. This was a bad part of the city, the Short North, and her car had broken down. Plus she had forgotten her damn cell phone! Of all times to be stupid. She had no choice but to walk and find a pay phone or an establishment where she could call her boyfriend.

       She was shaking, sweating with apprehension. The buildings were too tall and the alleys dark and ominous, like gaping, diseased mouths just waiting to swallow her.

       'Stop it, Christy, you're just working yourself into frenzy', she thought to herself. 'Everything will be fine once you find a phone or a place to duck into.'

       She kept walking, still feeling frightened but wanting to get past this place as quickly as possible. Another dark alley was coming up on her right. She glanced into the deep darkness just as an arm shot out and grabbed her. A grip of steel jerked her into the alley. Christina actually felt her feet leave the ground.

       She began to scream instinctively, but in vain as the noise seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness. Instantly the mugger had her pinned up against the alley wall, covering her mouth with his hand. The alley wall smelled musty and disgusting, but the mugger's hand was even worse, decrepit, like dead flesh. She felt as if she could throw up.

       Mugger man pulled an automatic pistol from his trench coat pocket and waved it in her face.

       "Just a little something to scare folks with, but I don't really need it, do I? You can't move!" the mugger commanded. Instantly she was paralyzed.

       He let the pistol hand drop; all he needed was the hand over her mouth. She couldn't even bring her arms up to try to fight him off. He twisted her head up and to the left using his one hand, exposing her pristine, white neck.

       "Ah, beautiful, sensual thing. One of the best I've ever seen. My compliments to you dear, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ruin it. You see, you're the last one for the evening and I'll be satisfied, at least until tomorrow."

       Christina could still see his face even though her head was twisted sideways. He had the look of a dirty, ruffian bum, but his yellow eyes screamed of a beast from hell. When he spoke, his fetid breath smelled of stagnant swamps, dead bodies, and everything unholy.

       He brought his face even closer and opened his mouth impossibly wide, descending towards her neck. She caught a quick glimpse of fanged teeth and then they sank below her vision. Dear God—not that!

       Just then she began to hear a tok… tok…. tok sound coming down the street, as if someone was wearing hard shoes or boots. She wanted to scream for help, but all that came out of her mouth was a whimper. The beast heard it too, snapping his head away from her neck to face the street. She could feel tremors run though its body, as if it was terrified. The source of the sound turned the corner of the alley entrance: a tall man with long, blonde hair who was wearing a white shirt, blue jeans, and engineer boots. He was also shining with a strange luminescence that lit up the entire alley.

       The beast had become increasingly agitated and was visibly shaking. He let go his grasp of Christina and began to run away from the alley entrance, wailing like an ungodly banshee. Shots from the demon's automatic as he turned and fired didn't even register on the blonde man. He leapt into the air and came down on the beast, pulling him up by the scruff of his neck and lifting him bodily off his feet.

       "Demon spawn!" he yelled with a thunderous voice. Holding out his right hand, a bright light appeared in his palm. The light morphed into a large, silver sword that looked like a cross with a long shaft. "Go back to hell and join your bastard kin!"

       With that, he shoved the mighty sword up the demon's ass until it protruded out the top of its head. The demon immediately turned charcoal-briquette red, then to ash, which fluttered to the ground and disappeared.

       Christina had slumped down the alley wall, sitting transfixed by what had happened.

       The sword vanished as the tall man walked over to Christina. He was still glowing. She managed to get out, "Who are you?"

       "Do not worry, young daughter. The trauma of this evening will pass quickly."

       He put his hand on her head. "Rest, Christina, rest."

       She instantly felt drowsy and fell into a deep sleep. She awoke the next morning feeling totally refreshed, but she couldn't remember how she had wound up in her own bed. Sounds and smells from the kitchen told her that Arnie was making breakfast for them both. Her memories from last night's encounter were all there, but she felt no trauma or fear whatsoever, just a deep peace.

       "When did you get in last night, hon? I didn't hear you come to bed."

       Her thoughts went back to her shining, blonde savior. "Arnie, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

* * *

       Tilde was driving angry drunk far too fast down a country road outside of Copenhagen.

       She had just left a party of her friend's and suddenly ex-boyfriend. That bastard Jerrik had just broken up with her to be with that slut, Birgitte. Tilde had been fooled good, thought he had loved her. She had stayed at the party after those two asswipe lovebirds left so she could get totally drukken. Now here she was driving stupid; letting the anger manifest itself through her foot on the accelerator and hand on gearshift.

       Her anger was feeding off the speed and vice versa. Felt damn good. Going one hundred-thirty kilometers per hour didn't give her drunken reactions enough time to match the sharp turn just ahead. The Jeep and Tilde kept on going instead of turning. A ditch just off the road was all that was needed to send the Jeep tumbling end over end, throwing Tilde out to land on a rock outcropping. The Jeep came to rest several meters away where it burst into obligatory, flaming wreckage.

       Tilde could feel the heat from the burning wreckage and even though she was totally wasted, realized this wasn't a safe place to be. She tried to move to get away, but all she got for her effort was an excruciating pain between her shoulder blades that sucked the air from her lungs. Once able to breathe again, she realized that she couldn't move anything from her abdomen down. She coughed twice and tasted blood in her mouth.

       Dear God… don't let me die here!

       The road was dark in this area except for the flickering of the burning Jeep. How long would it be until it explodes? she thought. What was that? She heard a strange, rhythmic sound from the roadway. Tok… tok… tok. There was a soft illumination on the roadway getting brighter as the sound became louder. Suddenly there was a tall, shining man walking in her direction from the road.

       'Help me', she screamed, but all that emerged from her throat was a croak. The beautiful, shining man had reached her side and was kneeling down beside her.

       "Oh Tilde—what have you done to yourself?"

       He reached down and put his hand on her forehead. There was a sudden shock that pulsed through her body, and then a feeling of total peace like a heroin high. She realized she could now move all parts of her body and the metallic, bloody taste had left her mouth.

       He suddenly thrust out his hand towards the flaming wreckage. Tilde saw the Jeep lift up and was flung a hundred meters into an empty field nearby as if by a giant's hand. It promptly exploded. Tilde winced from the sound and vibration. She looked back to the shining face above her.

       "Thank you, sir. I'd be dead if it weren't for you."

       Just then she heard sirens and saw flashing lights coming down the road.

       "Tilde, there are people coming to help you, although I'm sure you'll be fine now. Please go with them and take care in the future."

       Upon saying that, the shining man faded from Tilde's sight.

* * *

       Jason Trudoe stood on the railing of the New River Gorge Bridge, trying to get up the nerve to jump. Why had his wife left him for his best friend Tom? It was a betrayal that he couldn't fathom, but it hurt to the very core of his being.

       He had cherished and loved her the way he thought a husband should, only to be called a loser as Becky walked out the door with her suitcase and stepped into Tom's waiting car. He should have killed them both right then, but he didn't have the guts. He'd be surprised if he was able to actually step off the bridge to a certain death below. From this height it would be quick, about like jumping off the Eiffel Tower.

       Traffic was next to nothing at two o'clock in the morning, so at least he wouldn't be disturbed. He thought he heard something off in the distance, like a woodpecker attacking a tree, but at a much slower rhythm.

       Okay Jason—just do it. He stepped off the bridge. Within seconds the air was rushing up so fast he could barely breathe. There was no way to see the river and rocks below—it was too dark. 'Why am I doing this?' ran though his panicked mind. He didn't want to—something suddenly was pulling him up by the armpits, stopping his descent and bringing him back up to the bridge.

       He found himself standing in front of the person who had saved him. But this was a very unusual person. The stranger stood at least a foot taller than his own six-foot frame, and he was glowing with a soft illumination that lit up the entire bridge.

       Jason was speechless. He had gone from utter despair, to outright panic, and then to miraculous salvation. All he could manage was:

       "Uhh… Thanks."

       "Its okay, Jason. You weren't meant to die this way."

       He was beginning to get some of his nerve back. Being suddenly saved from sure death brought him slamming back, at least part way, to reality. But he still had the awful despair deep in his being of what had happened between him and his wife, and it still felt just as unbearable.

       The tall man could read his thoughts, see the anguish in his soul. He reached over to Jason and hugged him, even as awkward as that was with his height. Jason felt all the anguish, the unbearable pain, leaving his mind. A flood of quiet, comfortable peace came over him.

       "Jason, you need to let go of what has happened. If your wife wants to come back, she will. If not, just start your life in a different direction. It's nothing to waste and destroy your life over. Hopefully what I've given you will give you peace enough to try to settle things out in your soul."

       "Yes—thanks. I feel much better now."

       "Good, please take care in the future. Remember what I've said."

       With that, the tall, shining man began to turn away.

       Wait… mister! How can you do all this, and why did you save me?"

       "Some things are meant to happen, some things aren't. I come around to stop the things that shouldn't be, to give aid and comfort."

       "What is your name?"

       "You can call me Michael."

       With that, he turned and began walking south towards Fayetteville, his engineer boots making a rhythmic tok… tok… tok on the bridge roadway. He faded quickly from Jason's view as he walked.




copyright 2007 Ken Dean.

Ken Dean started writing about four years ago and then got serious two years ago. Speculative Fiction or fiction in general is his genre of choice. Ken has had several publications at Silverthought Press
( He also has published several stories in different issues of Down in the Dirt magazine and in the anthology collections Chaos Theory and Distinguished Writings from Scars
Publications ( and at Bewildering Stories (

You may contact Ken at