Darby Rutledge VIII -- Homer
I loved geography class. Unlike my earth science class, with the atheistic Dr. Kantor, D'Andrea was a hoot. He was funny, he was witty, and unlike most of our teachers, he was a Believer.
He never shared his faith in class much, because I guess you could say it wasn't the place for it. He didn't say improper things, however. No innuendos (like Dr. Stampfli), no language (like Dr. McKerrall) nothing like that. Just an entertaining class all around.
I took geography my first year, during the spring quarter, and not more than five minutes into the first class, some girl raised her hand and said, "My sorority sisters said for me to ask you about... Homer?"
I looked around the class... some students looked as if they were thinking what I was thinking: "Who?". Others were shaking their heads like they had been instructed to ask the same question. D'Andrea stood silent for a second, smiled and said, "That's another topic for another day. Okay, let's talk about topography." And for a month, that was the last I'd heard of it.
One of the best things about D'Andrea's class was the extra points and bonuses he gave, mostly for showing up. Being spring, the days were gorgeous, and for many people, including myself, the 1pm time of the class was the final class of the week... making it so easy and tempting to cut class, head home or just start your weekend early.
I remember one particular Friday, I was enjoying my April afternoon, when I decided I would go to class... didn't want to, but thought I should. Half the class didnt agree with me, judging by all the empty desks. He came in, looked around the room, and said "Pop quiz!" Of course, everyone groaned, until he asked question number 1. "What is your name?" Question 2: "What day of the week is it, right now?" Question 3: "What number question is this?" Everyone quickly jotted down the answers, and when he called for them, he said "Everyone gets ten points on their lowest test score. Now, class dismissed. Go home."
Such was life in D'Andrea's class... until one Friday (a full class this time around) he comes in, gives us a real pop quiz (which I aced), gave everyone five extra points just for being there, then announces, "That's the class today. If anyone would like to stick around, I'd like to tell a story. If you would like to leave, please be my guest." One girl grabbed her books and hustled out the door. Everyone else stayed in their seats, all eyes on D'Andrea. He began.
**************************
I was in Panama in the early 70s, during the Vietnam War. I was part of a twenty man unit doing special operations in and around the Panama Canal. Now, these operations weren't anything special, and though at the time were highly classified, they've long since been de-classified. I'm just not going to talk about them here because frankly, I don't like to talk about it. Please don't ask me later.
We traveled around from camp to camp, village to village doing our various duties as instructed, and it was in a village that we saw him... it. He looked like a little boy, only we knew that he wasn't... he had jet black hair and deep, black eyes, dressed in what looked like a piece of cloth wrapped around him. It just hung on him like a dress. I guess he would have been around four feet tall, if he had feet. His legs seemed to disappear into the air the farther down they went, until there was nothing below midcalf. Its as if he just hovered. As we came into the village, he just looked at us. Then he walked... or maybe floated into the woods.
We thought he was strange, but he passed from our minds until a few weeks later, when we were crossing a small creek. The creek was only shoulder deep, but wading through it was slow. In the area we were in, we crossed in a single file line, several feet apart, and once the shore was reached, each soldier was to alternate going left and right. The first soldier went to the right, the next to the left, the next to the right and so on. I was close to the front of the line, and as I came out of the water, there was the little boy. He sat on a stump, just watching us, staring at us as we came ashore. Of course, it slowed us up a little, as we were all perplexed at seeing this little boy... or what looked like a boy, though we knew he wasn't.
Someone in our troop gave him the name "Homer." I admit, this is a ridiculous name. I thought certainly we could come up for a better term to call whatever it was we were seeing it, but "Homer" stuck, so "Homer" it was. We began to see Homer more frequently, usually in villages or just along the trails we were clearing. At first, he was harmless. But as a Believer in Christ, it is in my faith to suspect such things as ungodly. I knew this was not an angel.
The more I began to see Homer, the more wary I became of him, the more timid I felt about him. This wasn't right. This was not a good thing. Once, we were taking a trek through the woods, and to avoid landmines and trip wires, we had three bloodhounds leading our charge. We were all mostly on our stomachs, our hands and knees, crawling through the woods to keep the guerrillas from seeing us--and subsequently shooting us--and making good time... when suddenly, we stopped. The whole line of us halted, and me being towards the back--and one of the leaders--began to make my way to the front to see what was the hold up. As I got halfway up the line, I met the hounds coming the other way, whimpering, yelping, crying, running in the other direction. The dog handler was doing all he could to hold onto the leashes. I kept moving to the front, and there at the front of the line was Homer. He stood, just staring at our line of soldiers. The lead soldier's face was white, he was scared completely. Up until now, none of us had tried to engage Homer, as he had only been off to the side. This time, he halted our progress. "Who are you?" I asked. He slowly turned his head, looked at me, then turned around disappearing into the woods again.
The final time we saw Homer was in a village. We had reports that terrorists had burned a small fishing village near the coastline, so we made our way there to help out. As we entered the village, guns drawn, there wasn't much to save. Most of the huts were burned or burning, there were people running around screaming and crying, I saw a mother, holding her baby, both dead, burned alive it looked like. With all the death and destruction around us, most of us just shocked that something like this could happen to a peaceful village, there was Homer. He was right in the middle of the village, just staring directly at us. He was smiling. I swear to you on my grave, he was smiling. I don't know that anyone else had seen it, but he had this evil smirk that seemed as if he was enjoying it.
Not too long after that, our troop was pulled out of Panama. We all returned home, went our seperate ways, and a few years later, I retired from the service. Years went by, my wife and I had our first daughter Mindy, and Homer was a memory that had long been wiped away--perhaps on purpose.
Some years ago, when Mindy was young...
["She's a senior in college at this time," I explained to Shawn, as he passed the Deer Run Trailer Park, putting us 8 miles out of Troy, "just so you know. I think she was probably five or so, which makes this late 70s, I think. He's telling me this story in 1994, remember.."]
...she had just gone to bed, and my wife and I had settled in in our own bedroom, when we heard her scream down the hall. Of course, we jumped up and ran down to her room to see her on the bed crying. Before I turned on the lights, I could see what she was screaming at... there were eyes above her bed. I don't know how else to explain it than to say there were eyes, red, staring down at her. I flipped the lights on, they disappeared and I grabbed Mindy off the bed. She slept with us for several nights after that... we prayed with her several times in the room, finally convincing her that yes, Jesus would take care of her.
More time went by, a few years later, we had a friend of mine and his wife over for dinner... he was a buddy of mine I served with in Panama, one who knew of Homer--though we had stayed in contact since we left Panama, neither of us had spoken of what we had seen in the 13 years we'd left. As we had dinner, with Mindy and our other daughter staying with friends, the television flipped on by itself. This naturally was odd, but it just turned on... I can't remember what show was on, but what I do remember is, on our screen was Homer. Its as if he were on the show, but he was staring out at us. My friend and I looked at each other--neither of us had told our wives, because we never spoke of it to anyone. Homer looked at us for a minute, then disappeared. I walked over, turned the television off and then we both told our wives the story.
The last time I saw Homer was about two years after that. We were both in bed, she was fast asleep, and I was getting there. He appeared in our doorway. I woke up to see him slowly making his way towards the bed. Understand that everytime we'd seen him, he'd never come at any of us. This time, he was moving in... and though he looked the same, this was different. I had goosebumps all over as I sat up. I didnt wake up my wife, instead I just stared at Homer. At this moment, he wasn't just a spirit looking like a little boy... he was evil. I could see it. I could smell it. He was a demon and he had made himself known to me.
I looked at him, but before he could get to the bed, I spoke up and said, "In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I command you to leave." Homer stopped, and just like that, he disappeared. My wife woke up, saying "What did you say?" I just said, "Nothing. Go back to sleep." And I haven't seen him since.
**********************************
D'Andrea paused for a minute... he hadn't moved from behind his podium, and no one in the class had moved either. We were all transfixed on the story, even though it was after 2pm and class would have normally dismissed twenty, maybe thirty minutes earlier.
"I tell that story only because most people ask me about outside of class, and its easier to say it here at once then to tell it over and over," D'Andrea continued. "I told it two years ago, and two students, two young men, came to me after class. They told me of how they had seen something similiar in their own apartment. Neither were believers, and they were both scared out of their minds. As a matter of fact, they both dropped out less than three days later and moved away."
A girl with a Kappa Delta shirt on raised her hand. "Can you talk about what happened in Pace Hall?"
"No," D'Andrea smiled. "And if you know whats good for you, I'd suggest you don't talk about it either."
He finally left his podium, and leaned up against his desk. "Folks, I don't know how many of you in here are believers in Christ. But whether you believe in Him or not, if you do the study, you will be forced to admit there is something out there. Most people believe in angels, and God, but one cannot exist without its opposite. Just as there are angels, there are demons. Just as there is God, there is Satan. Just as one wants to love you and help you, the other wants to kill you, destroy you, decieve you. Be aware that there is a spiritual warfare taking place right now, as we speak. It is intense, it is bloody, and it is over your souls." He paused, walked to the door, then turned around.
"Class dismissed."
He never shared his faith in class much, because I guess you could say it wasn't the place for it. He didn't say improper things, however. No innuendos (like Dr. Stampfli), no language (like Dr. McKerrall) nothing like that. Just an entertaining class all around.
I took geography my first year, during the spring quarter, and not more than five minutes into the first class, some girl raised her hand and said, "My sorority sisters said for me to ask you about... Homer?"
I looked around the class... some students looked as if they were thinking what I was thinking: "Who?". Others were shaking their heads like they had been instructed to ask the same question. D'Andrea stood silent for a second, smiled and said, "That's another topic for another day. Okay, let's talk about topography." And for a month, that was the last I'd heard of it.
One of the best things about D'Andrea's class was the extra points and bonuses he gave, mostly for showing up. Being spring, the days were gorgeous, and for many people, including myself, the 1pm time of the class was the final class of the week... making it so easy and tempting to cut class, head home or just start your weekend early.
I remember one particular Friday, I was enjoying my April afternoon, when I decided I would go to class... didn't want to, but thought I should. Half the class didnt agree with me, judging by all the empty desks. He came in, looked around the room, and said "Pop quiz!" Of course, everyone groaned, until he asked question number 1. "What is your name?" Question 2: "What day of the week is it, right now?" Question 3: "What number question is this?" Everyone quickly jotted down the answers, and when he called for them, he said "Everyone gets ten points on their lowest test score. Now, class dismissed. Go home."
Such was life in D'Andrea's class... until one Friday (a full class this time around) he comes in, gives us a real pop quiz (which I aced), gave everyone five extra points just for being there, then announces, "That's the class today. If anyone would like to stick around, I'd like to tell a story. If you would like to leave, please be my guest." One girl grabbed her books and hustled out the door. Everyone else stayed in their seats, all eyes on D'Andrea. He began.
**************************
I was in Panama in the early 70s, during the Vietnam War. I was part of a twenty man unit doing special operations in and around the Panama Canal. Now, these operations weren't anything special, and though at the time were highly classified, they've long since been de-classified. I'm just not going to talk about them here because frankly, I don't like to talk about it. Please don't ask me later.
We traveled around from camp to camp, village to village doing our various duties as instructed, and it was in a village that we saw him... it. He looked like a little boy, only we knew that he wasn't... he had jet black hair and deep, black eyes, dressed in what looked like a piece of cloth wrapped around him. It just hung on him like a dress. I guess he would have been around four feet tall, if he had feet. His legs seemed to disappear into the air the farther down they went, until there was nothing below midcalf. Its as if he just hovered. As we came into the village, he just looked at us. Then he walked... or maybe floated into the woods.
We thought he was strange, but he passed from our minds until a few weeks later, when we were crossing a small creek. The creek was only shoulder deep, but wading through it was slow. In the area we were in, we crossed in a single file line, several feet apart, and once the shore was reached, each soldier was to alternate going left and right. The first soldier went to the right, the next to the left, the next to the right and so on. I was close to the front of the line, and as I came out of the water, there was the little boy. He sat on a stump, just watching us, staring at us as we came ashore. Of course, it slowed us up a little, as we were all perplexed at seeing this little boy... or what looked like a boy, though we knew he wasn't.
Someone in our troop gave him the name "Homer." I admit, this is a ridiculous name. I thought certainly we could come up for a better term to call whatever it was we were seeing it, but "Homer" stuck, so "Homer" it was. We began to see Homer more frequently, usually in villages or just along the trails we were clearing. At first, he was harmless. But as a Believer in Christ, it is in my faith to suspect such things as ungodly. I knew this was not an angel.
The more I began to see Homer, the more wary I became of him, the more timid I felt about him. This wasn't right. This was not a good thing. Once, we were taking a trek through the woods, and to avoid landmines and trip wires, we had three bloodhounds leading our charge. We were all mostly on our stomachs, our hands and knees, crawling through the woods to keep the guerrillas from seeing us--and subsequently shooting us--and making good time... when suddenly, we stopped. The whole line of us halted, and me being towards the back--and one of the leaders--began to make my way to the front to see what was the hold up. As I got halfway up the line, I met the hounds coming the other way, whimpering, yelping, crying, running in the other direction. The dog handler was doing all he could to hold onto the leashes. I kept moving to the front, and there at the front of the line was Homer. He stood, just staring at our line of soldiers. The lead soldier's face was white, he was scared completely. Up until now, none of us had tried to engage Homer, as he had only been off to the side. This time, he halted our progress. "Who are you?" I asked. He slowly turned his head, looked at me, then turned around disappearing into the woods again.
The final time we saw Homer was in a village. We had reports that terrorists had burned a small fishing village near the coastline, so we made our way there to help out. As we entered the village, guns drawn, there wasn't much to save. Most of the huts were burned or burning, there were people running around screaming and crying, I saw a mother, holding her baby, both dead, burned alive it looked like. With all the death and destruction around us, most of us just shocked that something like this could happen to a peaceful village, there was Homer. He was right in the middle of the village, just staring directly at us. He was smiling. I swear to you on my grave, he was smiling. I don't know that anyone else had seen it, but he had this evil smirk that seemed as if he was enjoying it.
Not too long after that, our troop was pulled out of Panama. We all returned home, went our seperate ways, and a few years later, I retired from the service. Years went by, my wife and I had our first daughter Mindy, and Homer was a memory that had long been wiped away--perhaps on purpose.
Some years ago, when Mindy was young...
["She's a senior in college at this time," I explained to Shawn, as he passed the Deer Run Trailer Park, putting us 8 miles out of Troy, "just so you know. I think she was probably five or so, which makes this late 70s, I think. He's telling me this story in 1994, remember.."]
...she had just gone to bed, and my wife and I had settled in in our own bedroom, when we heard her scream down the hall. Of course, we jumped up and ran down to her room to see her on the bed crying. Before I turned on the lights, I could see what she was screaming at... there were eyes above her bed. I don't know how else to explain it than to say there were eyes, red, staring down at her. I flipped the lights on, they disappeared and I grabbed Mindy off the bed. She slept with us for several nights after that... we prayed with her several times in the room, finally convincing her that yes, Jesus would take care of her.
More time went by, a few years later, we had a friend of mine and his wife over for dinner... he was a buddy of mine I served with in Panama, one who knew of Homer--though we had stayed in contact since we left Panama, neither of us had spoken of what we had seen in the 13 years we'd left. As we had dinner, with Mindy and our other daughter staying with friends, the television flipped on by itself. This naturally was odd, but it just turned on... I can't remember what show was on, but what I do remember is, on our screen was Homer. Its as if he were on the show, but he was staring out at us. My friend and I looked at each other--neither of us had told our wives, because we never spoke of it to anyone. Homer looked at us for a minute, then disappeared. I walked over, turned the television off and then we both told our wives the story.
The last time I saw Homer was about two years after that. We were both in bed, she was fast asleep, and I was getting there. He appeared in our doorway. I woke up to see him slowly making his way towards the bed. Understand that everytime we'd seen him, he'd never come at any of us. This time, he was moving in... and though he looked the same, this was different. I had goosebumps all over as I sat up. I didnt wake up my wife, instead I just stared at Homer. At this moment, he wasn't just a spirit looking like a little boy... he was evil. I could see it. I could smell it. He was a demon and he had made himself known to me.
I looked at him, but before he could get to the bed, I spoke up and said, "In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I command you to leave." Homer stopped, and just like that, he disappeared. My wife woke up, saying "What did you say?" I just said, "Nothing. Go back to sleep." And I haven't seen him since.
**********************************
D'Andrea paused for a minute... he hadn't moved from behind his podium, and no one in the class had moved either. We were all transfixed on the story, even though it was after 2pm and class would have normally dismissed twenty, maybe thirty minutes earlier.
"I tell that story only because most people ask me about outside of class, and its easier to say it here at once then to tell it over and over," D'Andrea continued. "I told it two years ago, and two students, two young men, came to me after class. They told me of how they had seen something similiar in their own apartment. Neither were believers, and they were both scared out of their minds. As a matter of fact, they both dropped out less than three days later and moved away."
A girl with a Kappa Delta shirt on raised her hand. "Can you talk about what happened in Pace Hall?"
"No," D'Andrea smiled. "And if you know whats good for you, I'd suggest you don't talk about it either."
He finally left his podium, and leaned up against his desk. "Folks, I don't know how many of you in here are believers in Christ. But whether you believe in Him or not, if you do the study, you will be forced to admit there is something out there. Most people believe in angels, and God, but one cannot exist without its opposite. Just as there are angels, there are demons. Just as there is God, there is Satan. Just as one wants to love you and help you, the other wants to kill you, destroy you, decieve you. Be aware that there is a spiritual warfare taking place right now, as we speak. It is intense, it is bloody, and it is over your souls." He paused, walked to the door, then turned around.
"Class dismissed."