Harry Potter and the Spellbook of Desires Chapter 40 The Third Task
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The rural postal delivery man exited his vehicle as he heard the screams. Something was wrong—very wrong. A massive harvesting machine with an opening easily twenty feet wide was moving across the field below him. It appeared to be going faster than it should have been. It was no longer following the crop rows—it was moving diagonally. He quickly scanned the scene, the sheer horror of what was unfolding before his eyes sent a chill through his body.
In the distance, behind the giant harvester lay a crumpled, motionless lump—it was, he surmised, a man—the man who should have been guiding the massive machine. He certainly had known the man—he knew everyone in this remote farming community—but he could not instantly identify him. Running up the road behind the postal worker was a woman—still too far away to identify. She was screaming something he could not quite understand, her sound was curiously familiar. The object of her attention then came into sharp focus.
A child—a little girl he was sure—probably between six and ten years of age was also screaming. She was directly in the path of the behemoth. She was not running from the giant killing machine as she should have been.
As he focused more clearly he realized that he could not see her left leg, it was trapped underground. Possibly she had run out to the edge of the field—maybe to pick wildflowers or wild berries. As she had run back to the safety of—he assumed—her mother at the road side, her young limb had been snared by one of the many woodchuck holes which always became apparent when a crop was harvested.
The grisly enormity of what would happen in a few more seconds caused his heart to race uncontrollably. The little girl would die in less than ten seconds. It would be a horrible and terribly painful demise as the giant farm implement tore her young frame apart, eviscerating her with its sharp blades. He prayed that she would die quickly—not suffer—but he feared that prayer was in vain.
He had once, as a child, viewed the end result of a collision between human flesh and a similar machine. The victim had not appeared remotely human as he was pulled from the machine—still horribly alive—screaming in agony and begging God to take his life. God had done so but not soon enough to spare the poor man excruciating pain and the final horror of seeing himself as a freakishly mangled lump of flesh, bone and gristle.
For the first time he noticed another figure in the unfolding tragedy. A boy, an older teen—a young man—was racing toward the trapped child. He was moving faster on strong young limbs than he had ever seen anyone run. The young man took his eyes off the target briefly, noting the presence of the mail carrier. The runner had quickly calculating that the mail carrier was too far away to be of any use in rescuing the terrified child.
The young runner would not arrive in time. Simple high school physics, years of judging distance during deer season and a keen sense of vehicle speed—after years of judging the right moment to pull his postal vehicle back into traffic—told him the young man’s valiant effort must end in failure.
The giant killer was ambling along at no more than five or ten miles an hour. The boy, assuming he was a very skilled runner, could cover the hundred yards he had remaining in no less than ten seconds at best—then of course he had to free the girl’s leg and whisk her out of the way.
The possibility of a double tragedy greeted his thoughts but he dismissed it as he realized the boy would not get to the stricken little girl in time. The machine was barely thirty yards away now. It would scoop the poor child into its angry, mauling, spinning arms in less than six or seven seconds—the boy would arrive two or three seconds later—too late to do anything other than attempt to stop the horrible device and recover the mangled screaming lump of flesh.
The woman, obviously the child’s mother was running up the road toward the postal worker’s vehicle. The single name she screamed out became audible. ‘Amanda, Amanda, run baby—oh God please make her run!’ She screamed in hopeless desperation.
It was at that instant that the horrible event which would occur in seconds became terrifyingly personal. The woman came into focus and he put her plaintive cries together with his visual recognition. He recognized the woman—it was his sweet wife, Jenna. The young girl who was about to have her precious life torn from her—from them—was his Amanda, his daughter—his baby. He wanted to turn away but could not.
He was a good man—a man who believed in God and took his religion seriously—as did his wife and young daughter. He had never—never would—ask God for anything for himself—or to perform some sort of impossible miracle. He was a practical man. As his only child’s awful death became inevitable he said aloud, ‘Please God, don’t make her suffer.’
At that very second it was if time suddenly stood still. The young man racing in vain to rescue his daughter looked up at him one last time, smiled—and flew. It was far too great a distance to have jumped—he had flown. He moved so quickly that he became, for that instant, invisible. He was now, somehow, calmly walking toward Jenna with Amanda in his arms.
The young man turned briefly to look at the giant machine—still moving out of control. The machine stopped in its tracks, its powerful engine turned silent. Stunned, knowing he needed to run toward his wife and daughter to comfort them, the confused postal worker was unable to move.
He could see his precious child in the young man’s arms, they seemed to be having an animated discussion. As the young man placed the child in her mother’s arms, Jenna embraced him as she held her child—then stepped back suddenly as if having felt a shock. She was kneeling before him—he was taking her arms and raising her back to her feet.
The postal worker finally found his legs and rushed to his small family. The young man was in front of him, between him and his wife and daughter. He was smiling softly.
‘Who are you? Are you an alien—an angel—did you hear my prayer—are you God?’ The flustered postman said.
The young man spoke. ‘You have nothing to fear. You are a kind and good man. Comfort your family now. Go with God.’
As the young man started to turn to walk away, the young father touched him—and instantly understood his wife’s response a few seconds earlier. It was as if a giant bolt of lightning had seized him—but there was no pain—only an intense and warm feeling of well being.
‘You heard my prayer—I know you did—you looked right at me when I uttered it—you smiled! Are you Jesus—have you come back? Must you die again to save us—will the world soon end?’ There was so much he wanted—needed—to know.
‘You have many questions.’ The young man said. ‘All will be answered in good time. In view of what you have just endured you deserve some answers—now.’
The young man went on, still smiling calmly. ‘You may share these events—or not—some will believe, many will doubt—or worse.’
The young man continued. ‘I am not an angel. Your sweet child—the only one you will ever have, sadly—has angels that watch her—have always watched her. It is those angels that brought me here. Amanda has a very special purpose in front of her—a destiny. I so wish I could save every child, they are all so very special—our Amanda more so at this moment than any other child on earth.’
‘I am not Jesus. I am his brother—God’s second born—Mark. The world is not going to end—God would not destroy his most precious creation or his most beloved children. The writers got that part completely wrong.’ He told the astonished postman.
He paused to allow the mortal man to absorb what he had just heard, than added an after thought. ‘This world is, however, about to receive a ser
ious attitude adjustment.’
‘The times have changed in two thousand years. The impact of my brother’s death on the cross was poignant, it sparked a glorious movement. My brother and I have convinced our father that the modern world needs a more direct approach—a less subtle demonstration of right and wrong—good and evil.’
‘I will not die for you, as my brother did. Your God is merciful, although not all on this earth will receive his mercy—or mine. I hope I will be able to teach and inform. When I depart there will be no doubt in anyone’s mind of our father’s existence—or his power. Those that believe will be vindicated. Those that doubt will become believers. Those that have chosen not to believe will have much to think about for the remainder of their lives.’
The young man’s smile faded, his countenance became almost grim. ‘Those that have attacked my father, my brother—or choose to attack me—will be vanquished. It will happen swiftly. I lack my brother’s patience for them. I’ve come as a modern savior, but to get biblical for a moment, the false prophets will be cast out. The evil doers will be sent back to hell, the devil’s work here will be undone—at least for a while. The kingdom of heaven will be—very briefly— visible to all the world. Think of it as a good thorough spring cleaning—every two thousand years.’
‘You my very good and very kind man will live a long and happy life—as will your wife and child. Know that you and your family are blessed. I will revisit you at the appropriate time and ask for your help—ask for Amanda’s assistance. I know I can count on you. I see into your heart. My family has always known it could count on you and your family. You are among the chosen ones. I must leave you now, I will always be in your heart—and you in mine.’
And with that, the young man simply vanished. The postman’s daughter ran to him and jumped into his arms.
‘Daddy, daddy, that was God’s little boy—his name is Mark his brother is Jesus—he’s come to save the world—just like his daddy said he would! He’s very nice.’ Amanda said.
As the postman gazed lovingly at his wife and baby, he knew without saying anything that Jenna knew also.
‘I know princess, I know. He told me—just like he told you—pretty neat huh?’ Her father replied. As the small family walked up the road to where his vehicle was parked.
He wondered how soon it would happen and how long it would take. He laughed as he thought about how the idiot talking heads on TV would cover it.
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