Dead Sleeping Shaman by Elizabeth Kane Buzzelli

to walk the stage, he paced quickly back and forth as the crowd called out a resounding, “Thirteen days!”
    “How many?” One hand went behind his ear as he feigned not being able to hear.
    Again the crowd chanted, “Thirteen days!”
    “Are we sad?” he yelled at all of us, a huge smile spreading over his wide face, softening the words.
    The crowd screamed, “No.”
    The preacher stood where he was, bent over, and laughed, the full body under the robe bouncing.
    “And you know why, people? You know why there’s no sadness in us?” He stopped and straightened. It was a sudden stop. The crowd waited. “Because we’re going home!”
    The crowd went wild.
    When they quieted, he began again, always with a conspiratorial smile splitting his wide, round face. It was as if there was a big secret being shared and I was one of those left out. I felt sad. My eyes welled with tears until I shook myself, and asked, What the hell, Emily?
    “Like David, I had a dream.” He lowered his voice and ran a hand over his cheeks. The portent of the word “dream” drew all of us to lean in closer, waiting for what would come.
    “I dreamed … oh, yes I did … I dreamed and the Lord showed me Armageddon. Like David standing there by the river, I saw what I had to see.” He paced again, his sandals slapping the floorboards of the stage, the sound making a drumbeat beneath his words. From time to time he stopped, looked into the crowd, bent forward, gave a laugh and called out a person’s name to the delight of everyone. I found myself wanting him to look at me, call out my name—though I didn’t worry how he would know it. I couldn’t have said why I needed to be included, I just did.
    “Have I told you this before?” he roared, demanding an answer.
    “Yes!” the roar came back.
    “Will I be tellin’ you this again? Will I be tellin’ you about my dreams until the last day, until October 27, when the End will be upon us?”
    The “Yes” roar spread around me. People swayed back and forth, bodies synchronized, hands clasped together. When they got to me I had no choice, I was caught up in my small space that wasn’t my space at all, but part of this larger group. I swayed, with that holding hand moving as I moved.
    Reverend Fritch went on. “There was a terrible angel pointing toward what was coming down the river bank at me and I knew, oh yes, I knew right then the END TIME was upon us.” He stopped again. “Have I told ya this before? Do we need to hear it again?”
    It was point and counterpoint. He had us in a mesmerizing web of words and emotion.
    “The Antichrist. That terrible prince. It was Satan, himself, coming straight for me holding up the number: TWENTY-SEVEN. TWENTY-SEVEN. And I knew—oh yes, I knew right then what that number meant.”
    Little by little I pulled myself back. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t anything I believed could happen. I could see what was going on. I didn’t want my mind taken over by this huge, brightly lighted figure standing above us. I didn’t want worms of thoughts I didn’t want to think crawling in my head.
    I pulled my hand hard against the one holding mine. I pulled and then pinched the hand still fumbling for a hold on me. I got away though someone yanked at my jacket.
    “The ‘latter days’ are here, folks,” the Reverend Fritch was falling into his words, moving his body to a beat he’d created as I pushed back through the crowd. “The Apocalypse is upon us as Daniel said in chapter ten, verse fourteen: ‘To make thee understand what will befall thy people in latter days …’ And that is my burden. Daniel’s heavy load is mine.”
    I looked around but I couldn’t find Dolly or Crystalline. I was alone in a sea of robes.
    “ … to make you understand that if you have not renounced the earth and all its delights, if you have not renounced Satan, if you have not given your soul over to God—the END is coming. The END is near. The END OF DAYS will find