Mercer was kicking it with his friends when some new person showed up that night.
And then the new person made some comment about being the devil…and half snickered, half chortled-laughed… hahahaha.
Mercer looked him square on and said, “I don’t believe you’re the devil.” With no laugh.
The new person likewise, looked Mercer full on and said, “I’m going to come into your dream tonight, and I’m going to take you to hell.”
Snorking a semi-quiet laugh.
Mercer soon left, and even though he had never encountered anyone claiming to be the devil, and had never made a ‘deal’ with the devil, he felt
slightly odd about going to sleep that night.
And of course, that diablo-claiming person did show up in his dream that night. And it really unnerved Mercer.
He didn’t die and the diablo-claimer didn’t take him to death or claim his soul; but even worse… Mercer woke in his own little personal hell.
He awoke with a major toothache on his lower left jaw, which meant that he needed emergency dental surgery. It was so not fair. He had recently
experienced months of toothache suffering and then there were the 4 different dentists whose attempts to numb his tooth with multiple injections of
novocain, had proven to be fruitless. Each seemed to have been driven as if he was super-dentist and would get Mercer numb no matter how many times he
was injected. They didn’t, and they couldn’t, because a circular x-ray identified lots of extra nerve endings in that tooth [ugh], which meant
surgery, and Mercer would have to be put to sleep and perhaps again face that diablo who came into his dreams, who would probably want to take Mercer
to his death.
Mercer wasn’t really concerned with going to hell if he died, because he was already in a seeming hell of constant pain. He had become inconsolable,
and believed that his bold confrontation with that strange new person would prove to be his undoing, his death sentence.
Mercer shook, and he cried inside. . .and he wrote a type of his will on a piece of paper and put it into his pocked, to be found, just in case he
died during the surgery.
And then he called his Church people who calmly advised him that the diablo-spouting person was an energy-thief, with grandioso tendencies and could
not take or trade a person’s soul without that person’s co-operation.
Mercer had made no deals for soul-exchanges, and with help, was able to envision a wall of resistance against unwanted and negative forces. He also
went into his surgery with the common fears that most people experience, but no diablo came to him [not then, and not since]. Mercer had not been a
crueling [one that becomes a magnet to dark, cruel sensations]; but he had learned to be more cautious with his confrontations.
THE END of this true story.
edit on Thu May 14 2020 by DontTreadOnMe because: (no reason given)