Sam's Angel

Nästa samtal kommer från knut sjuår. Hej, du råkade ha söder din pappas laptop. Ja, men jag kollar bara när i marken, och så går du. Kunde han inte var på mig? Aha, hundon ja det är en klassiker. Dagens hjälper lite att presenteras av IF som hjälper mycket. Welcome, friend. Follow me. We're going where nightmares are born. Most people would never dare enter these woods. There's no telling what horrors we'll find the disturbing terrors we'll uncover.

Don't say I didn't warn you. Unsettling creatures lurk here. Be careful, they might follow you out. Or maybe they're already inside you, in the spaces between your thoughts or under your skin. Are you afraid? Good. Now you are ready to enter the warning woods.

Mr. Frankel, why do angels tell people to do bad things? I, Reed Frankel, paused with my hand hovering over the whiteboard and turned to see which of my second grade Sunday school students had asked this question. I noticed Sam Parker glancing nervously at each of his classmates' expectant faces, his right hand held stiff above his head. I said I'm not sure I understand your question, Sam. What do you mean?

Never mind, he said, lowering his hand and eyes in unison. He said why do angels do bad things? answered Carla Vernon, tilting her chin up as if making room for someone to pin a ribbon on her. Sam said, No, I asked why angels tell people to do bad things. Hold on now, I cut in. Sam, it's the premise of your question that's tripping me up. That means I can't answer it because I don't really understand why you're asking it.

Huh? asked Billy McGregor, a smart kid who, for whatever reason, liked to play dumb. I said, I need an example of what Sam's talking about to understand what he's asking. See, Sam, I can't think of any times that an angel has asked someone to do a bad thing, so I can't really explain why they would. Carla Vernon's hand shot up. That one angel told Mary to lie about having Jesus in her tummy. I tried not to, but laughed. That's not quite how that story goes, I said,

We'd strayed pretty far from my lesson about Jesus feeding the crowd with five fishes and two loaves of bread, but I knew how kids that age could take ideas and run with them. I needed to bring the bizarre conversation to a satisfying close before it spiraled. I set my marker down and asked, Sam, what's on your mind? What made you want to ask that question? It's okay, we can go back to Jesus, Sam replied, blushing. No, it's all right, I encouraged. This will be good for everybody, I'm sure.

Okay, Sam said. He picked up a crayon started filling in the sash of Jesus' robe on a coloring page he, like all the children, had in front of him. I always let the kids color while I taught. I found it kept them more focused. Sam said, Remember how my grandpa died kind of not that long ago? It was about a year ago, wasn't it? I asked her. I guess so, said Sam. I said, and we're all still very sorry for your loss, right, everyone? Is your family doing okay?

I guess so, Sam repeated. But a while ago I started seeing his angel, and he tells me to do things my dad won't like. Like what? I asked. But before he answered, I said, Actually, hold on. What did you mean? When you called it your grandpa's angel. I've seen his angel come back from heaven, Sam replied. Sounds more like a ghost, said Billy. Yeah, that's what I was gonna say, Carla shouted. I opened my mouth to seize control, but first

First, Sam said, My mom says it's not a ghost because ghosts aren't real. She says angels are real, though, so it must be an angel. I see your logic, I said, biting my lower lip. I thought, how do I navigate this tightrope? Then it came to me. I said, Here's the thing, Sam, all of you. God doesn't speak to us through

That doesn't mean they're not still around, but Mr. Frankl, are you saying Sam's lying? Because that's a sin, interjected Carla. In a cadence Sam seemed to find quite familiar, he said. I'm not a liar. Dad says I'm a lot of things, but I'm no liar. I'm sure Sam's living grandparents probably gave a hoot and a holler every time the boy delivered that line, but it wasn't treated as a joke that morning. It rallied Sam's classmates against me.

Grasping at straws, I said, A liar? No, no, I would hope you're not a liar,'cause lying's against the OG Ten Commandments. I'd learned OG from my nine year old son Xander over the summer. I ended with a glance at Sam, inviting him to confess his sin, if a sin he did need to confess. See, he is calling you a liar, Carla jeered.

That's when I finally lost control of the room. The children began pointing and shouting over each other or laughing with the child seated nearest to them about Carla getting one over on here comes more lingo I picked up from Xander, vintage mister Frankel. It was Sam who brought them back to attention, but the undertone of chaos never left. It seemed to abandon the children and come after me. I'll explain shortly.

Sam said. I see Grandpa's Angel almost every night, and sometimes in the day. He comes in through my window, but not like he floats through. And and he's like see through kind of. Stop this, I chastised myself. But something else, something outside of me, compelled my silence. Not usually one to linger in cognitive dissonance, I felt physically ill in its presence. What reason did I have to let the boy keep going on? Yet I felt like I should. Like I had to. Sam said.

When he's next to me, Grandpa starts talking. Well, first he like he mimed, crushing something large between his hands. Solidifies, he finished, searching the expressions of his captive audience. His eyes found me, and he said Then he starts saying the bad stuff. Okay, I think that's is all I got out before confusion dizzied me, physically disoriented me. I thought, these are children. This is Sunday school. God, why don't you want me to stop this? Because it had to be God, didn't it?

I didn't believe in any other ethereal beings, so the voice in my head, the one compelling me to let Sam continue speaking, must have been his one true voice. Turning again to his classmates, Sam said, He tells me that when my dad is yelling for me I should hide.

I did it a couple times and it wasn't even like a game or anything. I just got in trouble. He wants me to take all the bottles in the kitchen and throw them down the stairs, but I know I'd get in huge trouble for that, and I don't get why he even wants me to. Sam I finally blurted, and for a moment he paused. But after a few seconds past an awkward silence I could not force myself to fill, Sam continued. The weirdest thing he says?

Multiple kids leaned forward. Is he always says, I'm sorry she'll have to kill him. And then okay, that is enough, I finally said.

I noted muted music in the background, the band playing their final song in the chapel. I said, Sam, that's pretty scary stuff and not really appropriate for everybody here, don't you think? Now your parents will be here in a minute, so maybe this is a conversation we should bring them into. What? No, Sam shouted. The other kids started hurrying to finish their coloring pages. That's what I thought, I muttered, just loud enough for Sam to hear.

Less than two minutes later, a swelling wave of voices broke through the chapel doors. The kids lined up obediently by the classroom door to wait for their parents. All but Sam. The moment I opened the door, he charged through. I leaned out into the hall and watched Sam collide with his mother Rebecca at the other end. She acknowledged him with a half hearted side hug while continuing a conversation with another mom. Sam's dad, Harry, waved to me, giving the all clear.

I turned to the rest of the class and said, Okay, no one else do that. The students, even Carla Vernon, nodded politely. After all the parents collected their children, I found three half finished coloring pages on the table. I couldn't remember who sat where except for Sam, whose page still sat in his place. I scribbled his name in the lower right corner of the page so I could set it aside for him next week.

I then put all three coloring pages on the counter and finished cleaning up. Once I'd finished everything else, I returned to the counter and found one of the coloring pages turned upside down, diagonally across the blank side, scrawled in purple crayons. I reached down and picked up a purple crayon off the floor. I scanned the room, expecting to hear a snickering child at any moment.

I thought it must have been one of my students, who else could have referenced the unsettling discussion we'd had at the end of class. Hearing nothing, I turned the page over and found what I already knew I would: Sam's name in the lower right corner. The clamorous voices in the hallway became a fuzzy rumble as my thoughts coalesced around a rational explanation. Okay, so Sam had written Angel and drawn the smiley face to scare me. It was a decent prank, better than I.

Would have expected from a child of Sam's age, but Sam pranking me couldn't explain the crayon on the floor unless he somehow predicted I would set the unclaimed pages in that exact spot on the counter. And of course, I was ignoring how the page had gotten flipped. Flipped in the first place. I'd set it coloring side up, of that I was positive. I balled up all three unfinished pages and tossed them in the waste bin on my way out the door, needing to see my wife, Kylie.

Somebody needed to ground me back in reality, and if anyone could, it was her. New Maybelline Serum Lipstick. Lane. Väng firar 70 år av resor som är svåra att släppa taget om. Och det gör vi med massor av erbjudanden som är omöjliga att motstå. Boka redan nu på ving.se. De bästa resorna försvinner först. Ving- Semester. Det vill hem från.

I'm sorry she has to kill him. The words Sam claimed his grandfather's angel spoke looped through my thoughts as I sat behind Sam at his father's funeral ten days later. That unruly Sunday school session was the last time I saw him before his mother slaughtered his father with hedge trimmers in his sleep. While we bowed our heads during the pastor's closing prayer, Rebecca sat in the county jail without bail. I joined the line to offer condolences to the family, but bailed before I reached them.

I'm sorry she has to kill him. I never considered those words could mean what they turned out to mean. Cold-blooded murder and chipper servant-hearted Rebecca did not compute together. I should say her actions, although certainly premeditated, do not qualify as cold-blooded, at least in my mind. At least not anymore. She quite easily convinced us she'd murdered her husband to save both herself and Sam.

She unveiled hidden abuses that brought tears to the juror's eyes. Her defense presented photos of bruises. She'd secretly saved them as documentation to use against Harry when she finally worked up the courage to divorce him. He started drinking as soon as he came home from work and became belligerent by dinner time each night.

I recalled one of the bad things Sam said his grandpa's angel told him to do. He wants me to take all the bottles in the kitchen and throw them down the stairs, but I know I'd get in huge trouble for that, and I don't get why he even wants me to. Rebecca's testimony cleared up that mystery. According to Rebecca, she announced her intention to leave Harry the same night she murdered him. She said he grabbed Sam by the hair after she told him and dragged their son to the basement.

When she tried to intervene, Harry shoved her off the basement stairs in full view of their son. By some miracle, she didn't break anything on the concrete floor. Harry told Sam to stay down in that dank basement until somebody came to get him, then dragged Rebecca, fighting, back up the stairs. He locked the door and berated her with words and brute force for over an hour. She eventually pacified him by agreeing she'd never leave him.

Rebecca testified. He made it absolutely clear I would never get away or take Sam from him. If I'd tried to get the police involved look, I know people who've filed domestic charges on their boyfriends before, and the guys just get right out again. Harry was too dangerous. I couldn't risk that, especially not with Sam. The only way I could protect him was to to take Harry out of the picture.

The jury found Rebecca Parker guilty of voluntary manslaughter, a significant downgrade from the first degree murder conviction the prosecutor sought. The verdict came with a 15-year sentence. That broke my heart. That poor woman, who I knew would never harm another human being as long as she lived, left the courtroom with tears in her eyes. Yet, somehow she carried a smile on her face.

She located Sam seated next to me in the gallery, and her smile widened. She shouted to him, You're safe now, Sam. I love you. The biggest, toughest looking male juror hid his face behind his hands at that moment, and his broad shoulders shook.

Yes, Sam watched his mother's trial next to me. During the immediate aftermath, the state had attempted to place Sam with Harry's parents. Naturally, concerns arose. A social worker, also a member of our church, managed to place him with another family from the church, someone he already knew who happened to have a foster care license.

When it became clear Sam's mother would stay behind bars until after he became an adult, his foster family consulted with the deacons about what to do with him. They loved him, but never had any intention of adopting him permanently. One deacon made me aware of these talks and, after consulting Rebecca, asked if Kylie and I might consider guardianship. I sometimes joke that going to church is like being in the mob. Everybody's got a guy or a gal.

Somebody always knows somebody. Case in point, an attorney from our church helped us file everything and obtain legal guardianship for Sam Parker. I started building my relationship with Sam before this point in the story, so perhaps I should take a few steps back before we continue. The same night Rebecca murdered Harry, although that news wouldn't reach me until a full day later, Kylie shook me awake in tears.

The fog of sleep evaporated instantly as adrenaline flooded my veins. I asked, What's wrong? But she was already trying to tell me. She had trouble ordering the words, but eventually got out. You woke me up talking in your sleep. And there was somebody standing next to you. He was right there when I rolled over. Where'd he go? I asked, already tossing the covers aside. The comforter wrapped around one of my legs, and in my heightened state I became angry. Reed, calm down, he's gone.

she said. Where? I demanded. Just She made an exploding gesture with her hands. Just gone. My heart kept pounding, but my mind began to settle. I had woken her up and she mistook a shadow for a person standing next to me. That I could believe. That I could handle. I put an arm around her and, listening for any sounds in the house just in case, held her until we both relaxed. I said I was talking in my sleep?

Oh, she thought for a couple of seconds, then said, Something like he's gonna need you? Whatever it was, you were just saying it over and over like I don't know, like a mantra. Sliding off the bed, I said, I'll just go check on Xander real quick, then we should try to get back to sleep. I found Xander in his undisturbed room, asleep. For good measure, I checked the doors before heading back to bed and, after maybe half an hour, falling back asleep.

Having no context of the tragic event transpiring while I'd chanted those words in my sleep, I thought nothing of them the following morning. I went about my day as usual, reporting to work at 7 30 and calling Kylie around noon to check in during lunch. She asked if I had heard the news.

I told her no, expecting the news to be someone's pregnancy or engagement announcement due to how excited she sounded. I misread her excitement, though. She proceeded to tell me about Harry Parker's murder and Rebecca's arrest. I stayed silent so long, Kylie asked. Reed, you there? What about Sam? I asked. Kylie said, Oh, I don't know. I just got a text from Jasmine about the arrest before you called.

I thanked her for telling me and wrapped up our call. I immediately tried calling her friend Jasmine, but she sent me to voicemail. I texted Jasmine instead. As I typed, Autocorrect added words to my sentence that made no contextual sense. I tried texting, Kylie Told Me About the Parkers. But with my phone's additions it read Kylie Told Me About He the Needs Parker's.

Frustrated, I deleted the extra words and tried typing the next sentence. Any idea who Sam's with now? But I read back. Any he idea who Sam's needs now with you? When I attempted to delete the added words again, my phone replaced them. Frustrated, I resorted to voice to text and sent the message without issue. Beneath the sent message, the keyboard rose on its own, and three words appeared in succession. He needs you.

My memory of the previous night emerged for the first time, and like a crashing wave it knocked my phone out of my hands. My phone smacked on the edge of my desk before falling between my knees to the floor. I left it there. A string of memories swept in following the wake of the initial wave, the one that rippled the most being of Sam telling the class about his grandfather's angel.

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While Sam lived with his foster family, I leveraged my role as his Sunday school teacher to pay him visits multiple times per week. We read his Bible together, and I prayed for him. He portrayed cold distance, but I felt the invisible arms of his heart reaching out for me. During that period, my family experienced no strange events or inexplicable coincidences. Life, for us, remained calm until the night Sam moved in.

After Kylie and I showed him his new room and made sure he had everything he needed, we gave him space to settle in. He didn't bring much with him that first night, just a single suitcase full of clothes, books and toys. I had been given the all clear to take him back to his house the next day to collect the rest of his things, items he'd left behind that terrible night and hadn't seen since.

While giving Sam space, I put Xander to bed. I'd just finished reading his favorite book, stood, and bent down to kiss his forehead when he pointed behind me and asked, Who is that? I automatically assumed I'd see Sam standing behind me. Why I thought my otherwise brilliant nine year old son could have already forgotten about the boy who'd moved in with us, I can't say. I so expected to see Sam that I shouted. Bellowed from my gut. When I instead

I saw a hunched old man stalking past the doorway. Without light, except what little escaped from Xander's nightlight, I couldn't make out the man's features, only his vague form right before it disappeared. Heading toward Sam and Kylie in their respective rooms. I heard both of their doors open. I shouted again, Kylie's name, I think, as I lunged into the hallway ready to tackle the stranger in my house.

stranger had vanished. Sam and Kylie stood in their doorways, silhouetted by lights behind them, posed stiffly, expectant and afraid. They looked afraid of me. Sorry, I said, forcing myself to laugh. Oh, it's just Xander he pointed and asked, Who's that? And I thought I actually saw somebody in the hallway, but now I see it's okay, Sam interrupted.

I said, pushing more laughter through my voice. No, buddy, it's not. I didn't mean to freak you out on your first night here. I swear that's not like something I do all the time. It's really not, Kylie confirmed, cocking an eyebrow at me. I know, it's okay, Sam replied with a shrug. Then he turned and disappeared back into his room.

He knows, Kylie whispered with a wry grin. I mirrored her expression, but I couldn't help thinking perhaps Sam did know. Maybe he knew exactly what or who I'd just seen in the hallway.

Hours later, long after we all fell asleep, I woke from a dream I don't remember. I don't think it was significant or meaningful, just a typical crossfire of unrelated thoughts. I opened my eyes in that half-awake. State and saw a figure outlined in front of our light blue curtain that, when the moon is bright, creates an icy hue. I thought I was still dreaming or that a hallucination had followed me from the dream and by rubbing my eyes I could erase it. The figure only became clearer though.

He stepped forward. As the figure approached, I made out his face. I saw the wiry white hair circling his head like a low halo and the frizzy points of his short beard. He held up a hand, palm forward, and slowly lowered it, imploring me to remain calm. Still wrapped in disbelief, I found this easier than you would believe. I fully expected my eyes to open again, peeling the final layer off a dream.

The old man, who seemed to glow in the filtered moonlight as if it passed straight through him, bent toward me and whispered, Thank you. Behind me came a sharp intake of breath and a scream, as one of my wife's pillows flew over my head, passed through the old man's chest. and landed on the floor. He did not evaporate how you see in the movies. He simply vanished. There one moment, and gone a fraction of a second later.

It took an hour to calm Kylie down, to convince her we didn't need to worry about the old man she'd seen hovering over me. It took even longer to convince her that he wasn't a ghost. No, he was an angel. He was Sam's angel. And having accomplished his goal of ensuring Sam's safety and security after the boy spent years living in constant fear, his grandpa seems to have left for good. Sam is thriving now.

We had some bad days, okay, bad weeks in the beginning, but he eventually found the rhythm of our family and an appreciation for what we'd done for him. His mother has been a model prisoner and may have a chance for early release in the next few years. That's what her lawyer tells us. Whether that means she'll be able to take Sam back is unclear, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. It's comforting to know that whatever happens, Sam has a guardian angel looking out for him.

Contrary to my prior statements, I do believe angels still speak. It took hearing one myself to change my mind. The next time some kid tells me they're talking to an angel, I think I'll tell them to listen. Who knows? It could save their life.

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Follow me on Instagram at the Warning Woods to stay up to date. And when you feel ready, meet me here for another journey into the Warning Woods. Thank you for listening. Hi, this is Rob Benedict. And I am Richard Spate. We were both on a little show you might know called Supernatural. It had a pretty good run. And though we have seen, of course, every episode many times, we figured, hey, now that we're wrapped. Let's watch it all again. And we can't do that alone.

So we're inviting the cast and crew that made the show along for the ride. We've got writers, producers, composers, directors, and we'll of course have some actors on as well, including some certain guys that played some certain Pretty iconic brothers. It was kind of a little bit of a left field choice in the best way possible. The note from Kripke was, he's great, we love him, but we're looking for like a really intelligent Duchovny type.

With 15 seasons to explore. It's going to be the road trip of several lifetimes. So please join us and subscribe to Supernatural Then and Now. Oh, please, not that music. That music gives me nightmares from my childhood. Could we get something a little bit lighter? Some lighter music here. Are you a fan of? True crime TV shows. And what about Unsolved Mysteries, the show that jumpstarted all of our love of true crime? I'm Ellen Marsh, and I'm Joey Taranto.

I Think Not, a true crime comedy podcast covering some of the wildest stories from your favorite true crime campaig shows all the way. Unsolve mysteries. And you'll also ask yourself New episodes. Released every Wednesday with bonus episodes out every Thursday on Patreon. Top True Crime Headlines of the Week. So come and join us wherever you listen to your podcast.