Red Cross

Elders Reid and Walker sat in silence after having finished a long day of tracting. As they drove through a frigid Canadian snow storm, their sore legs sank deep into the warm seats of their Nissan Rogue. 

“Pull over!” 

Reid, a tall lanky boy in his early 20’s, pointed at a man in a red coat standing at the side of the road. 

Walker, sitting in the driver’s seat, noticed the man and rolled his eyes. “Elder Reid. It’s past curfew.”

Reid leaned forward, tapping quickly on his thigh as they neared the man in red. “I know, I know. But I feel good about this.” 

Walker pulled the car over. “Well I don’t.” 

REID ROLLED DOWN THE window, “What are you still doing out?” 

Reid felt his stomach roll with worry.

The name, Justus, hung from a lanyard dangling in front of the man’s red coat – a coat too thin for Canadian winters. Through a thick Nigerian accent, Justus shivered out a response, “I’m waiting to be picked up. I work for Red Cross – getting surveys.” 

Justus pointed to the red cross taped across the bicep of his coat. 

Reid replied – “If you have a minute, you can wait in our car where it’s warm – we’d love to talk to you about Jesus.”

Justus eyed the young man’s shimmering black name tag: 

ELDER REID

The Church of 

JESUS CHRIST

of Latter-day Saints

“You’re Christians! This is an answer to prayer. Thank you!” Justus quickly moved towards the back seat. 

The two missionaries sat in the warm darkness listening in awe as Justus detailed the past year of his life. 

Justus explained casually that in Africa, he was an heir to Nigerian royalty. 

Reid scoffed in his head. Though the missionary was young, he knew a scam when he saw one. Though Justus was strong, kind and handsome, he emanated a pungent, sulfuric, sickly-sweet scent. Reid could tell Justus desperately needed something from them, and it permeated his heart as much as the smell permeated the air. 

However, the longer Justus talked, the more Reid’s skepticism faltered. Justus never asked for their credit card information – and the details of his story were becoming too specific to doubt. 

JUSTUS EXPLAINED THAT HE was a Christian convert. He had rejected the traditions of his people. Traditions of blood sacrifice and spirit possession. Traditions required for succession. 

This was met with disdain from his tribe. At first the aggression was passive – it didn’t take long to become much darker. 

One bright morning Justus was taking in the cool dry air of Africa, when a scream pierced through his home. He ran inside to find his wife inspecting their 3-year-old daughter’s back. The skin and muscle was twisted and raw – oozing blood and puss.

Justus knew his family had been cursed. He had seen this many times. This was an ancient flesh eating ndoki – a spell crafted exclusively for Christians by a man named Anobu. Anobu killed many infants in mockery of God, and by shaking the hand of the devil himself was given the vrygewig se vloek, or, Christian’s Bane. Justus had seen the vrygewig se vloek take the lives of many Nigerian families. 

To pass it, one had to shake hands with the possessed. Though Justus had been leary of this – his daughter was clearly an easier target.

Within the hour Justus’ flesh began rotting.

That day Justus found the opportunity in Canada with the Red Cross and fled the country. 

REID SAT THERE STUNNED. He now knew where the smell came from. 

He spoke to the man about the power of Christ and offered a quick prayer as a large Red Cross van pulled up to the curb in front of them.

As the prayer ended, Justus reached for Reid’s hand. Quick as a snake bite, the Nigerian prince pinched the wrist of the missionary between his index finger and thumb. 

Reid pulled his hand back and clutched his wrist. A slight burning lingered where Justus had pressed.

Reid met Justus’ stern gaze, he saw relief teeming in the man’s eyes.

“My family thanks you Elder Reid. I already feel much better.”