Indwelling

Obed

"I just volunteered," the man shrugged. Closing the door, he swiftly locked it then cautiously stepped away, one tiny step at a time. You weren't supposed to turn your back on it. He remembered that much from they told him. You were only supposed to back away, just one minuscule step at a time. And that wasn't a problem. His apartment guaranteed it. One step, two steps, three steps, four. He obeyed until his shoulders hit the wall on the other side of the hall. Obed grimaced as the light switch dug between his shoulder blades. He shyly smiled while Grendel just glared. He was standing next to his wife.

"You just volunteered?" she growled—well whispered—well growl whispered making her mouth contort into a number of rather humorous looking angles. If he also didn't share in the woman's concern, if he also didn't quite believe what he did either, Obed would have laughed. But he did worry and he did disbelieve. Clumsily, Obed stepped away from the wall. While the light switch only poked him, the holes in Grendel's eyes nearly skewered him alive.

"Obed, one wrong move and you could be killed."

Obed nodded pushing passed her to stalk down the hall. He trotted passed the door to their room (the door next to the closet), and the door to the bathroom (the room across from it). He quietly wiped his brow.

"One wrong move and we could die!"

"I know," Obed answered. He walked pass the children's room, pass the two sets of eyes that stared up at him: one hovered to the right of his wife, the other behind the comfortable nest of her arms. The little girl clapped her hands and instantly reached for him. Her smile was contagious. Obed bit his lip and moved further into the kitchen—into the living room—into the dining room. Three rooms in one were nestled on the end of their small little apartment. The man sighed acutely aware of the footsteps trailing his own.

"What was I supposed to do?" Obed sighed. He slouched into his seat at the head of the dining table. His milk chocolate eyes watched as his wife of 15 years situated the little girl into the high chair on his left. The two year old stuttered his name and Obed once more bit his lip. Smiling back would be the wrong move.

Grendel's' frown deepened as her husband's lips began to quiver. Eventually, she turned towards the hallway as two additional feet sauntered towards the kitchenette. The second child just stared at them. Two accusing eyes sliced passed the tv, the lounge chair, the refrigerator and the queen's dinning chair nestled snuggly on the other side of the table. When a petal from the table's centerpiece suddenly snapped off and floated like lead to the dolly beneath it, Obed was entirely convenience that it was the stare's fault. Quietly, he took his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"We'll be fine!" the man insisted—to her—to him—to himself. "Besides it will only be a few days at the most. King David—"

"King David indeed," Grendel snapped. Slamming down a plate of lamb and chicken, she turned off the burner to the stove and moved the plates to the table. "Wasn't it his idea to move that thing in the first place? Unprepared, uneducated, a man's dead because of that happy little scheme of his. And now, thanks to my love-struck husband, the very thing that killed him is now in our house tucked away in my linen closet like a rotten skeleton. Did you honestly think that—"

"Listen here, woman! That man has been nothing but a God send to this country ever since the day he cut off that giant's head and you know it." Obed countered her angrily, "You were love-struck too until the king himself dropped 'that thing' unto our doorstep."

"YOU dropped that thing onto our doorstep." Grendel sunk a spoon into the mashed potatoes and pointed to the chair at her husband's right. Those eagle hazel eyes zeroed in on the two coffee colored pupils glaring back at her from the hallway. They didn't budge. Obed sighed… again.

He raised a soft hand beckoning the ten year old, the boy who had yet to speak since the day Obed had brought him home. Reluctantly, the child obeyed.

He sat down with his head hung and his hair drifting into his plate, but his eyes were as sharp as daggers. They were eyes that had seen war. They stared at his sister, the little two year old across from him, stared at his plate, glared up at the man at the head of the table. All he did was glare.

"Did you forget?" his wife hollered—well whispered—well hollered whispered as she sat in her seat by the baby. "We have children now. We can't be—"

"I know," Obed snapped. He raised his brows emphasizing the words once more. "We will be fine, Grendel. The Arc of the Covenant is in our closet. The Lord knows we mean Him honor and not harm. As long as nobody touches it and everyone leaves it be, we will be perfectly a ok.

Obed reached out a hand grabbing the little girl's to his left and the boy's to his right. Grudgingly, his wife followed suit. "Now, let's pray and have dinner. It's been a long enough day."

The story behind this story. I read this passage one day and thought, "if this isn't a story, I don't what is."

1Chr. 13:12-14. 12 David was afraid of God that day and asked, "How can I ever bring the ark of God to me?" 13 He did not take the ark to be with him in the City of David. Instead, he took it to the house of Obed-Edom the Gittite. 14 The ark of God remained with the family of Obed-Edom in his house for three months, and the Lord blessed his household and everything he had.

That's pretty much all the Bible says about the incident. No details are really given about what happened when the Arc stayed with Obed and his family. It does mention that Obed eventually ends up working in the Temple, though. That says a lot to me. This story just plays at the idea of what could have happened. There is nothing historically accurate about this narrative and its set in modern day. I'm just playing with an idea. Please do not take offense. - Calla