The Works of Mark EdgemonThe Apparition: Hell On Earth
The Works of Mark Edgemon from

Mark Edgemon has been writing for 30 years. He writes and publishes short stories, articles, poetry and scripts, as well as, produces audio comedy productions for over 700 radio stations nationwide.

Contact Mark through his website, Creator and the Catalyst.

The Apparition: Hell On Earth

People often remember key moments when their lives change forever. I will never forget the day my life was transformed from my earthly human state to a roaming spirit traveling the natural plane searching for salvation.

I had no fore warning of my death or the terrible devastation the day would bring not only for me, but also for 3,000 other souls who were in and around the building where I worked. I was standing near the glass wall in my office around 8:45 a.m. on Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001, drinking my first cup of coffee. I worked on the 95th floor in the Sears & Rudman International Investment Group in the north tower of the World Trade Center.

The Investment Group kept a picture perfect appearance in the office where I worked. Dozens of cubicles created a honeycomb maze of hustling investment brokers, utilizing every minute of the day to cultivate new clients and maintain current ones. Dan the office manager was preparing for the early morning meeting. He would say the same thing everyday without varying his speech one iota.

“Mining the rare and precious clients, the ones with large sums to invest is like panning for gold. The refining process comes later. The main thing is to keep your pan in the water and sort out the rocks at the end of the day,” Dan said feeling like his every word should be taken down for posterity. It was certainly ingrained in everyone’s minds, having heard it hundreds if not thousands of times.

Window washers were a common site on the outside of our office building. The administration of the World Trade Center kept every inch of the property in immaculate condition, which included washing the windows on Tuesday every week. Looking down I could see the window washers had already made it to the 45th floor and should be by our floor by midday. I do not know how anyone could do such a job, risking one’s life day after day and for what, $35.00 an hour. I figured that up to be over $72,000.00 a year. I make twice that and I’m not risking my life everyday. I came to realize, we all risk our lives everyday in one way or another, just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Most of the staff were still arriving, not scheduled to work until 9:00 a.m., which meant most of the office workers didn’t show up until a few minutes till. As for myself, I always got to work early. My wife who was in bed with the flu begged me to stay home and take care of her.

“Please honey, take one of your vacation days. You’ve got 6 weeks worth. I need you. I might need to go to the hospital later today,” she begged. I went to work anyway disregarding her pleas. She often complained that I was more interested in my career than I was in her. She was probably right. I remember her crying as I walked out the door.

As I was staring out into the cloudy early morning sky, I saw a plane flying lower than I had ever seen before. It appeared to be heading straight for our building but I thought that had to be an illusion possibly due to the angle where I was standing of a reflection off of the outer glass walls. As I continued to watch the plane it became apparent it was going to crash into the north tower. I didn’t have time to reconcile the fear that I should have felt at the moment. I was frozen, unable to move or to stop looking at the inevitable collision that was about to take place. Other employees were running for the exits, screaming, pushing each other out of their way. Most pressed their way toward the elevator; a few took the stairs. But I just stood there motionless, staring at the fate of all of us that day hurtling toward me.

“The plane is going to hit the building,” I heard the office manager shouting as he ran toward the stairs. That was the last human voice I ever heard…in this life.

The impact was as if it was happening in slow motion. My God, I never saw anything move so fast.

The nose of the plane pulverized the building glass wall, hitting me dead center in the stomach, bursting my body like an over ripe tomato. The flames from the explosion incinerated my remains as well as the office I was in as it meshed into the back of the wall near the floor elevators. Although my body had been destroyed, the essence of who I am still remained. As the plane passed through my now disembodied spirit, I saw the terror in the expressions of the passengers as they were being propelled toward oblivion. Some were praying, most held on to the sides of their seats braced for whatever impact was about to happen. I don’t think any one expected to live through the moment. As many of the passengers passed through me, I could hear their thoughts. One elderly woman prayed for her adult son to be able to make it without her for he never learned responsibility. He was a good man, just too terribly dependent on her, calling her several times a day. He didn’t want her to go on this trip because he would miss her. A middle-aged man was sitting beside his mistress stressed that his wife would find out at his funeral he was escorting his lady friend to one of his “usual” business meetings. Everyone had their own fears. It’s not easy facing your own death.

Hours later, I saw the buildings fall and thousands die. The people still on the floors above us were trapped, unable to move through the tangled mess that use to be the stairs and the elevator. I can still remember the smell of fuel and smoke in the air.


Spirits swirled about me; darkness with streaks of red umber became my skies. The ground beneath was air and I transported to places dreary, dark and grotesque. Fear became my constant companion, nursed me through never-ending days as I felt alone in a world of living beings that passed through me as I became aware that I was out of synchronization with the natural/spiritual realms.

The grayness beckoned forth from my soul for the days I was wanton, pursuing the nothing that men strive for in bleak desperation, striving to accumulate the ever-passing things our soul craves to bolster our self-exaltation.

“What!” I cried out. “Is there no one who cares for me?”

I knew that I had wrought my own fate without concern for anyone other than my own significance.

What I could now see was a realm controlled by the darker-winged beings. No light to brighten or give comfort, darkness only and a whiff of inhumanity, only the carnal without love to balance it out.

And what I now beheld was a truth unknown to man. That hell and its fire were not far below, but simultaneously existing in a spiritual plane on earth. Where there were buildings of commerce, in the same location were flames of fire and souls in excruciating anguish, coexisting in the spiritual realm in the same designation.


As humans walked the Earth, the demons also walked passing through them as if they were not there. While a family was sitting quietly in their homes after a day’s work, demons walked often in their same footsteps seeing both the natural, human environment as well as their own fiery world in shades of hell and death.

Two worlds existing in the same place and time. For the evil dominion were aware of the affairs of men…and were there, observing each human soul’s every action, perverting if they could any good intent to selfishness.

I was aware of each world, but was detached from them both. I was fearful that any moment these evil spirits would discover my detachment from the natural world and drag me into hell eternal.

I could see the spiritual infrastructure, which held both worlds together. Even as most of mankind played out their seemingly pointless existence, there was indeed a point to every action and purpose. It was like a well-scripted play even though humans “believed” they charted their own course.

While awaiting my fate, I roamed throughout the Earth and it’s hell, the dark world superimposed onto the natural framework of human civilization. I could see both worlds at the same time and wondered to myself why mankind could not.


I wanted to see my wife again, maybe to try and communicate how my loss of her had changed me. I had been too caught up in my own world of self-striving to see the preciousness of her life while I was alive.

I found her living in our same small apartment, this time with another man by her side. I was unsure how much time had passed since my death, but she looked older, worn a bit around the eyes, maybe from grieving for me. I saw them sleeping together in the dimly lit bedroom and I wondered how she could betray me. Then I remembered I was dead and she must go on with her life. I’d want her to do that. As I watched them snuggling together, I saw her smiling. She must be happy. If she is happy, then I am happy for her. I love her, I really do. It would have been nice if I had told her once in awhile when I was alive.

I can still hear my father telling me as I was growing up, “You’ve got to hold on to what you got.” I didn’t understand what he was saying at the time, but I do now.


Most of the Pacific Ocean was a glow with molten rock within the spiritual realm. The sky above the pits was blood red, filled with smoke from the heat and the flames of the lost who were given perfect bodies by their Creator at the moment of their death, only to be tormented everlasting in them. I had feared to travel there on account of not wanting to be recognized by demons, who were punishing the once self-serving souls, forever burning in the pits of sulfur. But after awhile, I grew braver and ventured there to see maybe what my fate would be like…someday.

High up in the sky I could hear a chorus of millions of agonizing souls wailing in excruciating pain, calling on the one person who could have helped them while they were alive. But there was no help coming and now they were screaming His name in vain.

I could not make out their former human image for now they were spirit without form and yet they took up time and space. It seemed that now as a spirit, I would no longer know fear and grief, but in actuality, I felt it more.

After searching for a long time, I found my father amongst the tortured ones. I don’t know how I knew it was him. I may have received intuitive knowledge being a spirit and knew things I had no way of knowing through natural means. Yes, he was my father and I loved him. He was in agony before me and I could do nothing to help him as I hovered in front of him. When he did look up, even though he was staring straight at me, he did not know me, for even after all of this, he remained self-involved. His knowledge gave way to anguish with the exception of crying for help in this dark and desolate place.

“God help me, O God help, help me, O God, please help me!” were my father’s cries. I watched the bitterness of his now miserable existence. I pitied him. In his earthly life, he was a man dedicated to making it, getting ahead as he provided for his family. I would have been him in another few years. I never made it. I pondered my own fate as I watched his now unfolding before me.


I returned to the place of my death to find a memorial in the spot of the twin towers. But unseen to the human eye shadows of the towers still stood tall, an after-effect of a destruction that was not meant to have happened. There were many shades of former existences throughout the Earth, often sensed in humans by an uneasy feeling, a dark sensation or cold shivers up the spine.

I never should have died that day. If I had stayed home with my ailing wife, I would have been spared this fate.


Then suddenly without knowledge, I was whisked away to India I think, inside a city square. There was a man dying laid out on the ground, who had been poisoned by a cobra that belonged to a flute-playing enchanter, who entertain crowds by mesmerizing snakes. He was about my age and height, sprawled out with his head in the lap of a beautiful Indian woman, that was frightened for his well-being.

As life drained from his body, I found myself drawn toward him and without notice, translated into his body at the very moment his spirit departed. My entrance gave breath to his corpse to the amazement of the crowd who gasped as he lived once again. After a few moments, I arose in this man’s body and sat up to the amazement of the onlookers and the woman, who was obviously this man’s mate.

Praise went up to God with hands raised and loud exaltation as I rose to my feet, seemingly unharmed by the poisonous venom that had once surged through his body. What they did not know was he had not lived, but died. I arose in his stead.

I was now considered a miracle man revived by God. Funny how that worked out, for a vision came to me at that very moment, one that I could not see with my eyes, but was communicated directly into my spirit. I knew much in that moment concerning my future.

I understood that eventually, I would travel as this man to foreign countries and would be known as the man who arose from the dead. I do not know why I was chosen by the Almighty to fulfill this role as a messenger for Him. I was not deserving of any consideration, for I was as self-serving as the rest of humanity, maybe more. It remains a mystery to me. But one day, I hope to ask Him.

I knew somehow that the woman beside me was my wife, a caring woman who would increasingly love me more as time went on, the true me and not just from obligation to the man she had married. I would write books, give lectures and most importantly love like my life depended on it. Because it does you know, it really does!

The End


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