B W Melvin - A Land Unknown: Hells Dominion

Table of Contents

Copyright 2005 by B.W. Melvin

A Land Unknown: Hells Dominion

by B.W. Melvin

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 1-59781-380-X

All rights reserved solely by the author. The author guarantees all contents are original and do not infringe upon the legal rights of any other person or work. No part of this book maybe used or reproduced in any manner or form without written permission from owner of work except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The views expressed in this book are not necessarily those of the publisher.

All Scripture references indirectly implied from The Holy Bible, New King James Version, Copyright 1984 by Thomas Nelson, Inc.

A Land Unknown: Hells Dominion is a true story written in the genre of creative nonfiction.

All names of persons living or deceased have been changed and any correlation or resemblances to those known to the reader are purely coincidental.

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This book is dedicated to my father,
whose laughter filled my familys days
with joy

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank my lovely wife for her love and devotion. I would like to acknowledge my cousin, Debbie Freet, who helped to compile my many handwritten notes as well as my sister Rebecca Lee and my mother for their gracious support. Many heartfelt thanks to David Middleton, whose inspiration helped define the message revealed from my experience. Most of all, I would like to honor my father whose personal battle with Alzheimers inspired me to complete this book.

PROLOGUE

T his book is about life, life after death, and a near-death experience. There are numerous books written on this subject, many just contain beautiful pleasantries concerning Heaven. Mine was not so kind. I saw another place. This event occurred in mid-summer 1980, in Tucson, Arizona, and has left its mark upon me.

Shortly after this experience, while visiting my parents in Virginia, I went to a friends home to reminisce about old times plus catch up on all the neighborhood happenings while I had been gone. I arrived while my old buddy was remodeling his basement. He proudly wanted to show me his handiwork.

As I walked down the stairs to explore the new basement design, the smell of fresh linseed oil assailed me, causing a dizzying flood of memories to unfurl before my mind. With each step, I began to sweat, shake, and turn pale. My friend grabbed my arm to steady me and asked what was wrong as we descended the stairs. I answered two words in reply, Linseed Oil.

He asked if I was allergic to it. I told him no. Opening several basement windows, he apologized for the smell. He had been applying coats of linseed oil to a recently paneled bedroom midst an unfinished family room. The paneling was covered with shiny, unsullied coats of oil. Out in the uncompleted great room, the walls were in need of sheetrock, which made the bedroom look like a ten by ten foot encased box. Looking at this, I began to tremble like one chilled to the bone.

He said he completed the bedroom first and was now working on the other room. There would be a game closet here and a sink over there aligning the protruding bedroom square with this area. The paneling looked nice, but the bedroom, so square, made tears well in my eyes and caused drops of sweat to moisten my brow.

I quickly tried to regain my composure. My friend said he was sorry that the work was so bad that it made me ill. I told him no, he had done a fantastic job and when it was finished it would be grand. Was it the oil then that made me feel bad? No, it was something else: recent memories, I explained. He asked me what. I then told him my story.

After concluding, he retrieved a medical book from a cluttered bookshelf and had me look up a brief two-paragraph section describing the medical possibility of neardeath experiences and what these were. That was the first I had heard of anything like my experience. It was late fall, 1981.

He mentioned that I should write down the experience before the ravages of time distorted my memory. I did. I compiled a manuscript and sent the draft for further edit. When the notebook was returned, I left it hidden in a box. I could not touch it.

The years rolled by. Haunting memories of my experience have deeply affected me. The smell of linseed oil, or stale roses, still brings on a surge of unpleasant memories without warning. If I am walking in a mall and see squareshaped windows, shivers sometimes run down my spine. Certain noises startle me, causing my heart to race with fear.

I often have trouble sleeping. When nightmares interrupt pleasing sleep, I find myself repeatedly yelling out loud two words, Jesus Christ , over and over again till the nightmares cease. Pillow and sheets are drenched with sweat.

Sometimes I find myself pacing for no apparent reason. If I tell the story of what I have seen, I tremble, wring my hands, sweat, and often weep. It has been difficult to write this book, as it recalled to mind many events best left forgotten. It nevertheless has provided me a catharsis. Now, I can put these memories behind me and reach forward to new horizons.

I told a minister my account and he said it was quite the adventure that many may find hard to believe, but nevertheless I should tell my story. I was granted opportunity to speak before several local churches congregations, and many found faith in Jesus as a result.

I gave testimony many times of what had happened to me, each difficult as my voice would quiver and tears came. Telling my account over the years served to keep this event alive in memory. No matter, I could never adequately describe verbally what really happened. Maybe a book can, as the old minister implied.

At the urging of friends and those touched by my story, I revised my old manuscript and completed this book. May my story help you find life and its meaning as it has for me.

B. W. Melvin

Chapter 1

FAST FORWARD IN REVERSE

Are we destined to roam the earth like headless men?

T he unsteady ping from a heart monitor rang in my ears. Wires taped to my chest itched. Clean white sheets felt cool and fresh. My throat burned. Breathing was difficult. My stomach and intestines were seething with furious pain. I heard footsteps. A nurse entered the sterile hospital room.

Sir, please do not pull on the wires. They are for the monitor. I brought you something for pain.

The nurse injected medication into an IV tube attached to my forearm. A warm sensation began filling my arm and then flowed through my body.

Tell me, nurse, Im not in a cube, am I? Are you really real? Where am I? Am I breathing? Nurse, tell me, THIS IS NOT A CUBE, is it?

Mr. Melvin, just relax, youre in a hospital room in Tucson, Arizona. Everything will be okay. You are very ill. The doctor will return soon. Can you tell me what year this is?

Yes, it is July of 1980.

Good, youre improving. Let me adjust your pillow.

There comfy?

The pain medication began taking effect. I was terrified of sleep and tried to fight the onrushing drowsiness. How did I arrive here? It was as though I had just emerged from a horrible living nightmare, lost in some unknown land, and I did not want to return by means of slumber. Everything was becoming all fuzzy.