8

Reverend Michael Thomason sat in the Lane Prairie Baptist Church for morning prayer. If there was ever a time for prayer, it would be now, he figured. The streets were a wasteland, people seemed to have disappeared, and the sun was nowhere in sight. He trusted God, believed in Him with all his heart, and yet, couldn’t find a reason for these atrocities. Animal body parts have been burned and place on his porch. He couldn’t hear anything but the wind at the doors. No sounds of the neighbors, no cars, signs of other life have vanished. As far as he was concerned, Thomason may have been the only one left on earth.

Of course that’s not true, he thought. God would never leave someone alone like that.

What was happening out there, however, wasn’t an act of God. He read the Bible through and through when he was a teenager, and there never was an incident like this mentioned. “You read too much into this,” his mother had told him. “Try not to take every word so seriously.” Being the son of a couple Baptists, it was always difficult to wrap his head around those words. “There are Christians, and then, there are extremists, my dear,” she would continue. “Try not to get confused on those matters.” From then on, he followed that advice, only reading two days a week. The schedule was a little more emphasized when he turned twenty.

At age fifty five, he strengthened his mind with a little, what he called, “Scripture Therapy” on Wednesdays and Sundays before mass would begin. Today, however, his wife Rachel had begged him not to go anywhere because of the happenings around town. “It’s too dangerous,” she insisted. Michael shrugged her worry off by politely informing her it would only be a couple hours, just like always. The look in those light brown eyes, however, made him want to curl into a ball and call this routine off. When suggesting that she could come with him, she shook her head. Rachel, opposite of Michael, was never very religious. She preferred finding her own “faith” by going to the homeless shelter twice a week and talk to the people. Occasionally, she would bring them food, clothes, blankets, anything they needed. It was happening more and more since their son went to university.

“It’s more rewarding to me,” she insisted.

If there were ever a time when he needed her “phrases of wisdom”, it would be now. He didn’t have a cell phone and their house was ten miles away from the church. Married for thirty five years, he never began to think twice about the trust and safety they created together. Stubborn and occasionally foolish as she was, Rachel was the love of Michael’s life. He wouldn’t dare let a couple differences get in the way of their marriage. In fact, a good dose of her common sense was just what he needed at the moment.

“You need to get out more, darling,” she said. “It’s not healthy to stay in a rut.” Isaac, their son, tried to convince him as well. The idea just never stuck with him, though. Why ruin a plan when it works? Then, it was settled. The three of them, on their days off, simply went on their own paths; Michael with church, Rachel with the homeless, and Isaac with whatever his friends wanted to do at the time. Staying home was never an option, though. That was what they seemed to have in common.

The church is supposed to make me feel safe, he thought. Oh, the irony can be a killer!

The winds continued whipping at the doors. It made a whistling sound that reminded Michael of a haunted house he took Isaac to one Halloween when he was seven. Rachel insisted that he was too young to go to haunted houses, but Isaac cried when he heard the conversation. Michael couldn’t stand of hurting their son’s feelings on his favorite time of the year, so he risked being in the doghouse for the night. Isaac’s light brown eyes, same has his mother’s, lit up immediately when he was told to put on his costume.

It was getting so loud outside that he could have sworn the heavens would come down to earth and battle whatever demons they could to stop this madness. When Rachel had found a dead cat next to their road, she screamed so loud, the winds couldn’t compete. Blood was everywhere, and its intestines were spilling out on the tar. Michael had never seen her face so pale in all the years they’ve known each other. The sky was gray and the sun was nowhere in sight. The smell of rotting, old flesh filled his nostrils immediately. All he could think about, that day, was Revelations 6:17.

Has the wrath really come?! he thought. Or is this another test?

Reverend Michael Thomason knew a thing or two about tests. When his father died in car accident, the differences of faith and fate left a lot to be desired. Thirteen years old, crying in his mother’s arms, she explained about “the Lord’s plan” and whatnot. For another year, he couldn’t bring himself to the idea that things, good or bad, happen for a reason. Punishment and reward were the ways he was taught by both of them and that’s how he lived and learned. He could either accept that, or he could fight it.

With this new situation, his mother would be spinning in her grave. The dead animals, the wild winds, trees moving at unusual paces. How would she explain this? Just how? Looking through ever book he could get his hands on, there weren’t any plausible answers. Then again, he was a man of faith. So, if science was put with the idea that a virgin gave birth, people would be driven out of their comfort zones. Maybe this was a similar case. No Messiah, though, that was for sure.

Everything happens for a reason! But what reason is there for this?!

Continuing to pray, Rachel’s face would not leave his thoughts. Even for the brief amount of time he had been gone, he hoped she was well. Being a woman of fifty three, she was extremely active when she wanted to be. Every day when they woke up, there was always a plan. That was what he loved most about her. She never became bored too easily, always looking the next big activity. That’s why they were hardly ever home, being that they had that subject in common. What he would give to have her soft, slightly plump, body in his arms. She was a simple five-foot-two, so he could carry her up and down the stairs three times without tiring. On their wedding night, that’s exactly what he did as a joke. Being high school sweethearts, she was used to his jokes, always returning a smile to his eyes.

With her back at the house, he had sudden terror that they would never see each other again.

“Is this a part of the plan?” he whispered. “If it is, tell me my wife and son are all right… Please.” Tears slowly moved down his face as his eyes opened delicately. Staring at the crucifix, his knees started wobbling. No bones existed in them, only rubber. He was at a loss and he knew it. Where was she? Where was he? He longed for the simple nights with the two of them cuddled on the couch, Isaac playing with his toy cars, the fireplace glowing with the greatest physical warmth he had ever known. All the while, outside, there was a light snow hitting the ground.

Get your head out of the past! Isaac’s at school, Rachel’s elsewhere! He wished he had taken his son’s advice on getting a cell phone. Then again, how, in God’s name, would Rachel have the nerve to come down here? No! She’s safe where she is, the darling… But then, how could I be so sure? With everything happening outside, I can only conclude the hint that God is harsh is His ways.

The winds howled deeply for an early afternoon. It was more like the weather in their vacation home in Flushing, Michigan. The branches on the trees bent with the rhythm of the wind. Other than that, however, Michael didn’t hear a sound. He closed his eyes and continued to pray, listening to the whistling. He thought, briefly, that words were trying to make their way through to him.

The first time He punished the world, a flood came. The second time, it was merely a country full of plagues. Now, this!

In the distance, he thought he heard a trash can roaming into the street. Looking out the window, his heart leaped with excitement. Movement in the yards made him aware that there still was life on the planet. He had hoped to see Rachel in the corner of his eye, or hear Isaac’s whisper in his ear. No such luck. Of course not! His eyes still closed, the crucifix from the wall came into his mind. It was bleeding. Not melting like wax, but bleeding… Red liquid seeped slowly down the miniature body of Jesus Christ. As he continued looking, the crucifix started growing. Before he opened his eyes again, Michael noticed that it was now about his height. Christ’s eyes stared angrily back at him. As Christ mouthed words, two heads rolled next to his feet. Rachel… Isaac… Their heads were spinning in opposite circles, as they laughed. Pieces of the walls began crumpling away like tree bark. The only thing that remained still was the crucifix, still growing, otherwise. Christ continued mouthing words.

“Yes,” Rachel’s head whispered. “God is cruel. We’re dead and He let that happen. You let that happen!” She cackled so loud, Michael briefly covered his ears. Even when he did, the laughs were piercing through. Isaac’s head was wet with tears as the cackling continued. His sclera was blood-red and his teeth were falling out, one after the other.

“Why, Dad?” he mumbled. “Why did He do this? Why didn’t you stay with us?!”

You have failed them, and you have failed Him. Now, you shall writhe.

#

Gasping for air, Michael opened his eyes. Everything was as it should be in the temple. The wind still blew, the room was still, and the crucifix still stood on the wall, untainted. Outside the door, however, Michael heard slapping on the walls. Not branches, but as though someone were slapping their hands, or gloves, against the wood. No voices erupted from the other sounds, but Michael still touched his ear to the door, continuing to pray.

“Lord, please protect my family,” he whispered. The whipping on the door continued as he spoke. Still no other voices. Remembering a song he heard on the radio the other day, a verse was stuck in head for the moment.

“Dead as dead can be,” my doctor tells me.

Well of course, I know who the “doctor” is in this case. I should have listened to my wife. I have failed her, and now, she’s stuck… I’m stuck!

The verse continued in his head, nonstop. Same tune, same rhythm. He knew, if he stayed here alone, something would happen. He didn’t know what, but he had to admit, he was scared. He was told all his life, “Faith in Him”, “Trust in Him”. He had faith. He certainly had trust. But he just didn’t want to be alone in this process, whatever it may be.

You coward! Total chicken s**t! If your wife and son were here right now, they’d be laughing their asses off!

“Shut up!” Michael shouted. “I’m no coward! I’m just human!” Panting, he covered his face and shook his head violently. I must be losing my mind!

The sounds on the door suddenly ceased. Everything was quiet. The slapping and the wind seemed to have flown away as his thoughts continued torturing him. It was too quiet, though. The lights flickered as he walked toward the doors to see if anything was out there. Clutching the black rosary his mother gave him, he whispered Matthew 6:9-13. This is His house. Nothing can hurt me. This is His house. Nothing can hurt me…

“Keep thinking that,” a voice whispered in front of the door. A new voice. Unfamiliar. The whisper was more of a hiss.

#

His hands trembling, Michael slowly pushed the doors open. Sweat rolled down his forehead, despite the cold feeling from outside. It was too quiet. Nothing moved as he pushed them a little farther to see his path. But then, he realized, nothing was out there. No strangers, no fears. Showing a tiny, relieved grin, he continued moving out of the church. His legs were shaking, but then again, it was a little chilly. Looking around the parking lot, the coast was clear for him to move. However, just as he was on the last step before the pavement, a figure stood, or rather, knelt, about five yards away from him. Michael guessed he was around six feet, wore rags, and his brown hair touched his shoulders.

A chewing sound came from this man. As Michael moved a little closer, he saw what he was doing, and covered his mouth from a gasp. The man was eating what looked like a Golden Retriever, raw! Its stomach was sliced completely open and where he was eating, the bones were gone. Intestines were seeping slowly out of the would-be bone structure, releasing more fumes that Michael was unfamiliar with.

As savage as the man was, Michael assumed he knew what he was doing. The smell of fresh blood crept into Michael’s nose. Silently gagging, he realized his hands were now shaking. Blood dripped from this man’s face and hair. He kept clawing at the dog with very dull fingernails. All Michael could do was watch for the time being. He could hardly breathe, much less find words to say to this… monster.

The man snarled and chomped, spitting out bones when his head slowly rose in midair. He began slowly moving his head, looking around to what, Michael didn’t know. But he had a hunch. Slowly stepping backward, Michael tried to stop shaking. It was no use. He watched as the man’s head slowly turned to face him. What he saw made him turn white.

Blackness where his eyes should have been. Blood dripped from his mouth as he smiled at Michael. His teeth were stained with red, showing pieces of flesh between them. The teeth looked more like fangs to him. The front of his clothes was smothered with intestines and blood, leaving dark stains on his pants. Slowly rising to his feet, the man moved toward Michael. Thirteen feet away, now.

“I know you, peasant,” he said in that same tone Michael heard just a couple minutes earlier, more like a snake’s voice. “Reverend Michael Thomason. Witch doctor to the town of Joshua. How’s the business, Mike?”

Eleven feet now. As calmly as he could, Michael continued moving back toward the church, his legs still shaking. How does this monster know me?!

“Not so good at the moment, is it? And the wife and whelp? I hope they’re better than the situation you’re in.” Chuckling, the man stuck his tongue out, long and thin. Michael could feel gooseflesh running up and down his back as he finally found the steps. He noticed that the man stopped in his tracks at that point. Continuing to stare at him, his eyes were still full of blackness. This was no man that Michael was aware of. This… creature stood like a statue, inches away from the church steps. It was like something was holding him back from entering.

Michael assumed a little too soon. The man’s left foot rose onto the first step. Seeing that, Michael nearly tripped over his own tracks. The man, or creature, whatever he was, didn’t look to be in as big a hurry as Michael would have thought. Watching him was like watching a frame-by-frame in a video camera.

He wants to make sure I see him. Michael was sure of that. But he won’t come in… I hope. One can stand by the gates of St. Peter until the world ends, but it’s up to Him whether or not the being comes through them.

The creature he was staring at shook his head, chuckling. The eyelids were closed, but the laugh was harsh and deep. There was no mistaking it for what this creature was. Not a man, not an immortal. His fingers were bloodstained into the nails. He was shaking as he continued moving toward Michael. Like he was trying to get out of a type of physical force. Trapped within his own body and mind, Michael figured. Groaning erupted from the laughter, almost right next to each other. His head shook violently with the rest of his body, the groaning continuing. Then, he stared at Michael, real color coming into his eyes. His nose started bleeding as he spoke, this time in a completely different voice.

“Help me!” he begged. His right hand slowly reached for Michael’s. “My name is Stephen… Please, sir…”

He gasped in pain, holding his stomach. The iris and the pupils disappeared from his eyes, but the sclera remained. Michael could see the blue from the veins and arteries appear in his neck. They were so graphic, Michael thought this man’s head would tear off. When his head rose, Michael didn’t think the idea was too far from belief. Someone was hiding under him, and Michael knew it… Crawling their way inside the man, slowly, deeply.

Responding to the man’s gesture, Michael gently took his hand. He noticed that he was still shaking from earlier. Just a couple minutes ago, this man---creature, he thought---was tearing through an animal for food. He had never seen anything so savage! Now, he was asking for help. Michael knew he couldn’t turn back now.

The clouds above them were so angry, Michael figured it would rain soon. The winds whipped in his face, blowing leaves everywhere around the parking lot. Part of him knew he had to let this man in, but he also was frightened that he would turn on him, any minute. He noticed a pendent around the man’s neck as he spoke. It was midnight blue now, but he could have sworn, just a few minutes ago, it was a bright white.

The man (Stephen, he said) moved slowly within his means of no harm toward Michael. It was a completely different personality all together, something he hasn’t seen in a couple decades. Or plainly, a different person, completely. You are a man of God, after all. Not so much of a stretch. Overshadowing wouldn’t be too difficult to believe, now would it?

“Sir?” he whispered. “What can I do?”

Too generous, he thought. The man’s body lunged at Michael’s neck. It was more like a sprint. Michael never saw the man’s feet move for a run of any kind. He’s, or it’s, so ravenous, walking isn’t an option! His fingernails dug into the skin, making Michael scream out. He noticed that the grip circled around the trachea. Staring into his eyes, the blackness returned. Panting erupted from Michael’s throat, and he knew it wasn’t because of the man’s grip. Fangs came out of his mouth as a small grin rose on his lips. Split personality? No… Demonic possession? Possibly…

Instinctively, Michael looked around quickly for some kind of weapon. No such luck on the front steps of a Baptist church.

“You hypocrites!” it screeched. Blood was stained on Stephen’s chin. “You’ve cursed me to this world, now, you will pay!”

Then, his fingernails started to grow. Michael shook his head briefly, thinking it was his imagination. When he looked back, they were still growing. Scraping at his arm, laughter came with Michael’s pain. The nails were as black as its eyes, and looked very old. They reminded him of an old woman from across the street in Bethesda that he once knew. She never said much, hardly ever left the house, for that matter. When she did, though, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Gray, thinning hair, skinny build, barely muscle on her, much less fat, and those nails… He remembered thinking, She could slit someone’s throat, easy. No other weapon required.

They were as tall as tigers’ claws. The creature’s mouth opened wide as his head drew near Michael’s face. Those teeth… So long and so sharp. Was this a new type of demon he was unaware of? From the sea, perhaps?! Breathing frantically, he did the only thing he could think of: he punched this creature in the nose. If it worked for a shark, it’ll work on this... abomination! The creature screamed, wincing as blood seeped down Stephen’s nose. The scream was so loud, Michael figured his eardrums would be pierced.

Around him, thunder was approaching. The sky was gray and the winds were quickly picking up. He could feel tiny wet drops on his arms. He figured, at first, it might have just been perspiration, but looking at the sky, he noticed otherwise. When he looked back at Stephen’s body, the thing inside him just stared at him. No emotions, no movements. His eyes never left Michael’s, he figured. There were no pupils to let him know otherwise. Pointing at Michael was the only way Michael knew, for sure, that the creature identified him.

“Te maldigo!” it screamed. “Para siempre! Te maldigo!” His whole body shook as his fingers swirled around Michael’s small crucifix around his neck.

That was why he backed away from me, he concluded. He’s afraid of me…or she, whoever this being really is.

When he looked back in the same direction, the creature had disappeared. Michael didn’t hear foot beats, hand movements, or any other evidence to suggest that the creature left. But it did. There was nothing but the dead, cut-open animal it was feeding on just minutes ago. What was he to do? He wouldn’t dare go looking for the creature… Not alone, anyway. But then, again, there was a man in there somewhere. He was trapped, and Michael knew it. But how would I help him, anyway?!

Rubbing his crucifix on his neck, he noticed he was panting something fierce. Why shouldn’t I be?! I have to think, though. This creature, demon, whatever it is, could have slaughtered me by now, but it didn’t. That name, Stephen… It sounded so familiar…

Still in thought over the man, he happened to notice two figures were walking slowly toward the church. Male and female, he could tell, but not much more. His eyes were welcoming as his thoughts raced many minutes ahead of the present time.

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