by Sasha Pruett
Chapter Fourteen
... the abomination of desolation,
Matthew 24:15
Michael awoke into total darkness, his body sore and sensitive to the touch in some places, yet numb in others. He struggled to move, but the weight of his limbs held him firmly to the ground. A soft cry drifted down from above him sending shivers through his guts. He pulled against his unseen restraints, desperate to find what had made the cry before it found him, but his body would not allow it. His neck would not obey his will, his head would not turn, he was blind to what was with him in the abyss. Again the cry bellowed more agonizing and menacing than the last. Michael tried to scream, tried to move, tried anything, struggling against his invisible bonds, but the void held him in its grasp, crushing him to the black earth. It drew closer, crying, screaming, pleading with him. The pain; the pain; it was unbearable and the screeching wails only added to the throbbing. The howls from beyond threatened to tear his soul in two, but they only continued to grow in volume and in agony. What tortures were being inflicted on the thing beyond, and would he be next to suffer?
Terror flooded over Michael and panic wracked his entire being. The entity was drawing closer, screaming, wailing, and then… nothing. The cries died, leaving only the emptiness that had swallowed him. His eyes darted from side to side as far as they could, straining to see a hint of what was happening to him, his heart raced as it had the night before pounding ferociously in his ears. Yet nothing… nothing was there, he was finally alone.
Time slowed along with his pulsating heart and the pounding in his ears. His body was released from its mysterious restraints and was once again his own. Slowly and cautiously Michael sat up into the gulf, coming face to face with the pair of yellow eyes that burned with the fires of Hell. The black slits of its pupils were as empty and endless as the void he had awakened in. A deep, low growl formed in the furthest depths of the things bowels, then morphed into two words that rose like a stench from Michael’s nose to his ears, “Next… you.”
Michael struggled to scream, but it caught in his throat, squeezing it until all that was left was a pitiful whimper of fear. He was going to die!