Worship Me

by Craig Stewart

  “Rick, it’s Angela.” Her pleading stare was not returned. “What’s wrong? Why are you doing this? Why don’t you just let them go? Let us get Bruce some help. He’s badly hurt. I know this isn’t you. This isn’t my Rick.”

  “You’re right. I’m not me.” He finally met her gaze; if Bruce’s eyes were craters, then Rick’s were an abyss. Angela felt utterly alone in them. “Be seated!” he yelled again. The windows buckled from an invisible force.

  The congregation filled the back pews first. They sat uncomfortably close to one another in an effort to keep as far away from Rick as possible. There were a few stubborn holdouts including Emily, Chris and Angela, but eventually even they fell into place. Soon, the only two people in the church still standing were Rick and Don – Bruce’s hunched position could hardly be considered standing.

  Rick looked over his new flock with pride. There were no whispers or slouched postures, only eager listeners prepped to devour his every word. He inhaled satisfyingly as if the attention he received smelled of roses.

  He walked up the carpeted steps and joined Bruce at the pulpit. All the life had drained from Bruce’s body save for the frail breaths that trickled from his lips. Rick warmly slapped him on the back as if they were old chums from high school. This stirred a few more moans within Bruce – a waste of what limited strength still remained.

  Don let go of Bruce’s limp hand and took a step back. He scrutinized Rick carefully, like a boxer sizing up his opponent. He could not allow himself to be an audience to such repugnance. Something had to be done, but Don needed to rally his congregation if they wanted to put an end to Rick’s charade. To do that, he needed to conquer the fear that held them captive.

  “Bruce was a volunteer,” Rick began. “He volunteered to help me. And his suffering will not be in vain.”

  “He’s a maniac!” Don pleaded to the room. “He has lost his mind. We can’t just sit here and listen! There’s a man dying in front of your eyes – woe onto you who dare ignore it! I’m calling the police and putting an end to this madness. This vile lunatic cannot be stomached any further. We can stop him now, together!”

  Every member of the congregation agreed with him, but the danger of separating from the herd kept them in their seats.

  Don took one look at their cowed faces and knew he had failed. Words were not enough. If no one would join him, then he had no choice but to act solo. Defiantly, he marched down the aisle.

  Angela thought of Clara and what she would do in this situation. Never fear standing alone for what’s right. Many of their conversations had revolved around this topic. It was something Clara felt passionately about, and worked tirelessly to instill it in all her students. Immediately, Angela rose to her feet. She could not sit idly by and be made obedient by violence anymore. She had already let that happen for far too long, and she was not going back.

  Chris was inspired to join the revolution; unfortunately his rebellion was short-lived as his parents quickly pulled him back down against the pew and held him there.

  Before Don even reached the door, Rick spoke again.

  “We’re alone now, Don. Your phones won’t work. Running won’t work. And praying certainly won’t work, so please, be seated.”

  Don stopped and turned slowly to face the church’s new minister. His pride was threatened as much as his morality. He resented Rick’s authority almost as much as his savagery. So he stood at the back of the sanctuary with his arms crossed.

  “It’s distracting having you there,” Rick said with eerie composure. “If you remain standing, you’ll be disrupting my teachings. And if you do that, you die. Do you understand? Do you understand that I will slaughter you and make them watch? That’s the choice. Either I spill you before them, or you sit. And then maybe, I’ll let Gary live.”

  The matter-of-fact delivery left no question that Rick meant it. Don may have been willing to risk his own safety, but not that of his friend and follower. He had taken an oath to guide and protect his congregation, so he swallowed his indignation for now and slid into a nearby pew.

  Angela considered running for the door, but knew if Rick wanted to catch her, he could. And she had little faith the room of cowards would do a thing to help her. There was no choice to be made. She sat back down with her teeth and fists clenched.

  Rick waited for the room to settle before he continued.

  “You want to know where I’ve been all this time? I met my god. The one true god. Not this... Not these silly stories.” Rick picked up the hefty Bible in front of him and nonchalantly tossed it aside. The tome hit hard against the ground with a thud, its pages crinkled and disgraced. “Rick, three months ago, is not the man standing here today. Rick, three months ago, was a fallen servant. It was a gradual decline. His job was a dead end. He lost his faith, and he found a bottle. He started to hurt the people he loved. He was an adulterer, a bad husband, and a bad father. Something had rotted in his heart, though he couldn’t admit it. Three months ago, this was the despair he found himself in. He was drunk and driving without a place to go or to come from. He didn’t want to die, but he didn’t much want to live, either. Searching. He was searching. He parked the car at the first building he came to: this very church. He was angry. He got out of the car, afraid he might start driving again, and instead stumbled through the Davidson’s field. It was then, when he could sink no further, when he was alone with his hopelessness, that it found him. It had been waiting centuries to reveal itself. It is the Behemoth. The Beast. It took him into the woods and showed him the mysteries of death, the secrets of life and the eternity of flesh.”

  “What is this?” Don questioned. “What exactly are we listening to? Tina, Gary, are you two just going to sit there and listen to this blasphemy? Michael, you don’t have any problem with what he’s saying?”

  “What do you expect us to do, Don?” Tina retorted. “He has Bruce.”

  “I understand your unease, but I have come to you prepared. A miracle. I will show you a miracle, something your God has never done. If you have doubts now, I promise you, they will be silenced,” Rick announced to the congregation.

  Anxious looks spread through the pews.

  Chris’ eyes shot across the room and locked onto Matthew. The two of them froze in each other’s stare, exchanging their panic. This act did not diminish the potency of dread, but it was a comfort to know they were in this nightmare together.

  That was until Matthew noticed Chris’ expression distort to new levels of horror. It grew from a look of dismay that Matthew could relate to, to something far more serious, like staring into your reflection, only to realize there’s someone behind you in the mirror. When Matthew compared Chris’ expression with everyone else’s, he found they all shared that grim look, but worse, they were all also staring at him.

  Intuitively, Matthew looked to the front of the sanctuary and saw that Rick had fixed his eyes on him. The hungry wolf stalked down from the pulpit toward where he was seated. Matthew’s mouth dried out and his lungs emptied. But, something was off. As Rick approached, it became evident he was not quite looking at Matthew. He was staring past him. Rick was staring at his grandmother.

  Matthew’s head snapped to the right, where he found Flora entranced by Rick’s hungry gaze. She looked like a doll-eyed groupie.

  Matthew stood up and grabbed Flora’s hand, but she didn’t respond. He squeezed it hard until he felt her bones slip against each other, but still no reaction. She was hopelessly enraptured.

  Rick was only a few feet away now, so out of desperation, Matthew grabbed his grandmother by the shoulders and shook her from side to side. Her head tossed about, but her pale eyes did not lose their focus.

  “Grandma? Grandma!” he yelled point blank into her face. He tried to get her to her feet, but it was too late, Rick was within arm’s reach.

  His firm grip easily encompassed Matthew’s wrist and tightened like a python. For fear of hearing his bone snap, Matthew let go of his grandmother. Rick
chucked him aside and turned his attention to Flora.

  Matthew landed first against the seat of the pew then tumbled off onto the ground, gripping his aching wrist. Chris stood and would have run to Matthew’s side if the room had not erupted into pandemonium. Screams tore through the crowd as members jumped over seats, scurrying away from Rick as fast they could.

  Don stood, but did not run. He was absorbed in the ritual forming before him. Rick had made a frightening assertion, and Don was compelled to see what miracle Rick’s god could muster.

  Amidst the hysteria, Rick placed both his palms over Flora’s wanting eyes. Her mouth went agape at his touch, and even had the trace of a smile. She offered no fight against his hands; on the contrary, she surrendered to him. Her breath began to falter and the strenuous wheezing reinvigorated Matthew’s protective instinct.

  “Stop! You’re hurting her! Stop it!” he screamed. With his left arm and legs, Matthew punched and kicked frantically at the merciless miracle worker. Underneath the draped robe, however, Rick’s body was built like a fortress and withstood Matthew’s barrage with ease.

  Flora started to shake and suddenly, her head snapped back sharply. A communal gasp broke out from the crowd. Rick released her and held his hands high into the air in praise.

  Matthew collapsed next to his grandmother and held her tight. He felt no signs of life in her body. She was wilted and still. Then, after a moment had passed, Matthew detected a faint vibration in her throat as breath returned to her. It came timidly at first, but eventually grew into deep gulps. Matthew gently laid her back against the pew. It was then he noticed her eyes.

  There was no blood or torn tissue, but her skin dipped unnaturally into the empty sockets where her eyes used to be. It was as if she never had eyes at all. Her sunken eyelids fluttered uselessly in their search for their missing counterparts. As Flora became conscious, her fingers felt their way into empty holes above her cheek and she started to whimper.

  “Matthew... Matthew? I can’t see! I can’t see you!” she cried. Matthew had never seen her in such a state. He remained a statue at her side, unable to comfort and unable to abandon. He let her hands feel his proximity, which they did desperately. He prayed that would be calming enough.

  “What have you done?” Don demanded.

  “There.” Rick gestured to the pulpit.

  Bruce’s head gradually rose from its slouched position, and to the astonishment of all, his eyes flickered open. Only they were not his eyes, exactly; they were two pale, old eyes that peered out from his face with the roaming gawk of a newborn baby.

  The fear Don dared not entertain had come to pass. Rick was not just a murderous madman; he was indeed touched by something beyond explanation. Something that could have endowed him with awesome – albeit destructive – powers. Backed by his faith in a loving God, Don reasoned that the beast Rick spoke of must have been Beelzebub, the Lord of Darkness, Satan. As a soldier of light, Don felt a new empowerment rise within him.

  For the rest of the room, after witnessing such a miracle, all doubts had been dispelled. Even Angela’s rage was silenced in the wake of the phenomenon. What they were facing now was an affront to everything they believed true. The gift of sight had been taken away and given back in an instant; flesh disassembled, and then reassembled, like toy building blocks. Minds needed time to fully recognize the enormity of it all. If the leap from believing the world is flat, to the understanding that it’s actually a spinning globe hurdling through infinite space, is enough to crack a brain, then this would surely shatter a few. But what Rick promised was undeniably true, and by extension, the beast he spoke of may, therefore, also share that truth. This epiphany not only humbled the congregation, it terrified them.

  No one took notice when Don advanced on Rick.

  “Satan! Devil! You blasphemous, wicked heretic!” Don shouted with unbridled fervor. “You dare bring your insidious influence here! We serve Jesus Christ and it is in His name I command you to leave. You cannot intimidate us, or tempt us with vulgar tricks. Take your filth and retreat from this house of God!”

  “This is a house of god, just not yours. Not anymore,” replied Rick starkly. “You think me evil? You think I serve your Devil? Pitiful creature, so lost, you don’t even realize that you are.”

  The condescension ignited a fury in Don. The minister of St. Paul’s United Church, who, since reaching adulthood had never raised a fist in anger, resorted to raising his fists now. Don grabbed the collar of Rick’s robe and pulled back to deliver a blow across the pompous intruder’s face.

  Rick easily caught Don’s forearm before the ill-conceived strike was realized. Don’s flesh sizzled on contact, as if Rick’s hand were hotter than Hell’s most cleansing fire. His digits sank into Don’s arm like butter and the blood boiled up between his fingers. Don screamed and tried to pull away, but he was caught and had to suffer for his impertinence. Rick squeezed through Don’s scorched appendage until he gripped the bone at its centre. Cracks formed under the pressure and sent Don’s nerves shrieking. The sensation of smoldering heat against his naked bone was excruciating, but was at least only briefly endured as the arm snapped off and flopped into the puddle of blood steaming at their feet.

  With that, Don coughed up his morning porridge. The offending smell of overcooked meat beset his nostrils – it was all the more disturbing that the smell was his own. He clutched his severed arm and was surprised to find the wound had not cauterized despite the heat. It had melted.

  Two hands gripped the sides of his head as Rick pulled him closer. The grip, although no longer burning, felt like a vice that threatened to pop his skull any second. Face to face, Rick flaunted his helpless prey before the masses.

  “It’s time we give praise to whom praise is due. No more thoughts of an illusive, absent God. A God who doesn’t hear you when you cry, or care for you when you suffer. From this day, we praise the one who lives by blood and skin. We praise the Behemoth.”

  Calmly, Rick repositioned his right hand and slid four fingers under Don’s wobbling upper lip, pressing them against his gum line.

  Don’s beseeching eyes blinked away his welling tears, turned in his head and locked onto the first person he saw: Dorothy. Having been his most trusted aide, he was hurt she had remained so silent throughout his struggle. She watched him, in the moment of his death, with the expression of a frightened, lost child. He had been her abiding guide and mentor since he took over as minister of the church, he counseled her through the loss of her husband, told her God would take care of it, whatever it was, yet she was still just a child. In this final moment, when he needed something, all she had to offer him was one more searing pain, brought forth by the helpless look in her eyes: were all his readings of scripture, all his sermons, and discussions, and assurances, were they all futile? Did anyone even listen? Would he never be blessed – or cursed – with an answer?

  The heat building up against the sensitive pink of his mouth warned Don his demise would be imminent, though not quick or painless. His gums were the first to come unglued and separated from his teeth like taffy as Rick eased his scalding touch under the skin of his face. The burning hand slid all the way up to his forehead and around the back of his neck, effortlessly peeling away the tissue and muscle in one fluid motion. The unsheathed mess that remained of Don’s head was comprised of a few meaty bits left jiggling on the skull, but the majority of his face was bunched in the fleshy hood hanging down his back.

  Hideous, guttural chokes took over Don’s body. They built up inside him, carried by the reflexive spasms of his stomach only to be spat out between his chattering teeth. The squeals born of such anguish were the most unbearable part of his slaughter.

  Just when his agony seemed too much to behold, Rick stopped. He dropped the body and it slapped like an old blood-soaked dishcloth against the floor with a grand splash of red.

  For the patient witnesses to Don’s grotesque peeling, playing the role of audience was no longer possi
ble. The congregation members all tried to flee, but for Angela who stared in shock at the unthinkable brutality Rick had unleashed.

  “Silence!” Rick roared.

  After their recent lesson on the punishment for disobedience, everyone became perfectly still.

  “It’s too late to run,” Rick said, flicking the blood from his hands. “The Behemoth is already here. If you listen to me, then the Beast will be your salvation, the doorway to eternity. If you don’t, it will be your undoing.”

  “Rick, what happened to you?” Angela asked out of disgust rather than curiosity. She hated herself for not taking Alex and running while she could, for Rick had become far more than an abusive husband – he was now an angel of death. If he was really as divinely touched as he professed to be, then Angela had no hope of escaping him. The fear of this led every rational part of her to fight against his miracles. But, how could she explain it away when his bare hands slid through skin like putty and when the floorboards shuddered at the sound of his voice? She had no answers, but she kept trying.

  “I ascended. After three months, I gave myself to the Behemoth. Now, I’m spreading its word to you. The true god is angry. It has been watching you with jealous eyes. It stood silently in the woods and endured every insult as you foolishly praised an insignificant carpenter nailed to a cross, unaware of the majesty that waited just over the hill. Well, it’s done being silent. Now, it’s time to prove your faith.” Rick looked down at the floor before continuing. “Downstairs, right now, there is a room of children. You love them, as any parent would. I have shown you miracles, now you must show your devotion. You must forget this love and choose one child to give to the Behemoth.”

  “What?” protested Dorothy.

  “No!” Tina added.

  “This is insane.”

  “What if we don’t?” Gary questioned boldly.

  “Then you are unworthy,” came the answer, “and you will be slaughtered. If you try to leave, you will be slaughtered. If you fight us, you will be slaughtered like the pigs you are. This is your chance for ascension. Be with us, or be damned. You have two nights to make your offering.”