by Aaron French
But, when Zeke had attempted to choose a second girl, Adam had tugged on his arm and pointed to one who stood away from the others. She was older and taller. Her light blond hair danced with each subtle breath of the breeze. Her frame was thin, but wildness lay in her eyes.
Not what Zeke would have wanted, but how could he deny Adam. Even as a boy, he had never asked for anything.
How long has it been? thought Zeke as he sat at the console.
The time had come. Twenty days had passed since the market, enough time for Adam to return to the Place of Witness with the children. It was time for Zeke to do what he had been ordered to do, what his master had been ordered to do. The last of the warheads, the one left abandoned fifty years ago by the Stranger, must be detonated.
The humming continued, lulling him. The desire to sleep was strong. Deep inside, he fought conflicting temptations. He wanted to let it go, to let the world continue as it had, but he knew he must finish his task and rid the world of the heathens.
He placed The Second Book of God on the console. Stray marks, notes, instructions, and prayers covered the blue paper cover, worn from years of handling and harsh weather.
Lies, thought Zeke. It had always been lies.
He thumbed through The Second Book of God irreverently, turning pages over, glancing at the notes and procedures that had been made by his master and the Stranger. Nothing divine existed on the pages. Zeke had always known that much. The book was only a technical manual issued by the old government, a book on the operation of the strategic defensive missile silo. But now that he was older, he understood why it had to be this way. The new generation must be raised in the mystery of God, not the memory of a failed humanity.
When he was a boy, back when his master had instructed him with The First Book, they had met the Stranger wandering the plain. Sun, heat, and dehydration had worked madness into him. Guilt and self-hatred, born of neglecting his orders, consumed him. He ranted of the missile that lay unattended in its silo, and how he was to launch it, but in his fear of total annihilation, he abandoned the silo, leaving the missile armed and waiting.
Maybe not divine intervention, but somehow it became crucial to the return of the faith.
The heathens must be wiped from the face of the earth. The way must be made clean to bring back the fear and love of God. None of the old ways must be allowed to continue.
Zeke turned to the final instructions, a simple code to put into the console that would detonate the warhead without launching it. The Stranger had assured them the blast would wipe away the settlement directly east of the silo.
“For the love of God,” whispered Zeke. “Adam, for you. You will raise a new people.”
Confident that Adam would retrieve The First Book of God, the True Book hidden in the altar on the mountain, Zeke entered the code.
***
And the Deliverer brought us to a garden east of the City of the Plain.
And the waters ran cool from the mountains and watered all life that was there.
He came to us, cleansed and fresh,
And He said to us, “Here you will make witness.”
And the sun rose early in the west,
And He became born as God to us.
-The Words of God, collected by Prima, first wife of God
For twenty days Adam had walked across the plain with the children. They were slower than he had anticipated, slowing him down more than he had wished, forcing him to travel longer each day to make up for lost time. But if what the old man said was true, it was important to get to the Place of Witness by the twentieth day.
The going was hard. The boy, the one with the large eyes and the mouth to match, asked questions the entire way. Why do we have to travel so far? Why can’t we stay at the village? Why did you free us? Who is God?
Adam knew he would be dangerous. A questioning mind needed answers, and Adam wasn’t willing to give him any. If his plans were to work, there must be mysteries, must be secrets. Besides, the boy would, in time, ask for things that Adam was not willing to share.
Moving across the plain with the boy and the girls was weighing on Adam, but on the twentieth day they arrived where the rivers converged at the base of the mountain. There, in the place where Adam had grown up with the old man, they would make their new home. Adam was pleased with that at least.
It was still dark. The time was almost at hand.
He made the three children stay at the clearing next to the rock where he had received his name. He told them to kneel and wait quietly. He told them that soon God would be born again, be raised up anew, in order to lead them. All they had to do was wait.
And they did, while Adam went to the water.
It was easier than he thought it would be. The young minds of children were so quick to listen, so quick to obey. He knew they were tired and hungry. It was perfect. They were almost delirious with fatigue. What else did he need to do? Break them down? Strip away their consciousness and then fill their minds?
Of course, that’s what the old man had forgotten when he taught Adam. The old man worried too much about being good, worried too much about pleasing a god that didn’t exist. So much worry kept him from actually doing what was necessary. True, he had taught Adam from The First Book, the one that now lay hidden up the mountain, under the altar the two of them had built before traveling to the City of the Plain. But the old man didn’t break him. He thought Adam was the perfect pupil, always listening, always obedient. But Adam was only biding his time, waiting to become what he wanted.
And one night, nearly two years ago, when the old man had fallen asleep, Adam stole a look through the secret book which was hidden in the folds of the old man’s robe. That book, different from the first, had said it all. There was no god. There was only the bomb, the death that awaited the city. Adam saw the plans, saw what the old man desired.
Foolish. It was all a bit crazy. Why would the old man assume Adam would be obedient to a dead god? Why would anyone think he would continue the teachings of lies?
He wouldn’t, of course.
Unless...
The idea flickered and rolled through his head. The plan to free the children, a boy and two girls, so they could be raised and taught by Adam, and so the world would be free to worship, was all the old man wanted. But what if the teachings of this old religion could be used to serve him?
Years had passed, and then days of voyaging across the plain had come and gone. The old man had left them right after the market to go to the “tomb.” How easy it had been. The children had learned nothing of the old man, except what Adam had told them.
“He’s my servant,” Adam had said, “and he must go into the desert to make clean my coming.” The new lie had fallen so easily from his lips.
And now the children were at the Place of Witness, kneeling in the red dust, and in the darkness, waiting for Adam to return.
He bathed, washing forty days of dust and sweat from his body, and then dressed in the white tunic that had been left there. He felt refreshed, powerful, and beautiful. He knew how pleasing he looked.
He returned to the children and stood before them in the dark, waiting for the moment.
Behind him, from where the City of the Plain had stood, came an eruption of light, a blast so powerful it lit up the night like a second sun. The orange glow enveloped him, reflecting off his wet body, glistening and casting him in a heavenly glow.
“Behold,” his voice rumbled. “I am born God, your deliverer who has freed you from slavery.”
He looked down at the children. Astonishment filled their faces, but he needed more. He needed them to fear him. He looked at the blond girl, the one he had chosen because she looked like the girl in the street. He felt a pulse run through his gut and groin, a pleasurable excitement that was building, a desire to control and subdue. She will be called Prima, he thought, because she will be my first.
But all ritual must be sealed with a sacrifice.
He lifted
the rock, the one the old man had used. He raised it above his head, cradling it as if it were an offering to the skies and the glow that surrounded him. He saw the shadow of the rock fall before him and land on the boy, the one who asked too many questions, the one who would grow strong and powerful. He would be a challenge for Adam, a competitor.
He let the rock pull forward, falling quickly and heavily down to return to the earth. But, unlike his old master, Adam did not miss his mark.
It came down like a bomb.
Adam stared at the lifeless body of the boy sprawled out on the ground. The rock lay where the boy’s head should be. And around it, an exploded splatter of flesh and bone, of gray pulpy brain matter and clumps of hair and scalp stretched out. Blood covered it all.
The girl, the blond one with large eyes, the one now called Prima, looked up at him as she stayed on her knees. Massive submissive fear wrote itself across her face. Adam knew she would do anything he asked, would allow him to do anything he wanted.
He smiled and stood before her.
“For I am a jealous God!”
About the author: Two of Jeffrey Sorensen’s works were published in the early 1990s: an illustrated poem, All Hail the New Holy Muse, and a short story, Excerpt from Delapore, which received Best Fiction recognition from the publication. His short story M is also included in the M is for Monster anthology published in October of 2010.
Rannoch Abbey and the Night Visitor
Dave Fragments
The stonemasons and carpenters finished the monastery at Rannoch in the year of Our Lord 1155. The White Monks of the Cistercian Order promised a center of learning, a new prosperity. The villagers and the monks, doubly blessed by the monastery and the newly crowned Henry II, filled the nave of the church and under the canopy of the high altar, prepared to celebrate the Vigil of Easter. The light of the Easter Candle spread through the multitude, and Brother Calidor intoned the Exaltations, the good news of resurrection.
“Rejoice, oh Earth! This is the night when Christ our King has risen triumphant from the grave! Oh night truly blessed when Heaven is wedded to Earth and man is reconciled with God. Accept our offering, this Easter Candle, a pillar of fire that glows to thy honor...”
A crack of lightning and rolling thunder interrupted his song. Brother Theobald gazed up at a light as bright as the sun, shining through the west windows and traveling toward the east, an evil portent. The faithful signed themselves, holding their crucifixes and candles high as talismans against the evil outside the church. Women clutched their children. The roar of a thousand storms filled the church, growing louder each second, threatening to rend the heavens. The leaded windows of the chapel shattered, extinguishing all but the Easter Candle. Beams of blue-white light from the object cast sharp shadows of fantastical shapes through the broken stained glass.
“This is the day of our judgment. God have mercy on our souls,” Brother Morand yelled, beating his breast, pulling his hair, and fainting in his pew. The ball of light hovered next to the chapel for a brief moment and then moved off slowly toward the bog.
The smell of burning peat and ionized sulfur imbued the air. The stone foundations of the Abbey trembled as the object crashed into the moor.
Erasmus of Ganelin, the eldest among the monks, denounced the apparition. This was not the Second Coming, not the light of new resurrection, but a demon taking leave from Hades, riding a comet out of the dark realm at the very instant the Risen Lord tore open the Gate of Hades to free the faithful from the burden of sin. The townsfolk prayed aloud for forgiveness.
Abbot Calidor of Abruzzi raised his hands and quieted his flock. He climbed the steps of the pulpit and spoke in a strong, tenor voice. “My friends in Christ, this is not the Morningstar of the Second Coming. For God Almighty, who sent His only Son to die on the cross and redeem our souls, would not come with thunder and lightning to judge, especially on this the Vigil of Easter. This is the night of our salvation, not the Day of Judgment. It is as Erasmus said: a demon has fled from Hell and is trying to escape the judgment of the Risen Christ. We must arm ourselves with the Easter Candle, the pillar of fire that led the Israelites out of Egypt, the light of our salvation, the fire that sears and burns the minds of evildoers. With it, we shall burn this demon back to Hell.”
He took the Easter Candle itself, relit the candles on the altar, and marched to the center of the nave.
“Arm yourselves and follow the Light of the world.” Brother Timothy of Edinburgh took the crucifix and stood with the Abbot. With the Cross and Easter Fire before them, the townsmen left their pews and formed up behind the monks. The Abbot, the monks and townsmen filed into the courtyard, the thurible filling the air before them, the blessed smoke of sacred frankincense driving all evil away. The townswomen and children retreated to the shelter of the southern transept.
East of the church in the bog, flashes of light and geysers of steam burst from the muck, marking the location of the object. The men moved in single file towards the crash. Fear of the Grip, the bog, the muck, the ugly death, frightened them as much as the object hissing and sputtering in the murky water. A demon from Hell might claim their immortal souls but one misstep and the Grip would pull their bodies to a watery death. The light of their torches illuminated a half-submerged object sinking into the mire. The peat beneath their feet rumbled and shifted.
Theobald cast Holy Water to hallow the ground, raised his hands upward and prayed for aid from the Almighty. He asked that these men be given the powers of Heaven in order to defeat the demon, just as Jesus, the Risen Christ, was given the powers to defeat death on this, the day of His Resurrection.
A figure, shapeless as the mist, inhuman in aspect and glimmering like embers of a dying fire, rose from the surface of the object. An acolyte dropped the aspersorium, his sudden movement panicking the monks and townsmen. Theobald rallied his troops.
“Here be the demon who rode this metal creature from Hell. Burn it where it has fallen.” The Abbot sprinkled the demon with holy oils and cast the thurible at its head. It struck, spilling hot coals and burning incense onto the demon.
Then the Abbot grappled the burning demon, fire dancing over both their bodies. A hole opened next to them and the object appeared to devour them. The Abbot could be heard intoning the psalms and fighting for his immortal soul. Thus strengthened, the monks and townsmen scrambled onto the burning shape with pitchforks and rude wooden weapons. Beams of white-hot plasma pierced the darkness and ripped through their bodies. They cried out for God’s mercy and forgiveness.
The object tried once to rise but the glowing light that bubbled beneath the mud generated steam and caused the bog to burp and heave. That drew the ship deeper. Its lights faded as it sank below the surface. The Grip became not the ravenous muck feared by all, but Gabriel the Angel of Salvation with a flaming sword casting the beast into the bottomless pit.
***
Easter morning dawned and Brother Timothy, the women and their children, ventured out of the Abbey. No demon attacked them. The footprints of the men led them to the edge of the moor. There Brother Timothy knelt, crucifix supported on his right shoulder, his hands dancing over his rosary and his lips moving silently, as he led the survivors of the Nightwatch in prayer.
That Easter morning became doubly sad for the town. Instead of celebrating the Risen Lord and the miracle of the Resurrection, the women prayed for the repose of lost souls. They took little comfort in the defeat of the demon. That kind of victory might be welcomed in Heaven, but those left behind were still of the world and the flesh.
The joy of Easter turned into a Diaspora.
Brother Timothy sanctified the abandonment of the town and the Abbey. Easter Monday, the women packed their belongings, their children, their animals and cooking pots and finally burned their houses to prevent the evil from occupying them. Timothy marked the roads leading to the Abbey with warnings of demons and hell spawn. The all-abiding hand of nature would cleanse the Abbey from the face of th
e earth.
By Divine Mercy Sunday, the women found new homes for themselves and their children in the religious orders, a boon to the nunneries and monasteries of Scotland. Their nightmares of a despoiled Abbey and of demons wandering the Earth would live in the disturbed sleep of the surviving townsfolk. Decades of Easters passed before the nightmares retreated and became scary tales told to children. Eventually, even those tales ceased to have meaning and no one remembered the town that wanted to be blessed, but was cursed to never be, to not exist.
About the author: Dave Fragments retired to the countryside of Western Pennsylvania amid the deer and squirrels to write short stories and an occasional poem. He publishes Spec Fiction and Horror in online publications and anthologies. For many years he did research into coal liquefaction and heterogeneous catalysis.
Citipati
Suzanne Robb
Ken entered his room at a run. He forced himself to a stop and shut the wooden door behind him. He didn’t know how long he had so went to work fast. Throwing his pallet to the side he fell to his knees on the ground and began to dig with his hands in the hard soil.
A half an hour later as the sun was rising he was still clawing the earth in front of him. His fingers were bloody nubs, several of his fingernails had been lost and were in one of the piles of earth next to him. The hole was almost two feet deep. It was enough; at least he hoped it was. It had to be.
Through the window and from the hallway he heard a sound that made him freeze. A terrible, animal-like howling. They were coming for him.
Reaching into his robe with trembling fingers he pulled out the leather-wrapped tube. With shaking hands he undid the small tie that held the leather in place, and one of the most ornately designed cylinders he had ever seen fell out.