by Lex Sinclair
‘I bet you thought that when that doctor came and you told him everything that he’d save you. Or send for the police to find out what was going on, right?’ Reverend Ward said, bringing her back to the cruel present.
Sofie shook her head in revulsion she never knew existed. ‘Is that it, is it? You know all the townsfolk and they’re all part of this scheme to basically ruin my life for the birth of your leader?’
The old man contemplated what she’d said. Then he replied: ‘Let’s just put it like this, shall we? We - that is our cult - are legion. We are everywhere, especially in the places you wouldn’t expect us to be. We are your immediate family, closest friends, your doctors, reverends, reporters, police, even prime ministers. Satan’s greatest strength was making man believe he never existed. That statement holds true in the past as it does to this very day and forevermore. Hence why all of your running away from your destiny is only ever going to wear out your shoes and make yourself ill. The moment you accept your destiny and meet it head on you’ll start to enjoy life again. That’s what you won’t more than anything else, isn’t it? To be happy again?’
In spite wanting to lie or say she couldn’t care less either way, Sofie found herself nodding, albeit reluctantly.
‘Jus’ think about what you’ve achieved by doing it your way. And then consider doing it the other way. See which is easier, for you. This isn’t about me. All I have to do is keep you in my care and make sure you don’t do anything drastic or run away again. This is about you, Sofie. Maybe if you start thinking rationally and stop resisting you’ll start to feel better, too.’
Later that evening, the young woman stepped out of the shower and onto the rubber mat, soap suds glistening in her long mane of hair, sopping, rivulets racing each other down her curvy, glamour girl model assets. She dried herself, wrapped the towel around her figure and vigilantly crossed the tiled bathroom floor to the washing basin and mirror cabinet. She opened the cabinet scanning the three shelves for something that was sharp. The top shelf had a container filled with cotton buds and a tub of gel. The second shelf had box of plasters, a spare toothbrush and comb, and the third shelf held an aluminium pot where a razor jutted from. After drying her palms on the towel, Sofie extended her arm, picked up the pot and pulled it back towards herself.
Inside were razorblades, a nail-clipper and a scissors. She extracted the scissors, opened it, examining the two sharp ends, considering putting an end to her misery that was about to get far worse, indefinitely.
Closing her eyes, Sofie opened her mouth as wide as she could and placed one of the sharp edges inside the orifice. She opened her eyes again when she felt the other blade scraping the fringes of her nostril and saw tears escaping and trickling down her cheeks, plopping silently into the washing basin she had been on the verge of collapsing onto with a forward momentum, driving the scissors into her mouth, shredding her tongue like some lizard and simultaneously into her sinus, up into her brain.
But she found she didn’t have the fortitude to go through with it. And she hated herself for being so weak and conscientious.
Wimp, she chastised herself for not doing what was necessary.
Gradually, she saw her reflection extracting the scissors from her facial orifices, closed it and placed it back inside the aluminium pot it lived in then put the pot back on the shelf and closed the mirror-cabinet. She lowered her head in shame, dreading the thought of living out the remainder of her existence in this shabby cottage with an old man posing as a reverend who wanted to fuck her and would have had she not been the host to the unborn foetus they cared so much about.
On the washing basin next to the Hot and Cold taps was the brand new toothbrush Rodney had purchased for her in the Chemist in the town centre. After another couple of minutes contemplating opening the cabinet and trying again to commit what was considered the worst sin of all, Sofie used the toothbrush to clean her teeth.
The old man stood by the bathroom doorway when she opened the door, sidled past her, closing the door on her face. Sofie shook her head at the sound of Rodney Ward emptying his bowels and wandered across the single floor home to the spare bedroom. If nothing else the warmth of the thick duvet and woolly blanket tucked in at the foot of the bed and all round the edges felt warm and secure. She turned on her side and in less than five minutes fell into a deep slumber of the likes which she’d never forget.
The bone-white emaciated face flashed in her mind’s eye. Red-rimmed eyes, yellow irises protuberant, filled with a malevolence she never thought existed against a pitch black background. A sneer slashing open the hideous clown face revealed not a mouth but a maw belonging to an angry lion, dripping saliva. Then it disappeared into the pitch darkness it had flashed out of, showing itself for no more than a split second but photocopying itself on the young woman’s retinas like scar tissue.
Next the green vapour she’d become acquainted with when the witch had raised the golden staff and a goat’s head in pure gold shone in the flickering candlelight appeared before her in an underground chamber, issuing unintelligible whispers and incantations she couldn’t decipher if she spoke every language known to mankind. Yet her subconscious seemed to comprehend the mysterious staff and ominous goat’s head at its apex, exhaling green vapour into the pitch darkness engulfing her. The green cloud made her feel as though she were floating somewhere high off the ground in spite of the fact that her feet never left the terra firma. The unnatural mist drifted into her nostrils and clung to her like a long lost lover beneath the world she had lived in but seemed like a thousand years ago. Sofie couldn’t tell what this all meant and what breathing in the green vapour was doing to her mind and body. But it couldn’t be healthy that was for sure. Yet her physical self would not listen to the brain’s commands, which it should have done. She wasn’t afraid. She just wanted to get out of the pitch black chamber that didn’t belong to the world she’d become familiar with. The world where the longer she spent away from it the less she knew.
Images flashed in her mind on a film reel.
A robed figure with the pentacle daubed in blood on his black robe raised an axe overhead and brought it down with all his might, beheading a goat in one single strike.
Her mother dancing, holding hands with her friends (or rather, fellow cult members) in a field dappled in daises, taking it in turns to break from the circle and step into the five-pointed star until the one standing in there when the music ceased would be the chosen one.
Her biological mother and father fornicating at the altar in full view of a couple of hundred of robed figures observing. Going faster and faster as they reached a climax, cursing in undeniable pleasure
The last image showed her on a staccato film, the day she and her mother and father had gone to Vastmanland where she’d fallen through the trap in the forest and discovered the labyrinth; of her using her intelligence to solve the conundrum without any help and unknowingly releasing the spirit she would years later give physical life too.
Then a raging inferno engulfed her, and as it drew closer filling her mind’s eye completely, Sofie felt her skin burning from within. A sweat broke out on her brow; perspiration soaked her from head to toe as she shifted uncomfortably under the duvet. The heat intensifying until her skin started to burn. Blisters and boils begun to break out, peeling away the flesh like wallpaper being stripped. Gaps burst open all around her; geysers of scalding blood erupted; layers upon layers of flesh were stripped away inexorably until all that was left was the framework beneath. The skeleton assailed by the raging inferno turned to charcoal in no time at all. Then buckled at the knobbly knees and fell into gravity’s fierce grip, disappearing out of sight, smashing to smithereens as it hit the furnace floor, indiscernible, evermore.
Consciousness broke through the surface after swimming endlessly to the surface where Sofie gasped, avaricious for air. She lay on her back on the damp mattress, staring
up at the grooves in the white ceiling, chest bucking with relief of having its lungs filled with oxygen after being deprived for far too long. Then she finally lowered herself into a supine position, breathing heavily, but breathing at any rate.
Only now did she realise that she’d been dreaming. Usually she could tell even when she was dreaming that she was dreaming, due to the fact that the scenarios she found herself in were nebulous, hazy, not to mention the absence of tangibility and plausibility. But this one felt just as tangible as lying in her bed right now, wiping the back of her hand across her sweaty brow. She pulled back the duvet and saw that her pyjama bottoms that Reverend Ward had bought her were attached to her thighs, damp with so much perspiration she might as well have slept in a bathtub full of water.
Exhaling deeply, Sofie swung her legs off the mattress, staggered to her feet, righted herself and padded out of the room across the living room area into the vacant bathroom, wondering if this was the start of her losing her mind but not worrying about it as much as she normally would have had she thought such a thing possible.
After washing and brushing her teeth, Sofie returned to her room, got dressed in tight-fitting leggings and a cardigan over a long-sleeve shirt. She made herself a bowl of Frosties and sat on the stool in front of the kitchen worktop doing well not to spill any milk on the glossy surface. The old man poured her a glass of orange juice. He returned the carton of not concentrate juice back into the door of the fridge before heading to his armchair and turned the TV set on, not saying a single word to the young woman the whole time. The placidity that oozed from him was so natural that they could have been father and daughter who lived under the same roof where they didn’t feel the need to speak to each other every five seconds to break the silence. Because sometimes it was just nice to go about the daily chores without a word until one had something worthwhile to say.
‘I’m going to the church to prepare for tomorrow’s service. Would you like to come?’ Reverend Ward asked her when he rinsed his new mug clean of tea and left it in the sink.
‘Won’t it be too dangerous for your cult if I am seen, now that the authorities are looking for me?’ Sofie couldn’t fathom why she’d said that aloud. This could have been the one and only time she could get out of the cottage. If someone saw her and recognised her face, or she ran away and called the police her nightmare would be all over. Yet she didn’t seem to care much about her fate. Or maybe she was too exhausted that she’d given up. Either way it would have still been nice to get some fresh air instead of being cooped up in the small home all day.
‘Sofie, I thought we’d been through this. You can run to the end of the earth but your attempts would be futile. I wouldn’t ask if I was worried about you fleeing, would I?’
‘Guess not.’
He smiled. ‘Then it’s decided then. You shall come with me to the church. If you like you can help me do some of the chores. Nothing strenuous, though; not in your condition. Just some light dusting perhaps. I also have a library card. Maybe you’d like to take a book out. Or visit the video rental store.’
It dawned on Sofie why Reverend Ward was being so nice to her. He had been aware that the dreams or visions had started last night. The images depicted graphically in her mind had been far more energy-sapping than any of the physical injuries she’d endured over the last week. Once they had begun, the old man could remove the manacles and permit her to roam around; to be seen, without having to worry about her saving herself from eternal damnation. In essence he too had been set free of his duties that had no doubt caused him grief about how he needed to make certain that what happened to Yvonne and Margaret did not befall him.
Donning his hat and coat, Reverend Ward turned to Sofie who was busy buttoning her coat up. He waited until she was ready before opening the door and making his way across the gravel yard to his black Mercedes. Sofie closed the door behind her, pivoted and inhaled deeply, savouring the breath of fresh air filling her lungs, awakening her from her previous lethargic state. The cool air touched her cheeks with the delicacy of a midnight lover.
She still thought it bizarre her getting into the passenger seat alongside a devil worshipper who had groped and fondled her most sensitive areas without her consent while she had been incapable of defending herself. In spite of this she sat down, closed the door, applied the safety belt and gazed at the rolling pastures, covered with a thick frost as Reverend Ward manoeuvred the car onto the narrow, countryside road, taking his time cornering the serpentine bends, obscured by the hedgerows. The resplendent sunshine melted the frost to liquid and on the sides of the road there were ice-patches which the old man did well to avoid going over.
Sofie enjoyed the ride, her eyes wide with excitement, absorbing the environing rural area she now resided. She couldn’t resist the curl of her lips as she saw sheep, horses and cows standing in their separate meadows watching the gleaming black vehicle drive past. The tranquillity of the countryside comforted her in a way she hadn’t experienced in a long time. This what life should be about, enjoying, savouring every moment of it, the way a dehydrated marathon athlete drank ample amounts of water after a hard race, she thought.
Reverend Ward didn’t need to look over at the girl occupying the passenger seat to know she was enjoying the ride. He could literally feel her pleasure in the ambience of his Mercedes. Sofie was gradually changing. She was becoming...
PART TWO
Then I stood on the sand of the sea.
And I saw a beast rising up out of the sea,
Having seven heads and ten horns, and on his
Horns ten crowns, and on his heads a blasphemous name
- Revelation 13:1
10.
The main road leading to and from the village was narrow and Reverend Ward had to slow the Mercedes considerably to avoid scraping the vehicles parked alongside the kerb outside the convenience store and the post office. Up ahead the church spire loomed, as they neared the building and came to a halt in a gravel parking bay that belonged to the ice-cream parlour and the local dentist.
They got out of the vehicle and crossed the road using the zebra crossing. The church façade was white stone, weathered and stained with mulch but nonetheless sturdy. The gravel path trailed the side of the grounds which they followed towards the rear entrance. The distinct aroma of freshly cut grass wafted into Sofie’s nostrils, filling her with something so natural and ordinary she normally wouldn’t have taken a blind bit of notice. The ground dipped as they reached the rear of the church and ascended the dilapidated stone steps. Their fissures snaking upwards into the building itself made Sofie a little uneasy at the state of this church which desperately needed renovations before a terrible accident occurred. A brown timber door with flaking bits opened on squeaky hinges offering a dim entry where dust particles swirled in the air from the outside.
Reverend Ward flicked the single bulb on, illuminating the interior with an ebbing yellow light. He removed his coat, gloves and hat, placing them in that order on a coat hanger then took Sofie’s coat off her and hung it on the one next to his. Sofie closed the door behind her, silently saying farewell to the radiant sunshine and outside sights, sounds and smells. Then she turned back to face the old man who gestured for her to follow him down the short hall to another timber door. He unlocked it, and then had to drive his entire frame behind his elbow to allow them space to squeeze past the door that scraped against hard concrete entrance to the vestry.
A large oak wood table where a five-holder candlestick sat in the centre took up the majority of the room and the tall pine bookcase to the right as Sofie walked in. Behind the table to her left there stood a walk-in closet where the reverend’s church service attire hung covered in a transparent sheet. The communion chalices rested upon a small square table draped with in white cloth in front of two unmarked bottles of red wine and a holy Bible atop a notepad and biro.
&n
bsp; ‘Please. Take a seat,’ Reverend Ward said, pulling out a plain wooden chair from the table. He lowered himself on the chair at the opposite end of the table, wiped the film of dust with the palm of his hand and watched the particles disperse as they floated to the ground. Then he said: ‘Been meaning to do a bit of dusting in here. No wonder my chest is all tight.’
Rather than take a seat as she’d been invited to do the young Swedish woman asked, ‘Where’d you keep your dustpan and brush?’
‘At the bottom of the walk-in closet,’ he said. ‘But, please, take a seat. I wanted to tell you the other reason I brought you here today.’
Sofie eyed the makeshift reverend warily.
‘No. No. It’s nothing like that, I can assure you. Please, trust me.’
Hesitantly, Sofie pulled the chair out further, deliberately scraping the legs against the concrete. ‘Just because I’ve succumbed to your wishes doesn’t mean I trust you, Rodney.’
He nodded. ‘Fair enough. But I thought you deserved an explanation to what you are now part of. Apart from the one inside of you, you are the most important person to us at this time. And, as I said, thought if someone I knew -’
‘- someone who’s also a member of your cult,’ Sofie interrupted.
‘Yes,’ Reverend Ward said in a terse voice.
