Worship Me

by Craig Stewart

  “No! Dorothy! What are you saying?” Angela interjected. Her thoughts had barely formed before she said them. Rarely had her gut spoken with such urgency. She jogged up the aisle as the lead candidate for sanity.

  “Angela, do you have something to say?” Dorothy patronized.

  “Yes. We can find another way out of this.”

  “Fine, then tell us your miracle plan to evade the wrath of god.”

  “That thing is not God.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I do,” said Dorothy, with abiding confidence. “I know what it is. Woe onto you who still deny the Behemoth. He can be kind, he can be just. He has gifts, wondrous gifts, if only we’d give him what he wants.”

  “Go ahead and remind us what he wants, Dorothy. Tell us. Name it. I want to hear you say it in front of everybody.” Angela had fire in her, and she stoked the flames well.

  “The Behemoth wants our devotion.”

  “No, don’t hide behind your careful little words. No more sneaking. Let’s hear you say exactly what it wants from us, if you can.” Angela had not imagined that Dorothy, of all the congregation members, would be the one to take up the monster’s mantle. But, if she still trusted her eyes and ears, then she could not deny that this woman, whom she had cared for and received care from, was proposing to sacrifice the life of a blameless child.

  Dorothy broke eye contact with Angela and turned away from her crowd. At first, Angela counted this as a victory, until Dorothy returned to the stage, her eyes reddened with raging sorrow.

  “How dare you test me. I have lost my only daughter. I know exactly what the Behemoth means to take and still, I’m eager to give it to him. I, now and forever, put my faith into the only god that I can see. The one who made himself known, and can reunite me with my child. I implore you all to join me and put your faith in the Behemoth. We have no choice.” Dorothy spoke with passion and rectitude.

  “Oh fuck,” Chris muttered to himself.

  “No, Dorothy,” Angela said. “We have a choice.”

  “Tell that to Clara. Tell that to my daughter.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened to Clara; I can’t imagine the pain losing her has caused you. But, you don’t want anyone in this room to suffer the way you have. I know you don’t want that.”

  “You’re wrong, Angela, you just don’t understand. Giving the Behemoth what he wants will avoid any more suffering, not cause it.”

  “Think about Clara. Really think about her. Remember who she was and what she stood for. She would be ashamed to hear you say the things you’re saying.”

  “I’ll do better than remember her. I’ll be with her again, for the Behemoth promised me so.”

  Angela conceded her attempt to rationalize. It was clear there was something else at work in the sanctuary now. A desperate, delirious wishing had spread like an infection from Dorothy to at least half of the congregation. If Angela was not careful, she feared she might catch it as well.

  “You’re saying someone else’s child should die?” Angela asked blatantly. The moment had come for her to test just how much humanity Dorothy had lost.

  “We need to give the Behemoth what he wants.” Dorothy’s careful words were back and they served her well. “Emily had it right; we were touched by god. It’s either one of us, or all of us.”

  In the audience, Emily seemed to cower from the resurrection of her own remark. She had not yet decided which side of the fence to plant herself on, but the reference to her own words had left a foul taste.

  Angela was taken aback that she had to stand alone against Dorothy. Was there no one else who shared her outrage? Gary seemed to have been adamantly against it, but he remained invisible with his arms crossed. Perhaps his wife, Tina, had been busy in his ear. Out of the entire crowd, it was only Chris who Angela could see shared in her disgust.

  “We can’t let this happen,” Chris said, turning to Matthew. “Someone has to try again.”

  “Try what?” Matthew asked, but Chris had already left his side.

  He watched, bewildered, as Chris snuck out of the back of the sanctuary into the mess hall. It was not until Chris was gone that Matthew had time to realize what was happening.

  “Chris?” he whispered. “Chris!”

  “We can’t just wait for god to go away,” Dorothy’s powerful tirade continued. “In the night that will soon be upon us, he will come for us all.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Chris raced full speed across the mess hall until he was pressed flat against the front door of the church.

  To stand audience to such a grotesque debate – like the one he was currently running from – was something he didn’t have the stomach for.

  It was clear to him that the congregation had been polluted by a truly toxic sentiment – the needs of the many trumping the needs of the few. He always had problems with The Many. Who made up this privileged group and why were their lives of paramount importance? What made them such hot shit? He had witnessed the mobs gather their pitchforks before and had come to recognize it as a survival instinct. Eat or be eaten. Chris easily recalled the cruelty he suffered in school by the hands of The Many once they found out he belonged to the few. It was one thing for kids to call him a fudge packer or send Photoshopped pictures of him sucking dicks, but now, the frightened masses had their sights set on the murder of a child. In order for The Many to survive, someone always has to suffer, someone has to be sacrificed. Well, Chris thought, fuck that.

  His hands pressed firmly against the grooves of the wood. He breathed in and held the air in his lungs, letting his left hand slide down to the doorknob. The metal, once he reached it, was cold.

  He turned the knob and the inner latch of the door gradually slid out of the frame. He closed his eyes and pulled.

  The door did not open. It was locked.

  He unlocked the door and tried again, this time with success.

  The world opened up to him. Sunlight flooded in like a wave against his body, and although he knew he was about to dangle himself like a worm on a hook for the beast, the warmth that freedom offered still calmed him.

  Stepping beyond the threshold would be his next challenge, so he was quick about it. Before his doubt had a chance to catch up with him, he took the leap and found himself standing outside the church in the open air.

  At first, his eyes struggled to adjust to the spectacular brightness and he shielded them. As he did, the door gently closed behind him, as if respectful of the risk he was taking. When his vision returned to him, he was amazed to see how very normal everything was.

  The tall grass that pawed at the sides of the church had continued to grow. Highway 7, which was only a few feet away from where he stood, remained largely abandoned without a traveler in sight. All the cars were still lined up neatly in the parking lot. It was no wonder no one had come knocking on the church door; in view of its banal visage, who would have suspected the chaos hiding inside?

  Chris scanned the rolling plains of the field that stretched on for acres. In all that vastness, he found no giant beast on the hunt, no horrible creature charging to destroy him. He found no Behemoth.

  He realized he was still holding his breath and finally released it.

  With one of his hands placed firmly on the rail of the stone stairs, he made his way down to the ground, but slowly. With each step he would pause and pivot his head all around like a bird.

  As he edged further from the door, he regretted not grabbing his father’s keys to the van, but it was too late to go back. The van would have brought too much attention to him anyway. He meant for this to be a covert operation, not a rambling car chase.

  His feet crunched against the stony dirt of the parking lot. Crouching seemed appropriate, so he ducked down to the height of the bushes. With small shifts of his feet, he brought himself to the corner of the church. He pressed his back against the brick wall, but before he made the turn, he considered how vu
lnerable he would be once he was out in the open. Around the edge of the church, there was nowhere else to hide. Aside from the few remaining cars and the old well, it would be just him, the church, and a straight view all the way to the Burward forest. If he was going to be spotted, this was where it was going to happen.

  In order to keep himself moving, he needed a way to banish the fears he had for his own life and think of the lives of the people who were depending on him. He focused on Matthew, the first person he truly allowed into his heart. He focused on his parents, even though he considered his mom to be borderline psychotic. He focused on Angela and Alex. He focused on Dorothy in all her horror.

  And then he stepped out into full view of the field.

  To his immediate relief, he again saw no signs of the Behemoth. However, there was no time to stop and gawk, so he swiftly assessed the distance between him and a thick line of bushy fir trees that separated the fields. If he could make it that far, then surely he would be beyond the Behemoth’s sight and could then bring back some help, like the entire army.

  When he took his first step, his foot fell further than expected and he stumbled to regain his balance. He looked back to spit in the hole that had tripped him, but it was no ordinary hole. He stared into a deep footprint that was about half the size of his body. Three large talons had carved distinct grooves in the dirt and left a bird-like impression. Judging from its shape, Chris wondered if the Behemoth was actually a giant chicken. Even if it were, the sheer size of the imprint did not allow for much levity. A monster chicken was still a monster. It was obvious whatever had left the footprint could split him in half with a mere flick of its big toe.

  His mind started flipping through different configurations of what this creature might look like. Each assembly was more hideous, and intimidating than the last. Some had toothy beaks, some had more than two legs like a spider, and some had giant cat eyes that were cutting toward him even as he stood there. Was it really too late to turn back?

  He pushed these thoughts out of his head and again concentrated on the people he loved.

  After a purging breath, he clenched his fists and sprinted toward the line of trees. Almost like a cartoon, his feet tossed puffs of dirt into the air behind him. The uneven ground didn’t help his speed. Still, his vision remained on the branches of the firs, whose tender sway encouraged him like fans at the end of a marathon. Unfortunately, he had overestimated his athleticism, and the trees were not approaching nearly as fast as he would have liked.

  He didn’t look back. He had a singular focus that required all his energy. There was no time to worry about what might be coming. If he allowed himself to be distracted, one wrong step could plant him, face first, into the ground. He did, however, imagine Matthew stepping out from between the trees. This illusion inspired him and fed the aching muscles in his legs with untapped stamina, banishing the burn.

  His breathing had risen into a steady beat. His sharp inhale worked in tandem with his left foot, while his exhale was joined to his right.

  Gradually, there came another rhythm. It was slower and deeper than his and echoed like gunshots across the field. It was impossible to pinpoint where it was coming from, but there was no denying it was getting louder. Eventually, he had to assume that what he heard were the leaping footsteps of the beast galloping towards him.

  With only twenty more feet between him and the trees, he decided to push on without checking over his shoulder. If he were to look and find the beast was charging, then what good would it do him? Either way, his best bet was to find a place to hide.

  The thumping footsteps were so overpowering, it sounded as though the ground behind him was breaking apart and he was barely keeping ahead of the fallout. He recalled the deafening rumble of a building being demolished when he was ten. He fought the urge to curl into a ball and cover his ears, as he did then, and instead concentrated on the finish line.

  The beast gained on him quicker than he thought possible. There was no way to outrun it; he simply needed to reach the trees.

  When its next foot landed, Chris felt a rush of air on his back. It almost blew him over. Luckily, Chris’s own foot had finally reached the edge of the firs, so he ducked down and dove between the branches, disappearing into their protection.

  CHAPTER 33

  “It’s true,” Angela announced to the sanctuary. “I don’t know what that creature is, I admit it. I can’t offer you answers. I don’t have hope to give. All I have is the certainty that if we give this thing what it wants, there will be nothing left of us. How will you ever again hug a friend or kiss your spouse, knowing that it came at the cost of a child’s life? Sacrifice may seem like the only way we can survive, but it’s not how we’re going to live. Don’t fool yourselves, those are two very different things. We can’t just give up on our compassion because we’re afraid.”

  The congregation was hushed by Angela’s plea for humanity. Even Dorothy, who remained planted next to her, had absorbed the words. However, whether or not it was enough to sway her, remained to be seen. For the rest of the room, you could almost hear the brains toiling.

  With that, Angela dismounted from the spotlight. She had said her piece and wanted to leave the space open for people to decide for themselves.

  But before she could make it back to her seat, Dorothy launched another attack.

  “Well, Angela. Those were some pretty words, but being pretty is basically all they’re good for, isn’t it? None of what you said really helps us get out of this situation, does it?” she asked, with a vicious bite.

  “No, it doesn’t. That’s not what I was trying to say.”

  “Forget about what you were trying to say, then. Tell us, what can we do?”

  “We can try to escape,” Angela answered, predicting with accuracy the reaction it would provoke.

  The congregation hummed with skeptical murmurs like a muddled game of telephone. The buzz was one Angela had become accustomed to, but she still resented it. Trapped in that thick cloud of yammering, it was obvious not a single worthwhile word was uttered.

  Again, Dorothy focused her crowd. “The Behemoth was very clear what will happen if we try to escape. Do you want us to die? Would that make you happy, if it killed us all?”

  “I want us to try!” Angela screamed. “For Christ’s sake, all I want is for us to try! I want us to decide there are things that are bigger than our own little lives. Things that are worth fighting for, even dying for. Kindness, caring, mercy, love, and compassion. Without it, who gives a fuck? Who gives a fuck if you survive another second in this godless place? Who gives a fuck about injustice? Who gives a fuck about torture and murder? Who gives a fuck if your husband beats you, or rapes you? No one is ever going to care. And if no one cares, then fuck it all. We’ve pissed it away.”

  “So, you don’t want to use pretty words anymore; you’re using ugly ones. Well, Angela, they’re just as empty.”

  “Dorothy, if you go through with this, you had better pray there is no God, because you’ll definitely burn in Hell!.” Angela turned her back to her opponent, not only to end the bickering, but also to hide her furious tears. She pushed through the crowd to the back of the sanctuary where she could be calm and secluded with Alex.

  Just then, Matthew burst into the room from the mess hall and charged up the aisle.

  “What is it, Matthew?” Susan asked, and offered him a soothing touch.

  “I think Chris is outside.”

  “What did he say?” Tina demanded, having picked up on the key word – her son’s name.

  Matthew repeated loudly, “Chris went outside!”

  “Oh, God!” Tina screamed, “Why?”

  “How far did he go?” Gary hollered.

  “I don’t know.”

  Gary immediately started heading for the door, with Tina following closely behind.

  “Did he make it?” Angela asked, desperate for hope.

  An answer came, but not from Matthew’s lips, and without the
hope she had yearned for.

  The silhouette of Chris’ body slammed against the stained-glass window. A cracking sound was heard above the heavy thud of his torso. Presumably, it had come from his head, where a light dusting of blood erupted.

  Tina and Gary instantly recognized the face pressed against the coloured glass. Although it was difficult to make out through the ripples of the molded window exactly what was happening, it looked like three massive claws were holding Chris up by his head.

  Gary grabbed the arm of the pew in front of him, as his body shut down from the sight.

  Adding to the agony, Chris was still alive and his tormented screams reverberated against the window. The subtleties of his cries were muffled by the glass, which at the same time exaggerated his volume, like a blown speaker. He may have been begging for someone to save him, but it was impossible to tell, and even more impossible to obey.

  The Behemoth lifted Chris’ body up the length of the window for everyone to see. His face scraped along the smooth surface with an unnerving squeak, coaxing the glass to moan. The rest of Chris’ body thrashed wildly against the influence of the beast, straining his neck as his feet swung freely back and forth. He kicked, punched and squirmed in all directions like a deer in a bear trap.

  “Chris! Someone help him!” Matthew yelled.

  The giant claw pulled Chris all the way to Heaven at the top of the window and lined up his face with that of one of the angels, taking great care in matching up their eyes. Chris stared through the blue glass of the angel’s pupils over the entire congregation. He was searching for Matthew, but couldn’t find him in the sea of bustling bodies. He was desperate to taste their connection one last time – his dying wish, if he were granted the luxury of one.

  Unbearable pressure built against Chris’ nose and chin as the Behemoth squeezed his face against the glass. His head came crashing through, shattering the barrier.

  The face of the angel broke apart in an explosion of golden crystal shards and thick red spurts. Half the glass scattered on the floor, the other half splintered into Chris’ exposed face, imbedding itself deep into the flesh of his lips, cheeks and forehead. His nostrils had been peeled open by the cracking blades of the window, but his eyes, although closed forever, managed to evade any major damage.