“This was a horrible mistake! May God forgive us!” Emily screamed before being stricken with uncontrollable sobbing. Her body coiled into itself. Her hands caught her face on the way down to her knees.
“Emily, it was a hard decision. No one denies that. But we made the right choice.” Even if Dorothy shared in the remorse for what they had brought upon the boy, she could not show it. For the sake of appeasing the Behemoth, and for the chance to again hear her daughter’s voice, she had to be steadfast.
Emily’s face rose up from her hands and met Dorothy’s eyes.
“I wish things were different, but now it’s more important than ever to trust in our god,” Dorothy continued.
“Are you even Dorothy?” asked Emily.
“What kind of question is that?”
“’Cause I look at your face and I hear your words, but, I can’t recognize you. I don’t know who you are. You keep speaking about God, but I’ve never felt as far away from Him as I do right now.”
“That’s because you’re looking to the wrong one.”
“No, Dorothy. It’s because we are forsaken.”
“You’re going to eat those words when the Behemoth returns. I hope it can forgive you.”
Before Emily could respond, the door in the mess hall was blown open. The wood crashed against the wall like a gunshot, igniting a ripple of fright in the congregation.
Dorothy slowly stepped down from the pulpit with her candle held tightly to her chest. Some of the wax spilled onto her dress, but she paid no attention to it. She had not expected the beast to use the front door.
Then came a human voice. At first it sounded like nothing more than a ghostly hum, tickling ears and inducing shivers. From those meager beginnings, it eventually grew into a full whistle. The tune of choice was their beloved hymn, Part of the Family.
The familiar melody carried Dorothy back through the bloodshed, all the way to the humble beginnings of that mundane Sunday morning. She recalled the sanctuary aglow with fellowship, and Don speaking of the eternal love of their Holy Father. No matter how bad things may turn, he had assured them, it would all work out in the end, for it is God’s plan. Well, things had certainly turned bad, he was right about that. Dorothy wondered if Don really believed his own words, specifically while his face was being peeled off. She did have faith that the past two days had been god’s plan, just not the god Don had professed.
By the time the voice began the second verse, it had reached the sanctuary door.
A few of the members moved away, fearing what might come through once the song had ended. Even Dorothy halted her approach and waited at a safe distance for the serenade’s conclusion.
The doorknob twisted. The slow turn of the handle stole breath from the entire room.
As soon as it cracked open, an inexplicable gust charged forth and in one quick swipe, snuffed out every candle.
The familiar darkness also brought with it a familiar mystery. Everyone knew there was someone in the doorway, but no one could tell who.
“Did you hear?” a voice asked out of the dark.
No one dared answer.
The silhouette stepped into the room. A stray beam of moonlight snuck through the window and caught the side of his face. The blue shimmer cupped around his cheekbone, but disappeared when it met the dark globe of his eye, as if the light was swallowed by it.
Recognition settled in. It was Rick, who had come to greet his congregation, only the man with spectral eyes now shared the vision of the beast, itself.
“Hear what, Rick?” Dorothy finally responded.
His head turned to her with a hawk’s precision.
As soon as Dorothy earned his attention, she immediately wanted to give it away. It was like being caught in a hunter’s sights and the little fawn inside of her wanted to bolt.
Rick smiled and stepped toward her. His robe was muddy and its edges torn, as if he had been wearing it for years. The fabric, weighed down by clots of dirt, swayed with his body and left a trail of earth as he approached.
Dorothy gathered her faith and managed to turn her fear into excitement. Despite her nervous instincts, she forced herself to believe Rick had come to reward her devotion to the beast; she had to believe it. She had to. They had done as they were asked, what reason would there be to punish further?
There was also another feeling that had been awakened in Dorothy. This one was even less manageable than the prior. Rick’s proximity ignited an unwieldy lust that gathered heat between her legs – a sensation she had all but forgotten since the death of her husband. Whether she was titillated by the surviving handsomeness of his face, the hinted bulge of his body under the robe, or something far more sinister, remained a mystery. Regardless of what caused it, there was no denying the tremble she struggled to suppress. She saw the curve of his lips and could not help but imagine how they would feel against her body. She wanted to live, she wanted to see her daughter again, and now, she also wanted him. Dorothy was disturbed how the needs of her body had come to weigh against the needs of her soul.
Rick walked right passed her as if she were nothing and took a prominent stance in front of the pulpit.
Dorothy hid the shame of her thirst and settled in with the rest of the congregation.
“My children, did you hear the boy’s screams?” asked Rick with delight. “Did you listen to his cries from way down deep? It was beautiful. You should have been there. You should have heard it. The boy, Alex, was well-chosen. He had such spirit.” The zeal with which Rick spoke only salted their collective wound.
“Is the Behemoth pleased?” Dorothy interrupted, unable to bear anymore talk of Alex’s fate.
“Oh, yes. Yes. Joyous. Ecstatic. Exquisitely satisfied. It finally has what it always wanted.”
“The boy?”
“No, you. Faithful followers. It has you, devoted and loving. You are all now the Behemoth’s precious congregation and you have given the beast the awe it deserves.”
Michael stepped into the aisle and blurted, “We did it. Can we leave now?”
“Leave? Before seeing your god? Do you not wish to behold it?”
Dorothy was overcome by the idea and dropped to her knees at the offer. She clasped her hands together and begged for a chance to witness such divinity.
“Please, yes! We do!” she exclaimed on behalf of the congregation.
The devotion started with Dorothy, but soon everyone in the room had joined her, groveling on the ground. By this point, most were sincere in their worship, though there were a few pretenders, including Matthew, Susan and the disheartened Emily, who prayed with the others only to preserve their anonymity.
Rick raised his hands to the pleading congregation with a look of sympathy.
“Yes, children. Your ascension shall begin.” He turned his head upward to the heavens and announced with booming force, “Behemoth, lord of all that rose from the dust, master of earth and sky, we beseech you. Bless us this night, your faithful, loving children, and let us look upon your splendor that we may praise our true father. We humbly ask this and forever love thee. Our god, the Behemoth, ruler of wood and stone, of blood and bone, and keeper of our eternity. We pray.”
CHAPTER 41
With Clara’s lighter leading the way, Angela headed into the cluttered storage space near the back of the basement. She found herself standing in the exact spot where she first told Alex his father had returned. The ghost of the moment lingered there. She picked up the plastic Santa head and tossed it across the room. It shattered against the cement.
She ripped through the rest of the junk until she unearthed the old generator. Its red paint was in severe need of some patchwork and the instructions were faded and illegible.
Hidden under some oily rags she found two jugs of gasoline. She shook the first one but there were only a few dribbles left. The second, however, was filled all the way to the cap.
She poured a quarter of the jug into the generator – the rest of the gas she
had need for elsewhere.
She primed the engine, adjusted the choke, and then grabbed hold of the pull chord.
She paused. Once the generator was started, there would be no going back. She needed to be sure of her plan. It was not an easy thing to commit to. What she had in mind was not about saving herself, nor was it about saving anyone else for that matter. In fact, it had nothing to do with life at all, but rather, death. Brutality had become the common tongue, and it was Angela’s turn to speak. To her, life was a cruel proposition – you give someone the world and then take it away. This vicious practice was all there was. As much as she hated it, as much as she wanted it not to be true, she could not escape it. Just as Alex did not escape it, and just as the congregation upstairs was not going to escape it.
Angela pulled the chord.
The motor squealed to life like a pig. Its screech chased away the settled quiet of the basement, while the exhaust grumbled up a thick pipe that carried the fumes outside. Power spread through the basement, giving Angela the light she needed.
The rattle from the generator suggested it probably didn’t have long to live. That was fine. It would all be over soon.
CHAPTER 42
The ceiling lights flashed on and off above the congregation like a battle in Heaven. Emily grabbed hold of her two children and pulled them closer. Eventually, the power stabilized and the room was brought back to normalcy, if that’s what it could be called.
Rick squinted. His beastly eyes were accustomed only to the dark.
In the clarity the lights offered, everyone could see the extent of Rick’s transformation. His teeth had blackened as much as his eyes. It was as if he was rotting from the inside, only he appeared strengthened by his deterioration, not weakened by it.
“Was that him?” cried Tina.
“No, my children, it was not,” Rick answered dismissively. His arms remained outstretched and the fabric of his robe hung down like tattered feathers, displaying an impressive wingspan.
“Matthew, why are the lights on?” whispered Susan.
“The generator,” he replied.
Rick’s head bowed down as he spoke, “Everyone, be silent and gather close to me. The Behemoth comes now.”
The first person to join him was Dorothy, and even she hesitated. Eventually though, she was down on all fours with her hands clamouring about his torn, bare feet.
“What are you all waiting for?” she asked the others, “come and worship our saviour.”
The sound of a rustling sheet brought the congregation’s attention to the stained-glass window. To everyone’s shock, there was only an empty hole where Chris’ body once hung. The sheet that had covered him had fallen onto the pews beneath.
Tina immediately spun around to her husband.
“Gary! Where did he...” her sentence was cut short once she realized it was not her husband standing next to her. She stared into the bleeding eyes of her son’s shredded face.
It smiled at her, but not in the way he did when he was alive; it was his death grin.
Tina brought her hands close to her chest as if to protect her heart. She screamed when her dead son lurched forward and reached for her face. The corpse didn’t move in a human way. Like a marionette, it was only an estimation of true life.
Gary took hold of Tina’s arm and dragged her away from the hideous vision, but not before she saw Chris’ head, which was barely attached to his neck, begin to roll around his shoulders like a grotesque pendulum. The image of his smiling face, swaying back and forth, made her think of the first toy she ever gave him – a Jack in the box.
The two of them hurried to the front of the church, where Rick was waiting.
Matthew shook his head in frightful wonderment. If what he had seen before in the bathroom was not evidence enough, there was no longer any doubt of the beast’s power over death. His breaths grew short and he kept repeating, “My god... My god...”
His astonishment was interrupted by a hand scurrying up his back. The fingers were wet, soaking through his shirt. He turned around and saw Bruce’s carved carcass rise up from the pew behind him. The gashes down Bruce’s face nearly split through his wide grin.
Matthew abandoned his doubts, as well as his grandmother, and ran toward Rick. The rest of the congregation followed him, scrambling to the front of the sanctuary as Bruce slid over the pews toward them.
All the scared little lambs were now herded around their shepherd, trembling as the dead closed in around them.
A third body appeared in one of the aisles. It dragged itself along with its one good arm, heaving the bloody mass of its mangled form across the red carpet.
Dorothy looked up from Rick’s feet, afraid of what she might see, and rightly so. She recognized the twisted abomination as her daughter. The dead thing’s pale eyes were fixed on Dorothy, and even had a hint of recognition.
“Clara, my baby girl,” Dorothy wept. “It brought you back. It brought you back to me.” In the thralls of her wretched hysteria, the edge of Dorothy’s mouth even curled into the beginnings of a smile.
“Silence!” Rick demanded. “The Behemoth is near. Children, prepare to behold the maker of your miracles. The air becomes death, and so we let the shadows rush in. It is upon us.”
#
The weight of the gasoline pulled on Angela’s arm while she made her way steadily up the stairs. The liquid sloshed about the jug, a tactile reminder of what was at hand.
She reached the door to the mess hall, which had been locked. However, it was hinged from her side and so with the blunt end of a piece of wood, she started hammering out the metal pin that secured the door to its frame.
It was a noisy process, but Angela had no worry of being found out. After all, what could they do that they hadn’t done already?
The top pin popped out and bounced down the stairs. The door shifted. After the bottom pin came loose, the entire thing dislodged. Angela then kicked her way into the mess hall. The door came crashing down at half speed like a great oak tree. She emerged from the basement and stood over the fallen barrier.
Across the room was the sanctuary. The door was still closed. Nobody had heard. Nobody knew she was coming.
Her gaze moved to the three large fabric windows that joined the two rooms. A few silhouettes floated passed the thin sheets. The congregation was on the move, but not toward her.
Her grip around the handle of the jug constricted and the plastic let out an aching moan.
She marched toward the unsuspecting congregation with the look of punishment promised in her determined eyes.
#
Although the deathly visions had forced everyone to the front of the sanctuary, they had not pressed any further. The bodies of the lost had halted, as if standing guard.
Dorothy hadn’t left Rick’s feet during the entire migration. She felt safe being so close to him; her head was almost ducked under the shelter of his filthy robe. He was the promise that made it possible to endure it all, even her daughter’s agony.
The children were brought to the centre of the mob, protected on all sides by the rest of the congregation. Susan and Matthew were among the youth being safeguarded and had taken it upon themselves to calm the frightened kids. There was something comforting about making the children feel safe; perhaps because if the kids believed it, then they could too.
Everyone else’s attention remained with their prophet, silently begging for his guidance.
Eventually, Rick’s head once again turned upward to the sky, but this time, with a look of ecstasy. A series of grunts erupted from the depths of his throat with a perverse intensity that would have made anyone blush. His breath became shallow and his body quivered. His feet, which Dorothy still clung to like an anchor, began to pull away from the earth.
There was a detectable charge in the air that pricked at the skin of the congregation and built pressure in their ears. Everyone became as silent as death.
Rick rose a foot off the ground and floated
in space as if held there by some cradling hand. A few awe-inspired tears dropped at the sight, and still Dorothy did not let go.
The pews started to shake and banged against the floorboards like a restless audience. The noise was deafening, and filled the sanctuary. It sounded as though the pounding might break through the floor. Their trusted room, their haven that had sheltered them from untold terrors was transforming.
“The Behemoth is here!” Rick proclaimed.
Desperate hands groped at Rick’s robe. Anyone who couldn’t reach him shoved their way through the crowd for a chance to be closer to god. There was only one singular thought shared between the entire congregation; the Behemoth is here. The Behemoth is here!
#
Angela twisted the lid off the jug of gasoline with such haste, the precious fuel spilled out over her hand and dripped to the floor.
She found herself feeling surprisingly sturdy in front of the sanctuary door. She clearly heard the banging coming from the other room, but closed her mind to it. She had no care for what the awful noise was or what made it. No devilish mystery was intriguing enough to dissuade her from completing what she had set out to do.
The jug poured easily. The clear liquid splashed under the door and snaked its way into the sanctuary carpet.
After she was satisfied the gas permeated the only entrance to the room, Angela generously soaked the entire wood frame of the door and carried a trail all the way to the thin curtains. They too were rendered dripping within seconds.
She didn’t stop until every last drop of gas was emptied and the fumes dizzied her senses.
Her son was not in Heaven, despite how much she wanted him to be. There was no eternity amongst the clouds for him with his long lost dog. Dead was dead, she was sure of it now, and fairytales, no matter how appealing, could not change that simple truth.
And more, if nothing lies beyond this world, then there would be no final judgment to punish the congregation for what they did. The thought of Dorothy, Tina, Gary, Michael, Emily and all the others going about their days in blessed ignorance was unbearable and chased away any hesitation or pesky moral concerns she might have had.
Worship Me Page 23
