“It was a dreadful, and dare I say...incompetent theory anyway. Antibiotics? Please. You would think that today's modern science could figure this shit out.” The pastor reached over and grabbed the pen that was still sticking out of the scientists neck, yanked it out of his throat, wiped off the blood, and stuck it back in his pocket. Blood from the scientist's neck sprayed over the white table. The scientist, still clutching his neck, fell to the floor and started to convulse.
“Oh God. Security, help!” shrieked the interviewer.
“You could call in the guards, sure.” The pastor calmly looked at the interviewer. “Or you could have an exclusive interview with the Antichrist. Think of the ratings!” he laughed. “What's it going to be?”
The interviewer stood there, stunned and trembling. “You...you're the Antichrist?”
“Look into my eyes.” said the Antichrist.
“Oh my God.”
“Quite the opposite, I assure you.” Again, the Antichrist laughed. “Don't worry, I don't plan on harming anyone else.” He then looked directly into the camera. “I'm going to give it to you straight, world. Today only – ask me anything you want, and I will tell you the truth,” said the Father of Lies.
Thinking quickly, the interviewer sat down. If this person is who he says he is, or even thinks he's the Antichrist, then the best thing to do would be to calmly delay this madman...and hope that someone calls the SWAT team.
“Of course,” the interviewer replied, still visibly shaken. She sat down and gathered her notes. “Should I call you Pastor Abrams?”
“Oh, I'm afraid not. Pastor Abrams has left the building.”
“What do you mean?” asked the interviewer.
“Pastor Abrams is gone. Quite permanently, I'm afraid. I had to squelch his soul – destroy it before I could occupy his body,” said the Antichrist.
“But I thought the Antichrist was supposed to be some little kid named Damien.”
“Does the bible say the Antichrist was going to be a little kid named Damien? No, I don't think so. I'd quote scripture, but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. No, I possessed...No, possessed isn't the right word.” The Antichrist paused, and thought for a moment. “Possession is what happens when lesser demons invade the souls of weak mortals. I indwelt Pastor Abrams. I destroyed his soul and took his body.”
“I didn't think a soul could be destroyed,” replied the interviewer. “According to Christianity, souls are created by God.”
“God creates, and the Devil destroys. It is well within my power to destroy everything He creates,” said the Antichrist triumphantly.
“Then why not destroy everything?” asked the interviewer. And where the hell was the SWAT team? She didn't want to give this lunatic another opportunity to do something violent.
“What would be the point of doing that? If I destroyed everything, there would be nothing left to do. No, that's not my purpose here.”
“OK...What is your purpose then?”
“Glad you asked!” The Antichrist clapped his hands together gleefully. “I'm here to save humanity! God grew bored with you humans. He decided that humanity was no longer worth saving, and decided to get rid of the lot of you. Why do you think he caused all this pestilence and mayhem? Don't take my word for it – read the bible. It's not the Devil that causes the Tribulation, it's all God's doing.”
“But according to the bible, God is going to save us from the Devil.”
“No! Absolutely not. Nothing could be further from the truth. Haven't you been listening to what I've been saying? God is going to kill all the unbelievers and all the people he finds unworthy of the Kingdom of Heaven. The Rapture was supposed to save all the Christians, and lift them up into Heaven before God would murder the rest of humanity in retribution for their sins. But God decided that only one person was worthy. You saw what happened during the Rapture – no Christians were brought up to Heaven. He left all humans, all seven billion of them, to perish on Earth. Not only do we need to deal with this pestilence, but according to the bible, six other plagues are going to decimate the population until we are completely wiped out! The oceans and rivers will turn to blood, and the skies will fall into eternal darkness, just to name two of the horrible things that will happen soon.”
The Antichrist looked directly into the news camera. “Don't you understand? I'm the only one who can save you!”
“That doesn't sound right. The bible says you are the Father of Lies, that you are not to be trusted,” said the interviewer.
“For thousands of years, I have been the victim of a smear campaign by the Christian right. What have I done that was so horrible? Tempt a woman in the Garden of Eden? I only did that so humanity could have free will! If it wasn't for me, humanity would be a bunch of mindless automatons, forced to worship a bitter and spiteful God. I'm the one who has your best interests in mind, because I understand human nature. In fact, I embrace it! God wants to destroy those who give in to their human nature. I, on the other hand, think you're beautiful just the way you are.”
“That's...actually a convincing argument,” replied the interviewer.
“Of course it is! It's the reason why I'm here – to save humanity from a mad God.”
“What can we do?”
“Pledge your allegiance to me, and together we will defeat the armies of Heaven. We will overcome-” The Antichrist was interrupted by a loud yell.
“Now!” shouted a man who was dressed in military fatigues. Machine gun fire barked from nearly a dozen SWAT team soldiers. The Antichrist was immediately riddled with dozens of bullets, including several ghastly bullet wounds to his face.
“Oh, thank God!” cried the interviewer, as she ran into the arms of the newsroom program director, sobbing.
Blinded by the bright lights of the news cameras, the Antichrist did not see the SWAT team sneak into the news room. After being riddled with bullets, the Antichrist sat in his chair, unfazed. Blood was streaming down his face, as the Antichrist calmly looked into the news camera and said, “I understand that this might be a bit much for you to take in all at once, so take a few days and think about what I've said. Meanwhile, I need to take care of some personal business.”
The Antichrist got up from his chair, and started to walk out of the news room.
“Freeze, motherfucker!” shouted the SWAT team captain.
The Antichrist casually waved a hand in their direction, and the heads of each SWAT team member just...fell off.
And the interviewer screamed.
Chapter 5 – Abraham's Dilemma
After the interview, the Antichrist picked up his 'son', Isaac, at his neighbor's house. He assured the neighbor that he was just fine, please disregard all the blood. Besides, the bullet wounds had mostly healed by now.
Isaac looked into his Dad's amber cat-like eyes. “Uh, are you sure you're OK, dad?”
“Of course I'm OK. Daddy was just playing cops and robbers with the nice folks at the news station, see?” The Antichrist lifted up his shirt, revealing lots of blood, but no bullet holes. “Just fake blood, everything's fine. C'mon, let's go home. Daddy needs to get cleaned up. We have a big day ahead of us!”
The babysitter nervously waved goodbye, as the two got in their car and drove home.
The Antichrist took a shower and put on some clean clothes. He looked at his pale reflection in the mirror. He was pleased by the fact that he could finally look at himself in the mirror, even if it wasn't his normal countenance. He then looked agitated. “Well, this won't do.” he said, as he reached for his 'wife's' makeup. After smearing a base and skin-tone foundation all over his face and neck, he looked much more human. Hmm, better get some contacts later, to make his eyes appear less devilish. I'll make an appointment with an optometrist later, he thought to himself. But today, I have a big day planned with Isaac.
“Isaac, get your sneakers on. We're going on a little trip.”
“Where to, Dad?”
“It's such a nice day. I thought w
e could head up to the mountains, and have ourselves a little barbecue. Just you and me.”
“Great!” replied Isaac, as he ran to put on his sneakers.
The Antichrist walked into the kitchen and grabbed a steak knife. “All ready?” he said to Isaac.
It was a forty five minute drive to the mountains. The Antichrist drove slowly up the twisting road, enjoying the scenery. They pulled over at a rest area, got out of the car, and started to walk down a winding dirt trail.
“Father?” Isaac asked.
“Yes, my son?” the Antichrist replied.
“Where is the food for the barbecue?”
The Antichrist answered, “God himself will provide food and marshmallows.” The two continued to walk down the trail together.
They arrived at a clearing with a picnic table and a fire pit. The area was deserted. Due to the plague, most people weren't in the mood for hiking.
“Hey Isaac, go lay down on that picnic table over there,” said the Antichrist.
“Uh...why?”
“Just do as your father asks you,” he replied. It was a warm day, and the Antichrist was starting to perspire, causing his makeup to stream down his face, revealing the unnaturally white skin underneath.
“OK dad, like this?” said Isaac, as he lay down on the picnic table. Black clouds started to form overhead, and thunder could be heard in the distance.
“Perfect,” said the Antichrist. He approached Isaac, while taking out the steak knife from his belt. He stood over his Son, and raised the knife above his head.
A voice from the clouds thundered, “Lucifer, stop!” commanded God.
With the knife still raised above his head, the Antichrist clasped the handle with both hands, looked up at the sky, and screamed, “NO!” He plunged the knife down into Isaac's chest, as the boy let out a blood curling scream.
Lightning arced across the sky, as the light faded from Isaac's eyes. The boy's face was contorted in pain, then relaxed.
“Do you see, God?” screamed the Antichrist. “Do you see that I do not lack conviction?”
The roar of thunder was his only response.
The Antichrist dragged Isaac's body back down to the car and nonchalantly threw the corpse into the trunk. He drove back down the mountains, and stopped at an incinerator on the way home. Several incinerators were located outside of every major city, as the death toll from the plague grew. Fearing the spread of disease, citizens were urged to hand over their deceased to incinerator facilities to prevent the spread of infection. So many people were dying, that bodies were stacked up nearly ten feet high. It made the disposal of Isaac's body laughably easy.
After pulling up to the local incinerator, the Antichrist got out of his car, opened the trunk, and threw Isaac's body on the pile of corpses waiting to be incinerated. He then gingerly climbed back into his car, and drove home.
* * * * * * *
The following Sunday, only a few members of the congregation arrived for Sunday morning's service. The newscast of the Antichrist went viral, and the surviving members of the congregation wisely decided to stay clear of the man they once knew as Pastor Abrams.
The few church members who did not know of the Antichrist's arrival, saw him sitting on the steps of the Covenant Church as they arrived for morning service.
“Is everything OK, pastor?” asked Brandon, a middle-aged man dressed in a blue suit and tie.
“No, I'm afraid not,” said the Antichrist, as he looked up at Brandon. The Antichrist was wearing colored contacts to hide his cat-like eyes. “A few days ago, I lost my son Isaac to the plague. I'm afraid I'm just not up for a sermon this morning.”
“Oh my God! I'm so sorry...I had no idea,” replied Brandon. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No, I think I need to take a break from preaching for a while. You should find another church.” The Antichrist lowered his head in feigned anguish. He never did feel comfortable in churches, which was the real reason he canceled morning service.
“OK. I understand,” said Brandon. “If you need anything, just let me know.”
The few remaining members of the congregation left.
* * * * * * *
Meanwhile, at the channel 9 newsroom, a cleaning crew was frantically cleaning blood off the floor and walls. Newswoman and interviewer, Stacey Kerbal, watched the grisly scene from the far side of the room. “I can't believe how much blood there is,” she commented.
“I can't believe these awesome ratings,” said Zack Brannin, the program director.
“Zack, how could you?” said Stacey, still in shock from interviewing the Antichrist.
Zack looked at the headless bodies of the SWAT team. “Well, mess with the bull, get the horns. Hey, see if you can get him back in here for another interview.”
“What, the Antichrist? Are you insane?” asked Stacey.
“Absolutely! I mean, about getting the Antichrist – not the insane thing. You still have his contact information, right?”
“Yes. I mean no. No fucking way am I talking to that guy again. He scares the hell out of me,” replied Stacey.
“How about I sweeten the deal with a promotion? How does Senior reporter Stacey Kerbal sound?”
Stacey paused for a moment. It was tempting, but every fiber in her body screamed not to go through with it. “I'm sorry, I simply can't.”
“That's too bad, we'll get the new girl to do it. You know, that hot young intern? She seems like a motivated person.”
Stacey's blood began to boil. “What? Fuck that. Ugh!” She paused for a moment, and considered her options. “OK, I'll do it. I'll call him tonight.”
“Good girl. Set up the interview in three days. We need time to get an advertising campaign going. We're going to have TV ads during every commercial break for the next seventy-two hours. We're going to advertise the hell out of this. Come Friday night, every household TV in America...No! Every TV in the world will be watching.” With a wild gleam in his eyes, Zack clutched the ratings report close to his chest, and whispered to himself, “Imagine the ratings.”
That night, after a long shower, Stacey Kerbal stood in the middle of her dining room, looking at her cell phone. Pastor Justin D. Abrams' number was displayed before her, but she was having an extremely hard time trying to press the 'call' button.
She poured herself another drink and paced the floor. After walking back and forth and looking at her phone for nearly thirty minutes, she almost gave up. But then something very strange happened.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed a bright light. Did an automatic light just turn on? Looking up from her cell phone, she witnessed something so majestic, so unbelievable, that her mind had a hard time processing the image. It was...so beautiful. She dropped her cell phone as she stared at the image made out of pure light.
“I am the archangel Gabriel,” he said with a smile. “I was sent here to give you a message from God. Call the Antichrist and ask him to the interview. It is God's will.”
Stacey looked at the archangel in disbelief. The light from his body was so warm. She felt a wave of pure love wash over her. “But I...I'm scared.”
“God will protect you,” said the archangel.
“How will he protect me?” she asked.
Gabriel stood for a moment, and looked a bit confused. “Uh...Just a moment,” he said, then blinked out of existence.
Stacey stood there for a second with the drink still in her hand. She took a sip before placing the glass on the table, then went to retrieve her cell phone from the floor. Did she just imagine that? As she picked up the cell phone, the archangel reappeared right before her.
“OK, here's the deal,” said Gabriel excitedly. “God says that I'm to be at the newsroom on Friday night. I'll protect you if the Antichrist tries anything.”
Stacey paused for a moment. Majestic as the archangel was, she was still haunted by the horrific beheadings she had just witnessed that morning. Gabriel put his hand on her should, and all doubt a
nd anxiety washed away from her body. “OK,” she said. “If you're going to be there, I'll do it.”
She looked down at her phone. The name Justin D. Abrams was still displayed on the screen. She nervously pressed 'call'.
The phone rang twice before someone answered. “Yeah?” said a female voice. She sounded out of breath. “Who is this?”
Stacey was caught off guard. “Oh, I'm sorry. This is Stacey Kerbal from Channel 9 News. Um...I might have the wrong number. Is Mr. Abrams there?” There was a pause on the other end of the line. She heard what sounded like a black woman talking to someone. After a moment, another voice answered the phone.
“Hello?” said an unmistakable voice. Chills ran down Stacey's spine.
“Yes, Mr. Abrams? This is Stacey Kerbal from Channel 9 News.”
“Stacey! How are you? Please, call me A.C.”
“Uh...A.C.?” Stacey asked.
“Yeah, you know. Short for Antichrist. That name has such negativity associated with it.”
“Oh...OK. Well, Mr. A.C., we wanted to know-”
“Just A.C.,” interrupted the Antichrist.
“Right. Sorry. 9 News would like to have you back for another interview. How does Friday night sound?”
“That sounds splendid! Pencil me in,” said A.C.
“Great, I'll let them know. Uh, just curious...who is that with you?” asked Stacey.
“Who? Oh, right. That's Crystal. She's the hooker I was fuckin' before you called. Hey, I'm getting some strange vibes on your end of the line. Is there someone with you?”
Stacey was mortified. “Nope. See you Friday,” she said and quickly ended the call.
Gabriel put a warm hand on her shoulder and smiled. “You have done the right thing,” assured the archangel, before vanishing.
For the next three days, 9 News ran a blitzkrieg advertising campaign. High production commercials ran around the clock. One commercial featured a CGI animation of Gabriel wrestling the Devil. Both deities were wearing wrestling tights. Gabriel was wearing a white one-piece suite and matching headgear. The Devil was wearing a Mexican lucha libre costume, complete with a red horned mask. A voice-over boomed in the background, “Who will win in the eternal struggle for man's soul? On Friday night, watch the greatest interview in the history of television, as the Messenger of God – Gabriel, debates the Fallen One – Satan!” The commercial ended with Gabriel climbing up to the top turnbuckle, turning around, and leaping towards the Devil with a flying elbow.
Angel of the Apocalypse Page 4
