Mischiefmakers: Dark Macabre Page 18

  “Is it too late, Father?”

  “The beast is a liar, it would have me believe it’s too late, so that maybe I will abandon all hope,” he responds.

  “Father, why would the demon show itself now if the prophecy has not yet come to pass?”

  “Because the beast is an exhibitionist. It wants to gloat in God’s face, even if it’s premature. I saw it in its eyes, it left because it had to, it left because it was draining its own energy. The demon is still weak. I’m sure it hasn’t captured Melissa’s soul yet. The prophecy is still in progress. It can be stopped.”

  “They know you know where they are. What if they just move her?” asks Vincent.

  “I don’t think they will. I believe they will only move her if they must.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It would take a tremendous amount of energy and time to set up another doorway.”

  “Doorway?”

  As Father Johns begins to explain, he starts to pace the room.

  “Yes, just as I told Sarah. I believe these places serve as some sort of a doorway. A place where the pillage of God’s precious planet shall begin. I remember in literature, it is known as the gate of abyss. This will be the portal for the lost souls.” Father Johns takes a moment to gather his thoughts. He is shaken at the thought that man will cease to exist if he or his young helper cannot succeed. Moments later, he continues. “The first building was conjured by the guardians to watch over her. Jackie was drawn through this doorway. The Mr. Nicholas that supposedly was the owner, was not the owner, but in fact a guardian. The building was an illusion, it never existed as Melissa saw it. This house she lives in now exists, therefore, they don’t have to expend any energy maintaining an illusion. Somewhere in that house, there is a gateway, where the mischiefmakers shall come onto the earth. Somehow, they have this young man serving as their guardian. They are not going anywhere.”

  “The writings say they will join Satan. Why would they come here?”

  “Simple. The universe is God’s greatest creation. They will come here to cause havoc and destroy all God has created. This planet is just a stepping-stone in bringing down the Kingdom of Heaven. I’m sure not all the lost souls will come here. Most will probably fight with the beast, turning the tide of the war in favor of Satan. This black rain is the blood of mortally wounded angels, both good and evil. In two more evenings from today, the prophecy shall be fulfilled. I must act quickly.”

  “What are you going to do?” Vincent feels fright overwhelm his emotions, yet the eagerness of his youth carries him through. Every moment he fights hysteria as questions fill his mind, the thoughts of what they’re dealing with settling upon him.

  Father Johns doesn’t answer right away as he continues to pace the room.

  “I really don’t know,” he says finally, placing his hands back onto the table. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his golden pendant, and takes a long gaze.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Vincent asks, settling his nerves with the hope of a vital role in the coming struggle.

  “Yes, there is one thing...remember all that I have said. Sit here.” Father Johns pulls up an old wooden chair and gestures Vincent to sit. He places the pendant back into his pocket. “Study these ancient words, study them carefully. But before I continue, do you understand what I am asking you to do? Are you willing to sacri- fice your life?”

  The young man looks respectfully at Father Johns and takes a moment to answer.

  “Father, I have devoted my life to the study of our Lord and will soon join the ranks of the priests such as yourself. I gladly give my life to fight the beast.”

  Father Johns gently reaches over Vincent and begins pointing out some important facts.

  “Here, this is the passage I read to Sarah, ‘My love will redeem ye from Asylum, but ecstasy be thine and joy of earth. The child of my loins ye shall protect. Thy mother be of divine nature but lost, lost to the perils of sin, denouncing the light. These are the conditions of my love.’ This is how we will win, Vincent. This passage alone gives us all the information we need.”

  “How? I don’t understand,” Vincent states in confusion.

  Father Johns stands up straight and continues his gentle pace around the room. He is submerged in deep thought. He begins to speak in a low voice that rises steadily as he continues.

  “It has to do with Melissa. Listen, ‘Thy mother be of divine nature but lost, lost to the perils of sin, denouncing the light.’ That’s it! Melissa has somehow denounced God in her mind.”

  “Why?” asks Vincent.

  “It could be a number of reasons. Maybe she blames God for her life on the streets. She could have stumbled into a Satanic group and believed its teachings. Maybe she has become an atheist, maybe she has always been an atheist. I don’t know exactly. Somehow she has fallen away from the teachings of the Church.”

  “But there are many people who have fallen from the Church. What would make her such a special case?”

  “What makes her special is that somehow she has developed a deep hatred for God. Probably unintentionally caused by a man or woman of God, another priest perhaps, or a reverend. It would have to be a parent or someone very close to her. That’s what the passage means, ‘Thy mother of divine nature but lost.’ She was raised in the church.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why they chose her. There are many like her.”

  “Yes, you are right, Vincent, there are millions like her,” says Father, reminiscing for a moment on the young man crossing the street, those eyes of unprovoked hatred gleaming at him.

  “He’s a preacher, chill out!”

  “I don’t give a fuck!”

  Father Johns pauses for a moment, then continues, speaking softly.

  “She just happens to be the one chosen by the beast.”

  “Are you okay, Father?” asks Vincent, noticing Father Johns’ drifting gaze.

  “I’m fine.” Father Johns pauses, then continues his previous thought, “You see, we don’t have to defeat the demon within her. I must equip her with the means to do it herself.”

  “Nurse Charles?”

  “Montclair Psychiatric Hospital, her name is Deborah Charles, admitted late May for the murder of two surgeons.”

  “Yes, I remember reading about that. Why did she do it?”

  “She didn’t.”

  “Then who did?” Vincent asks. Father Johns turns slowly, look- ing away from his inquisitive pupil.

  “Melissa,” Father Johns says, leaning against the shabby stone wall. “But it was not her fault. The beast within her actually slaughtered those men like animals. I have to convince Melissa to release her anger, that is what the demon is feeding on, it is using it against her.” Standing up from his leaning position, he takes a few breaths and continues, “I have to go back to the house.”

  “It’s almost one o’clock in the morning.”

  “It doesn’t matter, I only have two more days,” Father Johns replies.

  “You’re exhausted,” Vincent says, concerned.

  “There isn’t much time.” Father Johns coughs and shivers. His clothes are still damp from the rainstorm.

  Vincent places his arm around Father Johns and begins to guide him out of the room. Father Johns doesn’t resist, allowing the young man to escort him to one of the sleeping quarters. “You must rest, you cannot fight in this condition. Here, you can rest in here.” Vincent opens the thick wooden door and reveals a dusty room. He reaches upward, pulling a small chain to ignite a low wattage bulb. Vincent then turns to Father Johns and helps him out of his damp clothing.

  “Can’t have you catching pneumonia. After all, you have a heck of a weekend ahead of you.” Vincent unbuttons Father Johns’ shirt, then opens his collar. Walking over to a cot located against the wall, Vincent assists the sluggish priest in sitting down, then removes his pants. Father Johns tries to help by lifting each of his weary legs. Like holding his own newborn child, Vincent places
Father Johns’ head onto the thin foam pillow. He then covers the elder priest with a blue knit blanket he found neatly folded at the bottom of the bed. “Lie here for a few hours. I’ll get you up.” Suddenly Father Johns grabs Vincent’s hand before he is able to stand. The priest’s voice is scratchy and low. He speaks once more before resting.

  “We must stop the rain, before the moon rises Sunday. You must read the scrolls, you have to know what I know, in case I fail.” His voice drifts into a soft whisper.

  “I understand, Father, now please...get some rest.” Vincent backs toward the door, kneels down to a small lantern, and lifts its glass cover. Reaching into a little drawer, he pulls out a box of matches. He strikes one wooden match and lights the charred wick. He then replaces the glass cover. Pulling the chain that looms above his head, he darkens the room. Closing the door, he takes one more look at Father Johns, who has already drifted to sleep.

  NIGHTMARE

  The sky is in rage. Lightning streaks across the heavens, and thunder rumbles the ground. Like thin, aged hands, the bolts of light emerge from thick black clouds that dangle just

  above the city. As quickly as they appear, they disappear. Just as soon as one cloud goes, another takes its place and announces its presence with a thunderous roar that rattles the largest of mountains. The clouds resemble thick, black smoke surging throughout the heavens, engulfing the view of the night sky.

  Melissa tosses in her sheets, drunk with rage. Her heart pounds, her body quivers. Tiny streams of salty, eye-stinging perspiration pour down her face. Her eyes are shut tight but her pupils shift frantically under their lids. Her mouth gapes wide; she doesn’t utter a sound. She grips the sheets with intensity.

  Her eyes open, revealing pitch-black pupils that start to illumi - nate in their familiar witchy green. With her changing eye color and pulsating body, she’s under someone else’s control. Like a battery wilting in strength, her eyes slowly lose their bright green glow. Suddenly they begin to surge once more with a brightness that pierces the dark room. As if someone or something is pulling a power switch from within her body, her eyes battle between light and dark. With her mouth still frozen open, her rigid tongue extends. The blood vessels in her face begin pulsating, creating an eerie web-like pattern.

  Flashes of light flicker throughout the room from the ensuing storm outside her windows. The pounding rain and brushing tree branches create a ghostly chorus as they greet the windows.

  credit to: www.tomituri.hu Suddenly the violent storm within her ceases. Her tight fists relax, falling gently into the heavily creased sheets. Her eyes open slowly, revealing soot-black pupils. Only then does her mouth close sluggishly.

  Melissa finds herself within the perils of another terrifying nightmare, running down a red, fiery hall. The wall’s huge stones release a thick, white steam. The tunnel seems endless, as its ending is nothing more than a pitch of blackness. Reaching out to rest against the wall, the stones’ steam burns her. Looking down, she sees that her hands are beginning to blister.

  Then Melissa notices the torn white wedding gown she is wearing is splattered with spots of blood. Her feet are bare and coated with a thin layer of crimson.

  She looks, confused, at the steaming walls that are beginning to crack from an unknown pressure. Turning quickly, she hears something behind her, a thunderous roar like a buffalo stampede. Melissa begins to run instinctively. Her bloody feet slap against the rough heated floor as she gasps for air. The roaring is gaining strength and speed. Its echo violently resounds through the shallow tunnel. Her eyes grow wide as she listens to her stalker getting closer by the second. Lifting her dress, she gains a sprinter’s speed. Her feet, numb and bloody, feel as if they are no longer present, as if she is running on air. With a swift glimpse backwards, she sees it. A white ball of clouds filling the tunnel behind her. The terrifying blaring cloud sounds as if it houses a million treacherous storms. It is dark, yet well defined, as sharp bolts of lightning quickly pierce its outer boundary before vanishing. Panting heavily, her body weakens. Her speed slows. Her muscles ache. The violent cloud doesn’t slow but steadily gains on her as she gasps for air and holds her cramping belly. The cloud overtakes her. She finds herself within its thick, misty realm. Her gown returns to its original splendor, snow white, immaculate, and fit to be worn by the highest of royalty. Melissa gazes at her hands and feet, which are without wounds or bloody stains. Her hair is styled like an empress’, decorated with snow-white pearls and dark burgundy rubies. Stares, trying to peer into the mist, attempting to find a way out. A small child suddenly grasps her hand, startling her. The child is dressed in a miniature wedding gown resembling Melissa’s. It is also a plush, bright white and decorated in snow-white pearls dangling on thin golden fibers. Her hair is a silky jet black. Her faultless smile accents her beautiful brown skin. Her voice petite and soothing, she speaks.

  “Don’t be frightened. Come with me.”

  Melissa reluctantly follows as the child tugs her arm lightly. “Where am I?” Melissa asks

  “You don’t recognize this place? You are home.”

  Melissa gazes around. She finds herself within the cloud king - dom she has dreamed of only once before.

  “Home?” Melissa whispers questionably.

  Small bushes of pearly white roses suddenly surround Melissa and the child. The bushes are just as she remembers. The small clouds pass over each stem with a graceful embrace. The small child releases Melissa’s hand. Melissa slowly kneels and admires the aromatic bouquets. Placing her face directly amongst them, she inhales deeply, putting her mind at ease. The enticing smell seems to cast a spell upon Melissa as her eyes sway slowly with each soft breath. She quietly stands and smiles gently, while continuing to look down at the beautiful flowers. The child grasps Melissa’s hand once more and guides her through the cloudy oasis.

  “Do you like this place?” the child asks.

  “Yes, I love this place,” Melissa answers quickly.

  “You can stay as long as you like.”

  “I can?” Melissa asks, enveloped within a thoughtless daze. “How?”

  “Just relax, stop fighting what is inevitable. You will be wor- shipped by billions, all of which will be at your beckoning.” The child’s eyes fire that witchy green glow, but it subsides quickly. Melissa doesn’t notice this sudden change; she is in awe of her surroundings.

  “I don’t understand?” Melissa’s demeanor becomes lethargic and weak. She speaks as if defenseless to the power of suggestion.

  “Don’t worry about that now. Let us continue our walk.” The little girl again tugs Melissa’s arm gently and continues to guide her.

  “I feel awful tired,” says Melissa as she lifts her free hand to catch a developing yawn. Removing her hand from her face, she notices that her surroundings have changed once more. Melissa finds herself on a familiar street. The two family homes burst with children’s laughter as the children enjoy the bright sunny day. Pol- len drifts along with the swift, soft breeze. The deep green bushes are well trimmed and handsomely decorated with dazzling batches of colorful flowers. Across the street, some children play with huge, colored, plastic blocks decorated with large numbers. As the children arrange the blocks, they look over at Melissa and wave as if excited to see her. Melissa happily waves back.

  “Do you know where you are?” The little girl directs Melissa attention away from the children, who have arranged the numbers 666 on their front lawn.

  Melissa emerges slightly from her torpid mood to answer the child.

  “Isn’t this Tipper Street in my old town, Erie?”

  “That’s right,” the child answers.

  “But how did we get here?”

  “Don’t worry about that, just enjoy your journey. Can you remember anyone who lives around here?”

  Melissa grits her teeth as if her memory of him may be slightly unpleasant.

  “Yeah, my ex-boyfriend, Damon, but he didn’t live on this block.”

  “Anyon
e else?” The small girl releases a sinister smile.

  Melissa’s expression grows cold. As her memory returns, the scenery changes. She sees herself. Her legs are spread wide in the pulpit as a stout, hairy man breaks a sweat. Her light dress is pulled upward as he pumps fully clothed, with only the organ behind his zipper exposed.

  “Someone might see us,” says Melissa, looking slightly worried.

  “Don’t worry, baby, no one is going to see us,” he says, feeling his climax nearing. “Please don’t talk.” His voice is shaky and almost incomprehensible as he feels his groin begin to quiver with pure erotic joy. “Ooo-shit! I love you, Melissa. I love...ooo!” The man cannot complete his sentence as he releases into Melissa. He drops his head in exhaustion, then reaches over to wipe his sweat-filled beard. He slowly withdraws his hips to stand, carefully closing his zipper. Melissa bites the gum off the back of her hand while pulling her dress down with the other hand.

  “This is between us, right?” the man asks nervously.

  “Yeah, sure, Reverend Hobbs,” she answers, slapping wrinkles out of her dress while popping a bubble. “Hey, where’s the money you said I could have?” The reverend reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a wrinkled wad of green, then hands it to her.

  “Here. I hope I didn’t make you late for school.”

  “Naw, I could spare the two minutes,” she says as she grins and lifts her army green backpack from behind the podium. “Goodbye.”

  Suddenly the scenery changes once again, and Melissa sees herself in the Reverend’s private office as he sits behind his mahog- any desk with a stunned expression.

  “What?!”

  “You heard me, I’m pregnant!” Melissa screams.

  “This is bullshit, it isn’t mine!” he says as he stands up from his plush leather executive chair.