Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Monday, March 11, 2013
Chapter 13
Many miles from the room where Jonathan and the others were struggling with their demonic attacker and even further from the cabin where The Vessel was preparing for its dark work, Pastor Fredrick Gloval was fixing a sandwich. Even after three years the reverend found the task of piecing together his lunch still felt strange to his wrinkled hands. For 47 years his sweet wife had made his sandwiches, washed his clothes, and so many other chores that now fell to him in her absence. Many women would probably have balked at the idea of such servitude, many would have felt taken advantage of perhaps, but Elizabeth had been anything but ordinary. The woman had possessed a servant's heart. Nothing had pleased her more than to see to Fredrick's needs. "Freeing him up" she had called it, and always with a smile. She had been quick to serve others as well, often visiting the sick in their congregation (hot casserole in tow) or running the vacuum through the living room of a shut-in. Even in the last weeks before the cancer finally stole her life away, Elizabeth had been writing cards of encouragement from her hospital bed to the many families who's lives she had touched. Then she was gone, and Fredrick's world had grown lonelier without her. Now he stood in the parsonage kitchen, pulling deli meat from a ziplock bag knowing that no matter how he tried he couldn't arrange those ingredients in a way that tasted the same as her's had. Three years and still his heart could break freshly over a partly assembled lunch. His appetite suddenly gone, the pastor returned the half-made sandwich and remaining deli meat to the fridge and entered his study. He hadn't allowed the house to get dusty (Elizabeth would have hated that) but it had become less organized since her passing. Books were stacked haphazardly about the room where he'd pulled them from their shelves but not returned them. Sermon notes littered his mahogany desk, some resting under empty coffee mugs that had accumulated on the desk rather than in the sink to be washed. Once every month Fredrick would straighten the room but within days it would revert back to its current state. It seemed that along with irreplaceable parts of his heart, Elizabeth had taken much of his structure with her as well.
Fredrick eased into the leather desk chair with a sigh and massaged his temples for a moment. His Bible lay open on the desk before him, highlighted and notated a thousand times over, nearly bursting with markers and old bulletins. He'd been working on a sermon for the upcoming Sunday morning service, writing his notes by hand with a number 2 pencil as he always had. Through the years his children had tried many times to convert their father into a computer-savvy man. Telling him how much easier it would be to catalog all his messages into neat folders and call them up with a click of a button and so on and so forth. He'd jokingly call them "Evangelists of the First Church of Google" and they would chuckle and let the point drop for a time. Now he stared at the pencil scribblings that covered the page of college-ruled paper in his hands and found he could make no sense of them. As he struggled to retrace his mental steps and recapture the idea that had sparked this particular sermon the doorbell rang.
He stumbled through the parsonage to the front door and opened it to find a very odd man on the other side. The man was tall and slender, dressed simply in brown slacks and a white buttoned dress shirt. His face was almost porcelain smooth and his eyes were an intense golden color where they were placed arrestingly above high and pronounced cheekbones. It took a moment for Fredrick to figure out what it was about the stranger on his doorstep that seemed so odd. Then suddenly it was clear. The man was hairless, not just bald but hairless. He had no eyebrows, no eyelashes, near as the pastor could tell the man before him didn't even possess pores! Even the stranger's hands and forearms (as much as they protruded from the white fabric of his sleeves) were completely smooth. Who was this man? what was he? "Do not be afraid, Shepherd Fredrick Gloval." the man spoke. His voice had an odd quality to it, as though it were layered many times over. The phrase 'like the sound of many rushing waters' came unbidden to his mind. The man spoke again in his queerly layered voice. "We have much to discuss Shepherd and little time." Though the pastor couldn't find his voice he did manage to step out of the way and wave the stranger into the house with a trembling hand. It wasn't until the figure entered the room and silently crossed the usually creaky hardwood floor that Fredrick noticed an astonishing thing. The man's steps made no sounds at all because his feet were not touching the ground.
Fredrick closed the door gently and followed the hovering being into the house on legs that suddenly felt very weak. "An angel... you're an angel aren't you?" The stranger turned toward him and instead of answering the pastor he extended a line-less hand toward the old man with one finger extended. In the moment before it touched him Fredrick could see the angel had no fingerprint. He had a moment to think 'I wonder if this is how Daniel may have felt...' then the oddly smooth digit pressed against the lined and freckled surface of the pastor's forehead and immediately there was nothing but intense pain and then the parsonage was gone. He stood with the angel in a dark place. 'FOLLOW ME' the angel said only this time the voice (rushing waters) echoed in Fredrick's mind. He followed. The angel led him through horrible corners of the abyss, through hellish chambers that would have shattered his mind had the presence of the angel not provided an assurance of safety. The suffering and the terror was seemingly never-ending and through it all the angel's voice reverberated in his head like the tolling of an enormous bell. He was led through the chamber where the dragon, Lucifer himself, was once held and felt unspeakable despair when he saw the empty chains strewn about the floor like the roots of enormous ancient trees. The angel led Fredrick to the darkened basement where the monster that had once been a man had tortured, killed, and played. Then they were in the presence of the Vessel itself. The figure was swollen as though about to burst. Fredrick saw that the man's skin now seemed to fit poorly like a shirt three sizes too small. In fact, as he looked closer, he realized that portions of the figure's reddened, patterned skin had actually fallen away now to reveal shining black scales throbbing beneath. There was an intense grin on the Vessel's face made more terrifying by the fact that in some place his teeth had been forced from their original positions, pushed aside by yellowed fangs. The Dragon was coming through. 'HE MUST BE STOPPED. I CHAINED HIM AND I MUST CHAIN HIM AGAIN BUT THE LORD HAS CHOSEN YOU TO PLAY A PART.' Fredrick stammered a response. "How can I do anything to stop that? What can I..." The angel was gone, as was the cabin. The darkness was dispelled and in its place: warmth and light. Then from out of the light a brighter form emerged, too radiant to look at directly. And when this new form spoke the pastor wept.
Fredrick eased into the leather desk chair with a sigh and massaged his temples for a moment. His Bible lay open on the desk before him, highlighted and notated a thousand times over, nearly bursting with markers and old bulletins. He'd been working on a sermon for the upcoming Sunday morning service, writing his notes by hand with a number 2 pencil as he always had. Through the years his children had tried many times to convert their father into a computer-savvy man. Telling him how much easier it would be to catalog all his messages into neat folders and call them up with a click of a button and so on and so forth. He'd jokingly call them "Evangelists of the First Church of Google" and they would chuckle and let the point drop for a time. Now he stared at the pencil scribblings that covered the page of college-ruled paper in his hands and found he could make no sense of them. As he struggled to retrace his mental steps and recapture the idea that had sparked this particular sermon the doorbell rang.
He stumbled through the parsonage to the front door and opened it to find a very odd man on the other side. The man was tall and slender, dressed simply in brown slacks and a white buttoned dress shirt. His face was almost porcelain smooth and his eyes were an intense golden color where they were placed arrestingly above high and pronounced cheekbones. It took a moment for Fredrick to figure out what it was about the stranger on his doorstep that seemed so odd. Then suddenly it was clear. The man was hairless, not just bald but hairless. He had no eyebrows, no eyelashes, near as the pastor could tell the man before him didn't even possess pores! Even the stranger's hands and forearms (as much as they protruded from the white fabric of his sleeves) were completely smooth. Who was this man? what was he? "Do not be afraid, Shepherd Fredrick Gloval." the man spoke. His voice had an odd quality to it, as though it were layered many times over. The phrase 'like the sound of many rushing waters' came unbidden to his mind. The man spoke again in his queerly layered voice. "We have much to discuss Shepherd and little time." Though the pastor couldn't find his voice he did manage to step out of the way and wave the stranger into the house with a trembling hand. It wasn't until the figure entered the room and silently crossed the usually creaky hardwood floor that Fredrick noticed an astonishing thing. The man's steps made no sounds at all because his feet were not touching the ground.
Fredrick closed the door gently and followed the hovering being into the house on legs that suddenly felt very weak. "An angel... you're an angel aren't you?" The stranger turned toward him and instead of answering the pastor he extended a line-less hand toward the old man with one finger extended. In the moment before it touched him Fredrick could see the angel had no fingerprint. He had a moment to think 'I wonder if this is how Daniel may have felt...' then the oddly smooth digit pressed against the lined and freckled surface of the pastor's forehead and immediately there was nothing but intense pain and then the parsonage was gone. He stood with the angel in a dark place. 'FOLLOW ME' the angel said only this time the voice (rushing waters) echoed in Fredrick's mind. He followed. The angel led him through horrible corners of the abyss, through hellish chambers that would have shattered his mind had the presence of the angel not provided an assurance of safety. The suffering and the terror was seemingly never-ending and through it all the angel's voice reverberated in his head like the tolling of an enormous bell. He was led through the chamber where the dragon, Lucifer himself, was once held and felt unspeakable despair when he saw the empty chains strewn about the floor like the roots of enormous ancient trees. The angel led Fredrick to the darkened basement where the monster that had once been a man had tortured, killed, and played. Then they were in the presence of the Vessel itself. The figure was swollen as though about to burst. Fredrick saw that the man's skin now seemed to fit poorly like a shirt three sizes too small. In fact, as he looked closer, he realized that portions of the figure's reddened, patterned skin had actually fallen away now to reveal shining black scales throbbing beneath. There was an intense grin on the Vessel's face made more terrifying by the fact that in some place his teeth had been forced from their original positions, pushed aside by yellowed fangs. The Dragon was coming through. 'HE MUST BE STOPPED. I CHAINED HIM AND I MUST CHAIN HIM AGAIN BUT THE LORD HAS CHOSEN YOU TO PLAY A PART.' Fredrick stammered a response. "How can I do anything to stop that? What can I..." The angel was gone, as was the cabin. The darkness was dispelled and in its place: warmth and light. Then from out of the light a brighter form emerged, too radiant to look at directly. And when this new form spoke the pastor wept.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Chapter 12
SO SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY: BUSY SEASON MIXED WITH A DESIRE TO END THE STORY WELL. NOW I HAVE A GOOD IDEA FOR THE END AND IM READY TO GET BACK INTO THE FRINGES. PLANNING TO SELF-PUBLISH THROUGH AMAZON WHEN THE STORY IS FINISHED AND THEN GET STARTED WITH THE NEXT FRINGES STORY.
CHAPTER 12
THE TRUCKER:NOW
He stood with some effort and brushed the gravel from his jeans. Once his name had been William Hurd, but he had forgotten that name . As a child William had learned how much joy could be gained through hurting another living thing. His neighbor's dog had strayed into William's back yard when he was only six years old. He'd been sitting under a large oak tree, playing with plastic army men when he saw the lab and first heard the voice of the Dragon. It was a voice he would later come to love, long for, and even worship but on that first day, in the shade of the backyard tree, the child had assumed this was the voice of his father. He had never met his father or even seen the man in pictures. When asked about the subject, William's mother just became annoyed or sometimes even angry. Once when he had asked his mother if Daddy was tall or short, she had started crying. Not knowing what to do, William had left the room. When the Dragon spoke in the child's mind the first time, its voice deep and lovely, the boy sat up instantly. William was startled but excited as well, effortlessly accepting the impossible as only a child can. Here was his father, speaking to him at last, and when the voice told him to sneak into the kitchen quietly so he wouldn't wake his mother who was napping in the living room recliner it didn't cross the child's mind to disobey. He would be a good son. He would please his father. He hesitated for just a moment when the voice told him to retrieve the large knife from the drawer beside the sink, his mother never let him hold knives. His excitement over the voice quickly superseded any worries he had about his mother's rules. He had to agree with the voice; the blade felt good in his small hands, like it belonged there. He whistled to the dog, calling it to him like he had many times before. The Voice spoke again. "Look at his neck, do you see that golden line of light? That light is his life my child... you can take it. You can add it to your own. You can live forever boy." William squinted and focused and suddenly he did see a line of yellow light tracing across the dog's throat and other smaller lines traced across its body. These smaller lines were dim but the neck line... it was bright. He couldn't understand why he'd never seen them before. William looked down at his own arms and saw similar dimly glowing lines there as well. This was a present he thought: a gift from his very own father. No wonder talking about him made mother angry, she was jealous; father gave better gifts! "Cut that line with the knife child and have that light for yourself." The moment William pierced the flesh of the dog with the blade he felt something amazing happening. He felt strong, like he could pick up Mother's car if he wanted. The dog was struggling but voicelessly for William had instinctively known to start with the animal's throat. As he continued to cut blood poured out (William was careful not to let any of that get on his clothes), but with the blood the light poured out as well. William watched joyfully and with childish wonder as the golden lines on his on arms which at first were dim began to shine brightly absorbing the light from the now headless animal.
The voice told William that this was a secret, only for him. It told the boy he was special. It told him how to dispose of the body and to clean and replace the knife. It whispered to him of things to come. In the years that followed the voice would reveal much to William as he killed again and again. When he was older he learned that the voice was not his father, but by that time the now teenaged and withdrawn boy loved the voice as the father he'd never known. The voice told him of the dragon symbol and of the great task for which William had been chosen. That he would some day meet the dragon face to face and be rewarded. The dragon even whispered his true name in the young man's ear and named the boy a prince in the kingdom that was to come. As an adult William found work as a truck driver and when he'd saved up enough money he'd purchased the old cabin and equipped the place for his great work. With each death the man caused he had felt his power grow. He fed bodies into the abyss, using the symbol to pass them through and keeping the heads for himself. Sometimes the Dragon would give him dates on which to kill and he was always sure to obey, he never questioned. He always knew when he had found exactly the right sacrifice as well because the rings of golden life draped around their throats were almost blinding. Once he'd seen a victim's life glow he would continue to see it until it was extinguished. He could track a victim from miles even whole states away by their glow. It shown like a beacon in the night.
About two weeks before abducting Laura, the final sacrifice was what the Dragon had called her, William began to experience the blackouts. He never knew when they were coming, and when he woke he remembered less of himself. After the third spell he had lost his name, after the fifth his childhood memories. By the tenth he had come to know himself as "The Vessel". After his last blackout, when the girl had escaped, he'd seen his face in the mirror and for a moment it wasn't his face anymore but the Dragon's staring back. He vaguely remembered a promise about meeting face to face but then the thought was gone and he had returned to his task.
Now as he stood blood still weeping from the hatchet-wound in his head, all trace of the man who had been William Hurd was gone. The Vessel looked down at his arms and chest where the flesh was red and scaled. He looked up at the road ahead and even in the darkness he could see a distant globe of golden light. There were things he would need from the cabin before following.
CHAPTER 12
THE TRUCKER:NOW
He stood with some effort and brushed the gravel from his jeans. Once his name had been William Hurd, but he had forgotten that name . As a child William had learned how much joy could be gained through hurting another living thing. His neighbor's dog had strayed into William's back yard when he was only six years old. He'd been sitting under a large oak tree, playing with plastic army men when he saw the lab and first heard the voice of the Dragon. It was a voice he would later come to love, long for, and even worship but on that first day, in the shade of the backyard tree, the child had assumed this was the voice of his father. He had never met his father or even seen the man in pictures. When asked about the subject, William's mother just became annoyed or sometimes even angry. Once when he had asked his mother if Daddy was tall or short, she had started crying. Not knowing what to do, William had left the room. When the Dragon spoke in the child's mind the first time, its voice deep and lovely, the boy sat up instantly. William was startled but excited as well, effortlessly accepting the impossible as only a child can. Here was his father, speaking to him at last, and when the voice told him to sneak into the kitchen quietly so he wouldn't wake his mother who was napping in the living room recliner it didn't cross the child's mind to disobey. He would be a good son. He would please his father. He hesitated for just a moment when the voice told him to retrieve the large knife from the drawer beside the sink, his mother never let him hold knives. His excitement over the voice quickly superseded any worries he had about his mother's rules. He had to agree with the voice; the blade felt good in his small hands, like it belonged there. He whistled to the dog, calling it to him like he had many times before. The Voice spoke again. "Look at his neck, do you see that golden line of light? That light is his life my child... you can take it. You can add it to your own. You can live forever boy." William squinted and focused and suddenly he did see a line of yellow light tracing across the dog's throat and other smaller lines traced across its body. These smaller lines were dim but the neck line... it was bright. He couldn't understand why he'd never seen them before. William looked down at his own arms and saw similar dimly glowing lines there as well. This was a present he thought: a gift from his very own father. No wonder talking about him made mother angry, she was jealous; father gave better gifts! "Cut that line with the knife child and have that light for yourself." The moment William pierced the flesh of the dog with the blade he felt something amazing happening. He felt strong, like he could pick up Mother's car if he wanted. The dog was struggling but voicelessly for William had instinctively known to start with the animal's throat. As he continued to cut blood poured out (William was careful not to let any of that get on his clothes), but with the blood the light poured out as well. William watched joyfully and with childish wonder as the golden lines on his on arms which at first were dim began to shine brightly absorbing the light from the now headless animal.
The voice told William that this was a secret, only for him. It told the boy he was special. It told him how to dispose of the body and to clean and replace the knife. It whispered to him of things to come. In the years that followed the voice would reveal much to William as he killed again and again. When he was older he learned that the voice was not his father, but by that time the now teenaged and withdrawn boy loved the voice as the father he'd never known. The voice told him of the dragon symbol and of the great task for which William had been chosen. That he would some day meet the dragon face to face and be rewarded. The dragon even whispered his true name in the young man's ear and named the boy a prince in the kingdom that was to come. As an adult William found work as a truck driver and when he'd saved up enough money he'd purchased the old cabin and equipped the place for his great work. With each death the man caused he had felt his power grow. He fed bodies into the abyss, using the symbol to pass them through and keeping the heads for himself. Sometimes the Dragon would give him dates on which to kill and he was always sure to obey, he never questioned. He always knew when he had found exactly the right sacrifice as well because the rings of golden life draped around their throats were almost blinding. Once he'd seen a victim's life glow he would continue to see it until it was extinguished. He could track a victim from miles even whole states away by their glow. It shown like a beacon in the night.
About two weeks before abducting Laura, the final sacrifice was what the Dragon had called her, William began to experience the blackouts. He never knew when they were coming, and when he woke he remembered less of himself. After the third spell he had lost his name, after the fifth his childhood memories. By the tenth he had come to know himself as "The Vessel". After his last blackout, when the girl had escaped, he'd seen his face in the mirror and for a moment it wasn't his face anymore but the Dragon's staring back. He vaguely remembered a promise about meeting face to face but then the thought was gone and he had returned to his task.
Now as he stood blood still weeping from the hatchet-wound in his head, all trace of the man who had been William Hurd was gone. The Vessel looked down at his arms and chest where the flesh was red and scaled. He looked up at the road ahead and even in the darkness he could see a distant globe of golden light. There were things he would need from the cabin before following.
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