13 views
Ill Omen
#HalloweenHorrorChallenge #RAMcKinnley #WriterVsWriterChallenge #Horror #Halloween #Abuse #authorsofinstagram #author #shortstory #story
------------
Ill Omen
The streetlights were dim tonight, nothing new. The cities power grid had been awful for years now and the church was in an older part of town.
Father John Martin made the trek back to his Parish from the shelter he had been volunteering tonight. The stench of stale bread and body odor soaked into his vestments like blood into an old carpet. Walking up the steps leading to his rectory he noticed the lights had been shut off. He didn't remember switching them off and the power seemed to be on, albeit faint.
He tugged on the door open; it creaked and moaned open revealing a dark void. No color, no objectivity. Father Martin navigated the room through familiar instinct. Enroute to his sleeping chambers he passed his office, a quaint little place to catch up on paperwork and plan that weeks sermon. He has walked past it a million times before, lumbering the same tired shuffle...the enthusiasm lost years ago. Yet tonight the air seemed heavier, almost as if he was moving through a dense fog.
Straight to bed...none of the normal, habitual hygienic pleasantries tonight. No, this was a man far too exhausted to worry about such menial tasks. For tonight at least.
The fathers rest was short lived as the smell of smoke filled his nose like waves crashing in the ocean. He jumped out of bed, running desperately to escape the sweltering inferno. With each step he took, he could feel the air being drained from his lungs. Falling to the floor he peered a blurry gaze around him...no fire, no ash...not even a bit of smoke. Father Martin stood up, visibly baffled by the events that had just transpired.
Room to room he searched, checked, ventured. looking aimlessly, hopelessly for a shred of logic or reason. Perhaps he was merely having a dream that bled into his waking mind and confused him...yes, yes that must be it. Simply a dream.
Walking back toward his chambers, the priest glanced over into his office again. To his shock and fright, a small shadowed figure of a child sat on his desk, tapping her heels against the aged walnut. She appeared to be no older than 8 or 9 years old and her features became more noticeable as he entered the room. Her long blonde hair was pulled tightly into a braid, porcelain skin was tainted by the spatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks...her eyes were a color he had never seen before. Something beyond...
"...Jessica..." He chocked out in disbelief.
"Tunc suus 'experrectus es." She stated gently. "Ego erat exspectans."
"Waiting for what." the good father asked the rigid child.
"You." She perked up in distorted English. "I've been waiting for you."
A shiver ran up the priests spine as he heard the child's words. What was this child, surely she wasn't of this Earth.
"Foul demon, give me your name." A mighty bellow from the shaken priest.
"O quaeso, est ut vos have optimus. Infirmi agresti nationis Dei." The girl chuckled back.
"Your Latin is weak demon." Father Martin announced. "I command you back to hell!"
"Not my first language Padre." The girl laughed. "And Hell is no place for me...Hell is a vacation compared to me."
The priest staggered backward, a sharp pain ran up and down his legs. The smell of smoke returned and the sensation of heat scorched his body. fear enveloped Father Martin and he fell onto the floor. Looking up to the child, the universe seemed to shift...distort.
Father Martin's office became a swirling maw of chaos and despair. He couldn't see but a foot in front of his face or hear his own thoughts over the cacophony of discordant echos, screaming in all directions.
Suddenly a voice...not the voice of the child. not the voice before. It was something different...
John began to pray.
"N'ektar ver romshuma Martin. Your time is upon you." A deep growl gurgles deep within John's mind. "Here Priest...here in the Other, your worthless God is one of my many slaves. Damned to die, rot and be reborn until the sands run still. Praying to him now only increases his pain."
A wind howled through the maddening, impossible vortex. John was thrown back, his body hurled at speeds that seemed to defy physics. Disoriented, he lay crumpled over a large rock on a suspended platform in the middle of the inescapable blackness. A stiff wind cut through the priest like a spray from the ocean; constant, unrelenting.
"For everything you tried to be, for every lie you passed as real, for everytime they had to suffer through you." A moan came from the darkness.
John stood up, fists clenched screaming into the hallow void of indescribable eternity.
"I FEAR NO EVIL, YOU SHALL NOT CONQUER ME." His voice echoed into the timeless malevolent filth.
"Evil...maybe not." The sinister voice called from John's left. "You know evil well priest, but what of innocence, what of purity."
John swallowed hard, a quiver came over him as the acrid taste of decay filled his mouth. Looking down he saw his flesh boil and bubble and peel. A spume of puss and blood seethe from his newly opened wounds. Falling to his knees, John erupted with a howl of pain so ear shattering, the hollows couldn't contain out.
"It seems I have your attention." The voice called. "I was wondering when we could get down to business."
Whipping and lashing, a festering, slime covered tentacle shot around John's body from the depths. Tiny lancers pierce into his exposed flesh an hold him firmly in place while the ground beneath him dissolves.
The rope like appendage retracts into the time space vacuum at speeds fast enough to agonizingly liquefy John's bones. What felt like a torturous eternity was condensed into a mere second as the Father was transported into a small room. a room he had seen before.
Lilac walls with daisies painted in the corners, a dense berber rug and the scent of camomile and cane sugar enthralled the priest's senses. his body now intact, pain free and vibrant.
"...Jessica?" A woman's voice called from beyond the room. "Father Martin is here to see you."
The clatter of footsteps thundered into the room and ended in a deafening silence. the door slowly opened and John's mouth went slack as he watched himself enter the room. The scene grew cold and John felt a shiver run down his spine.
"Waaaaaaaatch." That brooding voice from the beyond cried inside John's mind.
The man, dressed in priests clothes who was in everyway Father John Martin walked over to a young girl of no more than eight or nine, crying at the foot of her bed. John remembered this moment...suddenly he understood why he was here.
"STOP, OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP!" John pleaded with this second version of himself, in vain.
"We cannot alter the past priest. We must atone for the transgressions we commit." The young girl spoke in a guttural tone. "Even a man of God isn't absolved from his unconscionable actions."
He watched in horror as he relived a dark moment in his past.
John shuddered as he watched himself run his hand up young Jessica's skirt, exposing himself to her and ultimately taking her innocence. A single tear left John's eye.
"I've changed..." He begged. "I'm not that man anymore."
"CHANGED?!" The dark voice became enraged. "YOU'VE CHANGED?"
In that instant John was taken to another scene. Another young vulnerable girl taken advantage of, desecrated, raped. Scene after scene, girl after girl. The flashes continued into the futures of these girls, these young women. A mural of drug abuse, abusive relationships, destroyed self worth and suicide became an all encompassing ocean of despair, depression and death.
"Change can only come through sacrifice, hardship and pain." The echo rang. "Your existence has proven only that you used any and all of the pithy authority you could command to further your sick desires and destroy the innocence around you."
John fell to his knees. The weight of a life erroneously lived, the lives tormented, the blood on his hands finally took its break.
"I'm...I'm sorry." He wept.
"You will be." It grunted
With that Father Martin fell through the room floor, cascading through a near infinite vortex for what felt like razor wire, acid and flame. As his skin was flayed, piece by piece, the filthy priest was forced to eat the rotting chunks. Maggot ridden muscle was exposed from underneath as he was torn apart slowly, agonizingly by a force unseen.
An intense pressure compacted his head from within. Unable to withstand the punishment, his eyes burst. Foaming vitreous gel saturated his face. the contents of his stomach erupted out from within him. Flesh and bone, bile and blood covered what remained of his body and ate away the remaining rotting husk as he was hurled into oblivion.
Suddenly John awoke, sitting straight up in bed. a cold sweat beading down his face, ready to vomit he ran to the washroom. Clutching the bowl, retching over and over.
"What...was...that...dream?! He pondered aloud as the vomiting slowed.
He stood up and left the bathroom, headed back to bed. Except this time as he passed by the office he closed the door. A simple enough action, but one that made him feel a thousand fold better.
Walking into his room he stopped dead staring breathless, lifeless, horrified at young Jessica staring back tapping her feet against the end of his bed. Eager to start her dream...her eternal revenge all over again.
© 2020 R.A. McKinnley
If you are a victim of any type of abuse. Please find an avenue to assist you in your coping. Abuse in all its form has life long effects and can lead to a whole host of mental and physical health issues. Should you feel that you need help or cannot take existing one more day, please reach out to someone. As awful as life can be you are special, stronger and worth more than the abuse or abuser you've survived. You're worth it!
Happy Halloween Everyone. Stay Safe Out There!
-R.A.
------------
Ill Omen
The streetlights were dim tonight, nothing new. The cities power grid had been awful for years now and the church was in an older part of town.
Father John Martin made the trek back to his Parish from the shelter he had been volunteering tonight. The stench of stale bread and body odor soaked into his vestments like blood into an old carpet. Walking up the steps leading to his rectory he noticed the lights had been shut off. He didn't remember switching them off and the power seemed to be on, albeit faint.
He tugged on the door open; it creaked and moaned open revealing a dark void. No color, no objectivity. Father Martin navigated the room through familiar instinct. Enroute to his sleeping chambers he passed his office, a quaint little place to catch up on paperwork and plan that weeks sermon. He has walked past it a million times before, lumbering the same tired shuffle...the enthusiasm lost years ago. Yet tonight the air seemed heavier, almost as if he was moving through a dense fog.
Straight to bed...none of the normal, habitual hygienic pleasantries tonight. No, this was a man far too exhausted to worry about such menial tasks. For tonight at least.
The fathers rest was short lived as the smell of smoke filled his nose like waves crashing in the ocean. He jumped out of bed, running desperately to escape the sweltering inferno. With each step he took, he could feel the air being drained from his lungs. Falling to the floor he peered a blurry gaze around him...no fire, no ash...not even a bit of smoke. Father Martin stood up, visibly baffled by the events that had just transpired.
Room to room he searched, checked, ventured. looking aimlessly, hopelessly for a shred of logic or reason. Perhaps he was merely having a dream that bled into his waking mind and confused him...yes, yes that must be it. Simply a dream.
Walking back toward his chambers, the priest glanced over into his office again. To his shock and fright, a small shadowed figure of a child sat on his desk, tapping her heels against the aged walnut. She appeared to be no older than 8 or 9 years old and her features became more noticeable as he entered the room. Her long blonde hair was pulled tightly into a braid, porcelain skin was tainted by the spatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks...her eyes were a color he had never seen before. Something beyond...
"...Jessica..." He chocked out in disbelief.
"Tunc suus 'experrectus es." She stated gently. "Ego erat exspectans."
"Waiting for what." the good father asked the rigid child.
"You." She perked up in distorted English. "I've been waiting for you."
A shiver ran up the priests spine as he heard the child's words. What was this child, surely she wasn't of this Earth.
"Foul demon, give me your name." A mighty bellow from the shaken priest.
"O quaeso, est ut vos have optimus. Infirmi agresti nationis Dei." The girl chuckled back.
"Your Latin is weak demon." Father Martin announced. "I command you back to hell!"
"Not my first language Padre." The girl laughed. "And Hell is no place for me...Hell is a vacation compared to me."
The priest staggered backward, a sharp pain ran up and down his legs. The smell of smoke returned and the sensation of heat scorched his body. fear enveloped Father Martin and he fell onto the floor. Looking up to the child, the universe seemed to shift...distort.
Father Martin's office became a swirling maw of chaos and despair. He couldn't see but a foot in front of his face or hear his own thoughts over the cacophony of discordant echos, screaming in all directions.
Suddenly a voice...not the voice of the child. not the voice before. It was something different...
John began to pray.
"N'ektar ver romshuma Martin. Your time is upon you." A deep growl gurgles deep within John's mind. "Here Priest...here in the Other, your worthless God is one of my many slaves. Damned to die, rot and be reborn until the sands run still. Praying to him now only increases his pain."
A wind howled through the maddening, impossible vortex. John was thrown back, his body hurled at speeds that seemed to defy physics. Disoriented, he lay crumpled over a large rock on a suspended platform in the middle of the inescapable blackness. A stiff wind cut through the priest like a spray from the ocean; constant, unrelenting.
"For everything you tried to be, for every lie you passed as real, for everytime they had to suffer through you." A moan came from the darkness.
John stood up, fists clenched screaming into the hallow void of indescribable eternity.
"I FEAR NO EVIL, YOU SHALL NOT CONQUER ME." His voice echoed into the timeless malevolent filth.
"Evil...maybe not." The sinister voice called from John's left. "You know evil well priest, but what of innocence, what of purity."
John swallowed hard, a quiver came over him as the acrid taste of decay filled his mouth. Looking down he saw his flesh boil and bubble and peel. A spume of puss and blood seethe from his newly opened wounds. Falling to his knees, John erupted with a howl of pain so ear shattering, the hollows couldn't contain out.
"It seems I have your attention." The voice called. "I was wondering when we could get down to business."
Whipping and lashing, a festering, slime covered tentacle shot around John's body from the depths. Tiny lancers pierce into his exposed flesh an hold him firmly in place while the ground beneath him dissolves.
The rope like appendage retracts into the time space vacuum at speeds fast enough to agonizingly liquefy John's bones. What felt like a torturous eternity was condensed into a mere second as the Father was transported into a small room. a room he had seen before.
Lilac walls with daisies painted in the corners, a dense berber rug and the scent of camomile and cane sugar enthralled the priest's senses. his body now intact, pain free and vibrant.
"...Jessica?" A woman's voice called from beyond the room. "Father Martin is here to see you."
The clatter of footsteps thundered into the room and ended in a deafening silence. the door slowly opened and John's mouth went slack as he watched himself enter the room. The scene grew cold and John felt a shiver run down his spine.
"Waaaaaaaatch." That brooding voice from the beyond cried inside John's mind.
The man, dressed in priests clothes who was in everyway Father John Martin walked over to a young girl of no more than eight or nine, crying at the foot of her bed. John remembered this moment...suddenly he understood why he was here.
"STOP, OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP!" John pleaded with this second version of himself, in vain.
"We cannot alter the past priest. We must atone for the transgressions we commit." The young girl spoke in a guttural tone. "Even a man of God isn't absolved from his unconscionable actions."
He watched in horror as he relived a dark moment in his past.
John shuddered as he watched himself run his hand up young Jessica's skirt, exposing himself to her and ultimately taking her innocence. A single tear left John's eye.
"I've changed..." He begged. "I'm not that man anymore."
"CHANGED?!" The dark voice became enraged. "YOU'VE CHANGED?"
In that instant John was taken to another scene. Another young vulnerable girl taken advantage of, desecrated, raped. Scene after scene, girl after girl. The flashes continued into the futures of these girls, these young women. A mural of drug abuse, abusive relationships, destroyed self worth and suicide became an all encompassing ocean of despair, depression and death.
"Change can only come through sacrifice, hardship and pain." The echo rang. "Your existence has proven only that you used any and all of the pithy authority you could command to further your sick desires and destroy the innocence around you."
John fell to his knees. The weight of a life erroneously lived, the lives tormented, the blood on his hands finally took its break.
"I'm...I'm sorry." He wept.
"You will be." It grunted
With that Father Martin fell through the room floor, cascading through a near infinite vortex for what felt like razor wire, acid and flame. As his skin was flayed, piece by piece, the filthy priest was forced to eat the rotting chunks. Maggot ridden muscle was exposed from underneath as he was torn apart slowly, agonizingly by a force unseen.
An intense pressure compacted his head from within. Unable to withstand the punishment, his eyes burst. Foaming vitreous gel saturated his face. the contents of his stomach erupted out from within him. Flesh and bone, bile and blood covered what remained of his body and ate away the remaining rotting husk as he was hurled into oblivion.
Suddenly John awoke, sitting straight up in bed. a cold sweat beading down his face, ready to vomit he ran to the washroom. Clutching the bowl, retching over and over.
"What...was...that...dream?! He pondered aloud as the vomiting slowed.
He stood up and left the bathroom, headed back to bed. Except this time as he passed by the office he closed the door. A simple enough action, but one that made him feel a thousand fold better.
Walking into his room he stopped dead staring breathless, lifeless, horrified at young Jessica staring back tapping her feet against the end of his bed. Eager to start her dream...her eternal revenge all over again.
© 2020 R.A. McKinnley
If you are a victim of any type of abuse. Please find an avenue to assist you in your coping. Abuse in all its form has life long effects and can lead to a whole host of mental and physical health issues. Should you feel that you need help or cannot take existing one more day, please reach out to someone. As awful as life can be you are special, stronger and worth more than the abuse or abuser you've survived. You're worth it!
Happy Halloween Everyone. Stay Safe Out There!
-R.A.
Related Stories
