The New Preacher

The gaunt features left the preacher's garb almost empty with his skeletal features. His gaunt face, devoid of all emotion, sunk into his scarred features, is my most profound memory. He was a terrifying old man. But the church followed the word of god, despite that he looked fearsome yet so skeletal, we followed the church with a devotion. The children were most off put by his features, and never did he begin to reassure them of his godly intentions. The preacher never smiled, never grinned, and only showed any emotion or conviction during his sermons. But he was a man of god, therefore we followed.


As the weeks went on he brought more to his flock. They too were very skeletal, gaunt, and scarred. But he wished we would accept them as a good christian would, and we did. With the new followers joined into our flock, we kept with the preachings of the lord, every Sunday. The new members would not discuss where they had come from, or even where they lived. Their empty eyes, and expressionless faces unnerved some, but we were an accepting flock. If the preacher says god is with them, we believed him.


As the weeks went on further, some members of the flock left. Old friends in Christ said that things were too strange and that they were uncomfortable with the direction of the church. They claimed that the preacher was too odd a fellow to follow. The preacher showed anger for the first time at one of his sermons when this was revealed to him. Talk of blasphemy and heresy flung from his lips in infernal discourse. His rage at the people who left was so great children began to cry as he spoke of how damned the ones who left were. Even the grown men said he spoke as though hell was within his very voice. We all were terrified in the flock, except the newcomers. They still had an emotionless calm that was unnerving at best.


In the coming weeks, things got weirder. Sermons were held at night, with odd ritualistic rites and incantations throughout. The anger aimed at the deserters was at a full boil, with curses thrown at them, threats of killing them, and talk of finding them. We were scared of leaving the flock, for fear that these threats would come to be truths. Terror and superstition began to run within our congregation. I wanted to run, and never look back.


The last night of church I ever attended would be one that never stopped haunting me. The newer members, which had been called “skinnies” by everyone else, were all sitting down at the church when we arrived. The preacher's tone wasn't loud, nor angry. He had a smile on his face. A grin that bared teeth in a sick Cheshire cat imitation with eager anticipation. He started by saying we now have a way at redemption and by following god, we will be cleansed of the acts of the deserters. Wails could be heard and screams were coming closer to the pavilion. A baby was brought out to the pastor. The infant screamed and squirmed as the preacher held it in one long skeletal hand. With the baby, came a woman. She was stripped bare and had blood streaking across her nude body. She seemed to be gagging the words “my baby”, but she couldn't talk well. I looked at the skinnies which had begun to have the same smile as the preacher, in a twisted uniform fashion. As my gaze turned back, the cross went down. Impaling the child, blood scattered to the father's face. At that point I ran. I ran and not once have I looked back, for fear, they might find me, and I will be just like that woman and her poor child.


I still hear his voice when I try to sleep, and I still think he is after me.

12 Minutes (A Warhammer 40k Fan Story)

Brother Vicarius tells me Brother Sergeant Malliun has a mission for us in the 4^th company. A small task of gathering intel for a recently rediscovered battle barge that is seemingly abandoned. “It's marks are missing, but scans show no life”, Vicarius informs me. “maybe we can help those adeptus mechanicus overcome the fact they will never get our predator template”, he barks out in a laugh. I share a hearty laugh with my brother. With these oddly peaceful times in this quadrant, the emperor grants us joy and it would be rude to not take it. We both begin to gear up to meet our Sargent for a briefing.

“Listen my brothers!” Roared Brother Malliun. “We've but a simple quest! This barge has no marks or indicators, no name or numbers. The Forth must bring any information, STC's, weapons, and artifacts onto the Baal Nominine. First we need recon, and we are without scouts, so half of our tactical squad and myself, will recon the area, and report and debrief what we see.” I notice his beautiful etchings of gold onto his armor, done by himself. It must taken months for his new ornate design after the last armor was damaged on Thrax III. “We've eight minutes terran until deployment, twelve until we are at the the barge. Be ready ready for combat in four! BE BLOODY!!” “BE RESOLUTE!!” We chant back. As we are preparing for boarding, I hold my bolter over my two hearts, in anticipation of the upcoming battle. “There's no need brother” Vicarius states with a small grin, “it's merely an empty vessel” I stare at him and state “I prepare my soul for the emperor and our primarch, no matter the mission.” He chuckles and turns away as all five of us load into the assault ram.

Four Minutes Terran until hull breach. We await with anticipation to survey the area, to discover what could help the chapter, to help the imperium, to help mankind. A sense of wonderment dances in my thoughts, but my alertness keeps me focused. In my thoughts one keeps permeating to the top. Blood. I shake it off as the impact shakes the ram indicating we have breached hull.

Twelve minutes terran seemed so short. I have lived hundreds of years, but twelve minutes was four lifetimes ago. When the door dropped we saw them, world eaters, agents of chaos, heretics, followers of their foolish blood-god. Without chance the entire squad save Malliun and myself were cut down. My Brother Sargent did not last much longer. He fought well, may the emperor grant him peace.

I fire bolter rounds and begin making a retreat to push the heretics away from the ram, to lead them to me. Running and snap-firing in an attempt to pick them off. I take two out. I stop and turn and the ram has retreated. “Thank terra” I speak into my vox. “Reinforcements inbound”, the pilot voxes back. I see one of them charge at me and things begin to go black. I grab his chainaxe by the blade, tearing my hand into shreds as it begins to lock up on the ceramite plating covering my hand. The pain fades quickly, but I see my blood shed on my red armor and all fades to black.

I awaken to a sight almost inconceivable, Dead heretics around me and my brothers coming towards me! My red armor darkened and slick with blood. My readings show it's been twelve minutes since I lost control, or lost too much blood. Then I feel it. Blood, blackness, rage....

I like the feeling.

Face

The still beating membrane under my face is a lie given to those who assume the mask is just that; A mask. No, that plastic is more alive than anything I've ever touched. It is my face, while the skin is a mask. True nature is often based by assumptions, whereas my face tells no lies you will become. I am pain, I am a lack of pity, a lack of restraint made manifest. Eris quod sum, or rather quod sum eris. When I put my face into your sight, you will become what I am. You will become pain and fear, contempt and loss, hate and relentlessness. You will become me, if only for a brief moment, me. In that moment of hellfire and rage you will see my blackness. Behold my sorrows and despise what made me; For what made me will remake yourself! Watch what losing everything makes in the pits of madness.

My face is only truth, you will hurt, you will suffer, and you will die. No one can escape this. I only choose to show it. Not cheapen it, not lie about it. Bare it for you to see. Now put on your face, and be as I have become. Eris quod sum. Or was it quod sum eris?

Late Night Bathroom Break

I awoke in simple darkness with the need to piss. With each step I seamlessly walked down the stairs with no effort. In the living room I dodged the coffee table, the recliner, and even the large desk. The bathroom was in sight, and I was ready to release this big bladder. The kitchen was next to the entrance to the bathroom. It was there, a writhing darkness, darker than the rest of the room, merely squirming against a corner. I turned on the light panicking and at the same time assuming it was my imagination. I was wrong, the light was on and I saw that thing and ran to the bathroom. It is beating down the door now, and I can’t hold it back much longer.

The Shadow in the Trees

     In the well lit confines of my room, my imagination is soaring. New horrors seem to jump at every turn in my thought-filled mind. The walls are ever so small in this plain,ordinary room, yet closing in to envelope a feeling of dread as if sealed in a coffin. In this anxiety I avert my eyes to the outside of my window in an attempt to calm this feeling of dread and danger lurking just beneath the surface of my mind. As I gaze into the darkness of the late night sky I see a treeline, just a horizon of neighboring trees that begin to blend with that very night sky and the darkness it is holding tight.

Almost instantly I see it.

A shadow bounced from the treeline down into the darkness. I admit this must have been a mixture of my poor sight, the darkness and the tricks of the mind. As I self assure myself, I see the bounce again in a slightly clearer definition. The thought that I am seeing this recur is an obscure feeling upon the frantic mind. The third time the shadow moves I am at a loss for the description for the urge to discover what I am seeing. Turning off my lamp, once again I gaze into the outside of my safe room to see if I can clearly determine the cause of this shadow moving into and above the trees.

The darkness adjusts to my poor sight only to reveal a branch close to my window.
With a relief that washes over me, I breathe the heavy sigh of a panic that is passing. In that breath, my eyes catch it landing on the ground with an unnatural grace

There was a reason to be fearful. It can jump at least 30 feet for it to clear those trees. It is staring back at me, because I’ve been looking upon it this whole time. It sees me far better than I can see it. As it jumps, it points a finger at me. Dear god it’s getting closer now.

Waiting in the Hotel Room

The memories are far too much for a feeble man such as myself to bear, let alone entertain anymore. Every man has his limits because we are built with them. These limits do include the loss of one’s perception of reality over time. This terrible truth holds me in an uncomfortable vice as I sit at the edge of this bed in this hotel room. Surrounded by the familiar, inside a familiar setting, yet within these confides is the utmost unfamiliar. Horrors which plague the mind and disturb children as they forget the truths they learn at birth are creeping just outside of sight in this well lit room. I am not prepared for what is in this room. Nothing ever could prepare me for what awaits here.

Most atheists tend to say there is no god. The term I believe they wish to mean is an omnipotent being that created existence is an absurd model made by a society. I agree there could not have been something so demonstrably powerful to make existence. Yet now with the evils of knowledge that I was so cursed with unveiling, I do know man’s place in the universe, and it is smaller than the size of an atom, with less impact than a single grain of sand. I have seen what we would call angels, demons, and even so far as consider them gods. What knowledge is gained is a thousand times harder to lose. The hellish repercussions from such knowledge is to such a degree I cannot fathom.


These beings are from another time and space, with malicious neglect towards our race. As uncaring to our species as a whole that is unseen to us. We dream of their hellish features, tell tales of their nightmarish acts, only to rationalize the unspoken shudders we get. Primal reactions we keep at the core of our being that makes us afraid was caused by these horrors long ago. The worship of these divine beings will never save us. Nor will it bring the terrible truth I have seen to you. I’m writing this as I hear the creaking, and the whispers that try to insinuate my decline into insanity. My sanity is shaken, but I know the truth. These uncaring greater beings will soon be worse than neglectful, they will take our reality and leave us with nothing but a living nightmare.

It is here in this modest hotel room where I confess my truth, no one can stop it. The slithering and sloshing faintly heard within the shadows is an acknowledgment to my simple surrender. This .45 is my white flag. I need to hope that my finger will be faster than their intentions with me. I’m certain it is not. If memory serves correctly, the definition of hell awaits.