Bring Them All Into the Light #3
She’s been saying that—or something similar—for the last twenty-four hours, and it’s getting a little tiresome, if he’s honest. Still, as he turns and looks at the brilliant white facade of the church, his heart fills, and he cannot wait for them to come and see what he has built.
If he is proud, he tells himself, then it is only the pride of the shepherd who is saving his flock.
What he is saving them for never crosses his mind.
On the night itself, he wears a new suit, bought especially for the occasion: white blazer, white trousers, even white shoes.
He is ’68 Comeback Special Elvis, and he feels that he might ignite with joy.
He stands at the doors to the church and watches the stream of believers as they gather candles from the bucket at the foot of the steps, lighting them as they head up the stairway, a river of light in the dark.
Quietly he hums George Michael’s “Faith” as tries to brush pink stains from his jacket sleeves.
There are those he knows—Hutch, his cousin the architect, young Nigel—with their families and loved ones, but also faces he has never seen before, drawn to the light on top of the hill.
They chatter and buzz, taking their places in the pews, and their excitement is infectious.
Maggie and the kids are sitting in the front row, and Nico has started jumping up and down, unable to contain his enthusiasm, almost setting his little waistcoat alight with his candle.
He still glances at his dad from time to time and grins, but his mom and sister keep their eyes fixed forward.
Derek sits with them, and Rob is glad. It’s good that they have found some happiness, when everything in this world is so fleeting.
Once the pews are filled to capacity, the pine creaking and warping beneath so many well-fed backsides, he directs people to stand in the aisles, under the windows, even around the oakwood altar.
They push up against each other, shoulder to shoulder, until he cannot imagine anyone else squeezing in.
Then he signals to Jim the butcher to close the doors, and he begins to make his way forward.
He jostles where he has to, asks forgiveness as he pushes people aside.
It’s a slow crawl through a sea of bodies to reach the front, but once he’s there he moves around the island of the altar, grips the rough bark of its edge.
You have filled my house , the voice says, so close now that it might be inside his head. You have brought these people to witness the light. Now it is time.
He smiles.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS
Nobody is sure when she first appears, or how. She is not there, and then she is, as if she has always been. If Rob is disappointed that she doesn’t arrive with a fanfare and a choir of angels, then he keeps that to himself. This, surely, is miracle enough.
The crowd stares for a few seconds, processing what they are witnessing. In truth, none of them know what they have signed up for. Only that they were called and they came here, to witness something incredible.
If the way she materializes from nothing does not fulfil that expectation, then her appearance surely does.
She is shorter than any of the adults, closer to Julie’s height, but she makes up for it by floating two feet off the ground.
Her form was once human, but it has moved beyond that, disassembling and renewing like a corpse in the soil, playing host to other creatures as they’re drawn to her warmth.
Her ribs are a cage, the bird that flutters within them nothing more than feathers and skin; as they watch, a millipede the length and width of a man’s belt skitters from where her ear should be and wraps itself around her neck.
Her face is constantly changing, rotting away then blooming back to health, a ruddy-cheeked girl one second, an emaciated hag the next.
Her fingers, when she holds out her hands, are long and knotted like twigs.
Welcome to my house , she says. My children.
The screaming starts at the front and spreads through the congregation like crashing waves. Rob signals to Jim at the back, and he fits the bar across the doors. This was expected. There are always those who fear the miracle when it comes.
She had told him this, several days before. She had lain with him on the concrete floor of the church, his hand tied up in the twisted vines of her hair, her stiff, cold fingers in his pants.
They will not understand , she said, her voice like the gurgling of the brook, or the wind in the grass. They have never seen the world as it truly is, and now that their eyes are opened, they will cry and tear at their breasts. This has happened before and it shall happen again.
“But then they’ll find the joy, right?” he asked, the words catching in his throat. “Once they understand, when they see you, won’t they be filled with wonder? Just your existence, it’s…a miracle. Magical. How could they not kneel down and worship you when they see what you truly are?”
There was a sound that may have been a sigh, or simply her skin crackling like fallen leaves.
You have seen me and your eyes have been opened. You have beheld my true form and not turned mad. Is it too much to hope they may not do the same?
Rob isn’t so sure about that, although he doesn’t give voice to his doubts.
Part of him wonders if he has, indeed, gone mad.
The things he has seen should never have appeared before mortal eyes.
And yet something led him along the path to this point—to the cottage, and the hill, and the steps, and the church—and now that he’s here he cannot imagine anywhere else that he could possibly be.
He ponders on this as the people begin to hammer on the door and the walls, their screams turning to anger and tears. As her birds take flight and peck out their eyes.
CUPIO DISSOLVE
He tells himself this was always the plan.
It’s comforting to know that he’s fulfilled something, that he’s ticked that box and can move on.
Rob has always been very goal oriented. Even as he watches Maggie scream and clutch at her face, blood oozing between her fingers as she staggers blindly about the gathering; even as young Nigel gags on the millipede that comes crawling out of his mouth, its mandibles shining and slick.
Rob feels something like pride as he takes a deep breath, smells the tang of their fear, the sweat and adrenaline. And the paraffin.
Ah, yes. The paraffin.
When she’d first told him he’d balked at the idea. After all, this church was his masterwork, the project that finally put him on the map. It was a temple to her greatness, yes, but wasn’t it also a monument to his achievements? Hadn’t she led him here to create this beacon?
She had made a clicking noise in the back of her throat, like teeth gnashing at air. Shifting her body, she had twisted and writhed until she lay on top of him, the stink of rot sweet and earthy in his nostrils.
Everything must end , she had said, her words spoken slowly and clearly.
It was important that he understood. There is no eternity, there is no forever.
That is man’s vanity. Your meaning lies in your ending, and we shall give them an ending to be proud of.
We will give them an ending that will be talked about for centuries, and then they will be reborn when their ashes feed new life. That is the best anyone can dream of.
She was right, of course. He could see that now. Beyond the stink of piss and freshly spilled blood, he could smell them for what they truly were: cattle, animals destined for the slaughter.
It had taken him most of the night to drill the holes in the plasterboard, then to pour the paraffin in, one bottle at a time.
It was only an accelerant, of course. The straw would act as kindling; the timber frame would burn for hours.
This had all been built into the church from the start. This was all part of the plan.
If he has a regret as he takes the lighter from his pocket and holds it to the curtains—velour, the best wick money can buy—it’s that it will all be over soon.
He’s done something truly magical here, hasn’t he?
Who can say they have done anything even half as great?
But he knows it’s all in how you make your exit.
And as his goddess sings her victory, and the aisles flow with blood, the flames begin to crawl up the walls, searching with their tongues until they find the paraffin within and burst into sudden, brilliant light.