Weary and exhausted, Kirk Adams found himself plodding across Missouri on some back-road highway. "Faster? Yeah, right!" he thought. "I should've stayed on 70." He was travelling west across the country in search of something more than small-town life in Ohio could provide. At age 24 he was searching for a job, for a home, for himself. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he would go as far as his crimson '99 Camry would take him. He snapped his head backwards as he caught himself dozing. He couldn't remember how long he had been driving and it was now after midnight. A pale moon and distant stars were the only lights besides his hazy headlights. He yanked his head up again. "Man," he thought, "I need to find somewhere to stop." He flipped through the channels until he found a decent song--Hotel California--and cranked it up as loudly as it would play without destroying his speakers. He opened his windows to let in some of the cool autumn air. Hopefully that would wake him up. Thoughts of Fall bounced through his head as he began to reminisce about his days in college, going to football games and hanging out with friends around the bonfire. He could almost feel the warmth. He could almost smell the burning embers and decomposing leaves. He basked in the serenity. "Wait..." His eyes shot open. He was cutting sharply across the left lane. He punched the break and spun the wheel clockwise, over-correcting and heading into an embankment on the other side. As his headlights dipped into the ditch, a figure appeared. A thud reverberated through the rusty frame of his Camry as he came to a violent halt.
A cloud of dust rose around his misshapen vehicle. He pushed the drivers-side door open with a groan and crawled out into the night. He searched his body for wounds, discovering a pool of blood in his left boot. He couldn't move his foot. He began to pull his boot off gingerly, but the excruciating pain made him reconsider. His wits returned to him and he tightened the bootlaces as securely as he could. "Wait," he thought, every exhale visible in the cool air, "what did I hit?" He crawled over to the road and scanned the broken pavement. By the scarlet hue of his taillights he could make out a slight frame coming towards him like a specter. His traumatized body trembled.
"Who are you?" he shouted.
No answer.
"Are you okay?"
The figure continued to approach him. The taillights flickered as she passed the mangled vehicle.
"What are you doing out here...in the middle of nowhere...in the middle of the night?"
"Walking," a soprano voice replied. "I'm fine," she assured him as she knelt beside him, "which is more than I can say for you."
"Who are you?" he repeated his first question.
"You're hurt," she said, inspecting his leg. "Let me get this boot off." He found himself alarmed-yet-intrigued as a young, slender brunette with fair skin knelt beside him, surveying his wound. She wore a small black dress, which fit like it was designed for her, and a pair of ruby red heels. He could only imagine what a girl like this was doing out there in the middle of the night.
"Are you a doctor?" he asked, a little wary.
"You could say I'm a healer," she replied.
"I guess I don't have too many options," he said as she unlaced his boot and gently slid it off. His sock, formerly light gray, was now blood red. He yelped as she peeled it back and revealed his fibula protruding from his skin near his ankle. The adrenaline began to wear off and the blinding pain came on.
"Rest," she whispered. All went numb. The world went black. A calm overwhelmed him. His eyelids crept open as she laced his boot back up. He wiggled his foot around. The pain was gone and mobility returned. He picked himself up and paced around, ecstatic, but now even more confused.
"How...how did she?" he wondered as he jumped up and down. He turned to her and said, "How did you do that? Who...?" He paused a moment and continued, "...what are you?"
"I'm just a stranger who was walking down the road when you needed me," she replied with a smile.
"You have a name, don't you."
"I suppose I do," she said with a laugh. "My name is Angela."
"It's good to meet you, Angela," he replied. "I mean, I guess I wish I didn't have to meet you, but I'm glad you were around."
Suddenly reality struck him. He was stranded in the middle of nowhere, his car far from operable. He rifled through his sandy brown locks as he assessed the damage. He paced around the carcass of his beloved ride a few times, kneeling down by the dismembered fender and patting it gently. "I really did a number on you this time, honey," he bemoaned. "I think this may be our last ride."
He heard Angela snicker over his shoulder. He peered around at her.
"Sorry," she said, hardly able to contain her laughter.
"Hey, this is serious. Clarice here has been in my life longer than any other woman except for my mother!"
"Clarice!?" she said, bursting into laughter.
"Yes," he said, "Clarice. She's a person, too."
"Okay, sorry," she said, one last giggle sneaking out.
Kirk rose to his feet and checked his phone--the battery was dead--before staring off into the distance indecisively. "Is your phone working?" he asked her.
"Do I look like I'm carrying a phone on me?" she asked, drawing his eyes to her apparel.
"I guess not," he said. He muttered a few words under his breath before saying, "Well, are you from around here?"
"Born and raised," she said, accentuating her drawl.
"Well, what do we do?"
"There's a little town about 4 miles that way," she said, her finger pointing due north across a wooded field.
"How little?" he asked.
"Stereotypically little," she replied. "There's a gas station and a diner, but no one will be there until the morning."
"I guess that'll have to do," he said. "Will you show me the way?"
"I guess I could do that," she said sarcastically. She pulled off her heels and threw them down by his car. "Where we're going, I'll be better off without these."
"Oh, that's encouraging!" he said. "I think I'll leave my Converse on though."
*********************************************************************************
The unexpected pair of Kirk and Angela made their way across the field by the light of the full moon. The magenta ring around encircling it, as ominous as it was beautiful, would have been romantic if the circumstances were more propitious. Angela navigated ably though the tall grass, barefoot and all. Kirk could tell she had been this way before. Kirk, couch potato that he was, found the way to be significantly more tedious.
"Keep up!" she said playfully.
"Slow and steady wins the race," he assured her. "Rome wasn't built in a day. Haste makes waste. Pick any cliche you like; I ain't moving faster."
The grass began to thin as they approached the tree line. Impressive sycamore and walnut trees awaited them, their branches crashing like swords in the gentle breeze. They passed into the woods and found a trodden path that, he assumed, would lead to this little town. The path wove its way through the thick woods until Kirk was sure he no longer knew what direction he was headed. He was lucky to have Angela leading the way. As he followed in her train, he began to think back to the accident. The image of his injured leg shot through his mind. He had never really had time to process what had happened. What had she done to him? How had she done it? From where had she come? Who was she? What was she? These thoughts and more ricocheted through his skull as his worn-out body trudged along the dirt path. Before too long (Kirk didn't know how long, having lost track of time) the trees began to thin and Kirk could see a clearing up ahead. As they approached it, they began to hear voices and see lights. Kirk reached out and grabbed Angela's hand. They halted.
"What's up there?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," she said plainly.
His confidence in her sunk tragically like the proverbial Titanic. "What do you mean you're not sure?"
"Well," she began, "I know there's an old church up this way, but no one has used it for like 50 years. I don't know why anyone would be there."
They crept into the clearing cautiously. In the clearing stood, surrounded by a subtle glow, an idyllic stone church that had graced this countryside for two centuries. It lay in ruins, but was clearly being occupied by someone now.
"Should we go around?" Angela asked. Kirk knew that they should, but curiosity owned his soul.
"Ah, where's your sense of adventure," he replied.
They slunk through the shadows to the side of the church. They could distinguish voices, but they couldn't decipher what was being said.
"What language is that?" Kirk whispered. She shook her head in ignorance. He strained to hear more. "Is that singing?" he said.
"It's more like chanting," she replied.
The crept along the cold, foreboding wall to a small window on the front side of the church. The light escaping the opening was warm and soft, more like fire than artificial light. An odor--stench--filled the air.
"What is that smell?" he whispered to Angela.
"I think it's flesh," she said, looking ill.
Curiosity evolved into a blend of horror and compulsion. They wanted to run, but they knew that they had to see what was happening in that church. Slowly they crawled up the crumbling stairs towards the old, thick wooden door. They slid through the crack in the door into the vestibule. As they crept towards the sanctuary, the chanting grew louder and the temperature rose. Kirk cracked open the door to the sanctuary to a horrifying scene. Inside was a crowd of people, wearing dark robes and chanting. They were merely observers. Amidst the crowd was a second group huddled around a large fire, eating, no, feeding on whatever had just suffered in the flames. Kirk shrunk back. He turned to Angela, but she was gone. In her place stood two robed individuals, as large as they were imposing.
"Won't you join us?" the apparent leader said.
"Do I have a choice?" he responded.
"You have a free will, Kirk," the voice replied. "What is your heart telling you?" His heart was telling him to run as far away from that church as was geographically possible, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't make it very far.
"Lead the way," he said. The second robed figure opened the doors to the sanctuary and the leader motioned him through.
"Silence!" the leader screamed. A hush instantly came over the crowd. "We have a guest," he said. "How do we welcome our guests?"
"Welcome to The Truth," the crowd said in unison. For some reason Kirk didn't feel entirely welcome.
The leader guided Kirk along the aisle towards the fire, stopping him about ten feet from the circle of rabid humans. Turning to face Kirk, he lowered his hood to reveal a wrinkled face and bald head. His eyes seemed trustworthy and his aura commanded respect. His forehead bore a deep red cross.
"Welcome to The Truth," he echoed the crowd. "I am Moses, spiritual guide of this congregation. We are glad to have you in our midst."
"What is the The Truth?" Kirk asked, casting glances in various directions.
"Isn't that what we're all trying to discover?" Moses answered. "Truth is a spectrum. Truth is a journey. Truth is an experience."
"You know what I mean," Kirk insisted. "What is THE Truth?"
"We are an awakening, a revolution, a revival," Moses replied.
"Enough with the psychobabble! What is going on here?"
"You know, Kirk."
"I really, really don't!" he insisted
"An angel appeared to me in the night. She opened my eyes. She took away my pain and my confusion, leaving in its place The Truth. She granted to me an unalterable awareness of myself and of the world around me. She appeared to us all. She appeared to you."
"Angela?" Kirk replied inquisitively.
"Her name is unimportant, for she has many, just as she has many faces and many voices. You saw what you wanted...needed...to see. You felt her power within you. You experienced it. You experienced her truth."
"No," Kirk muttered, stumbling backwards. "This is insane!" He turned to run for the doors, but at the end of the aisle stood that mysterious figure once again.
"Kirk," she said softly, "embrace me. Embrace The Truth." His eyes jumped back and forth between her and the fire behind him. She began to walk towards him, arms open. "Come to me!" she said. "I will bring you peace. I will give you meaning."
"You're no angel!" he screamed, his eyes busy searching for a way of escape. Moses advanced towards him from the other direction as the crowds in the pew began to surround him. They all held out there arms in a threatening-yet-inviting manner.
"We are your brothers and sisters. Embrace us!" Angela cried out. Kirk stood still, immobilized and out of options.
"Never," he whispered. Her eyes grew wide and fiery red as if fueled by wrath.
"Fall to your knees! Worship me!" she screamed, her voice rising to an inhuman pitch.
"Worship her!" the people called out in unison.
Moses looked at him compassionately, his arms still open. "Worship The Truth, Kirk. It's the only path to true freedom."
"Don't you see?" Kirk yelled. "She is no angel. This is a demon!"
"Your body bears witness to her power," Moses said. "Bow down to her."
Kirk, ignoring Moses's continued pleas, turned to the people who were bearing down upon him. "Open your eyes! No angel would ever ask command you to worship her!" His voice was drowned out by the orchestra of sounds reverberating through the sanctuary.
"This is your final chance," Angela screamed. "Bow to me!"
"I will never bow to you!" he screamed, his throat hoarse and pulsating. "It is written, 'You shall worship the Lord your God and him only shall you serve'!"
"I am a god!" she screamed.
"You're no god. You're nothing but a demon from hell. I will never follow you."
"As you wish," she said, a smile creeping across her face. Addressing the crowds, she yelled, "Into the flames!"
They pressed in around him, engulfing him and raising him into the air. The aisle divided like the Red Sea as the procession moved towards the fire. They placed him on a platform, binding his extremities with chains. He fought and screamed, but he found no mercy. "Help me, Father," he whispered. Immediately a calm came over him. He felt the platform elevate and move towards the fire. As the heat and stench overwhelmed his body, a peace overcame his spirit. Light surrounded him as his skin began to melt and his flesh liquefied. As his breast heaved out its final breaths, an unexpected feeling swept over him. He felt strong. He felt empowered. He felt victorious.
The End
A cloud of dust rose around his misshapen vehicle. He pushed the drivers-side door open with a groan and crawled out into the night. He searched his body for wounds, discovering a pool of blood in his left boot. He couldn't move his foot. He began to pull his boot off gingerly, but the excruciating pain made him reconsider. His wits returned to him and he tightened the bootlaces as securely as he could. "Wait," he thought, every exhale visible in the cool air, "what did I hit?" He crawled over to the road and scanned the broken pavement. By the scarlet hue of his taillights he could make out a slight frame coming towards him like a specter. His traumatized body trembled.
"Who are you?" he shouted.
No answer.
"Are you okay?"
The figure continued to approach him. The taillights flickered as she passed the mangled vehicle.
"What are you doing out here...in the middle of nowhere...in the middle of the night?"
"Walking," a soprano voice replied. "I'm fine," she assured him as she knelt beside him, "which is more than I can say for you."
"Who are you?" he repeated his first question.
"You're hurt," she said, inspecting his leg. "Let me get this boot off." He found himself alarmed-yet-intrigued as a young, slender brunette with fair skin knelt beside him, surveying his wound. She wore a small black dress, which fit like it was designed for her, and a pair of ruby red heels. He could only imagine what a girl like this was doing out there in the middle of the night.
"You could say I'm a healer," she replied.
"I guess I don't have too many options," he said as she unlaced his boot and gently slid it off. His sock, formerly light gray, was now blood red. He yelped as she peeled it back and revealed his fibula protruding from his skin near his ankle. The adrenaline began to wear off and the blinding pain came on.
"Rest," she whispered. All went numb. The world went black. A calm overwhelmed him. His eyelids crept open as she laced his boot back up. He wiggled his foot around. The pain was gone and mobility returned. He picked himself up and paced around, ecstatic, but now even more confused.
"How...how did she?" he wondered as he jumped up and down. He turned to her and said, "How did you do that? Who...?" He paused a moment and continued, "...what are you?"
"I'm just a stranger who was walking down the road when you needed me," she replied with a smile.
"You have a name, don't you."
"I suppose I do," she said with a laugh. "My name is Angela."
"It's good to meet you, Angela," he replied. "I mean, I guess I wish I didn't have to meet you, but I'm glad you were around."
Suddenly reality struck him. He was stranded in the middle of nowhere, his car far from operable. He rifled through his sandy brown locks as he assessed the damage. He paced around the carcass of his beloved ride a few times, kneeling down by the dismembered fender and patting it gently. "I really did a number on you this time, honey," he bemoaned. "I think this may be our last ride."
He heard Angela snicker over his shoulder. He peered around at her.
"Sorry," she said, hardly able to contain her laughter.
"Hey, this is serious. Clarice here has been in my life longer than any other woman except for my mother!"
"Clarice!?" she said, bursting into laughter.
"Yes," he said, "Clarice. She's a person, too."
"Okay, sorry," she said, one last giggle sneaking out.
Kirk rose to his feet and checked his phone--the battery was dead--before staring off into the distance indecisively. "Is your phone working?" he asked her.
"Do I look like I'm carrying a phone on me?" she asked, drawing his eyes to her apparel.
"I guess not," he said. He muttered a few words under his breath before saying, "Well, are you from around here?"
"Born and raised," she said, accentuating her drawl.
"Well, what do we do?"
"There's a little town about 4 miles that way," she said, her finger pointing due north across a wooded field.
"How little?" he asked.
"Stereotypically little," she replied. "There's a gas station and a diner, but no one will be there until the morning."
"I guess that'll have to do," he said. "Will you show me the way?"
"I guess I could do that," she said sarcastically. She pulled off her heels and threw them down by his car. "Where we're going, I'll be better off without these."
"Oh, that's encouraging!" he said. "I think I'll leave my Converse on though."
*********************************************************************************
The unexpected pair of Kirk and Angela made their way across the field by the light of the full moon. The magenta ring around encircling it, as ominous as it was beautiful, would have been romantic if the circumstances were more propitious. Angela navigated ably though the tall grass, barefoot and all. Kirk could tell she had been this way before. Kirk, couch potato that he was, found the way to be significantly more tedious.
"Keep up!" she said playfully.
"Slow and steady wins the race," he assured her. "Rome wasn't built in a day. Haste makes waste. Pick any cliche you like; I ain't moving faster."
The grass began to thin as they approached the tree line. Impressive sycamore and walnut trees awaited them, their branches crashing like swords in the gentle breeze. They passed into the woods and found a trodden path that, he assumed, would lead to this little town. The path wove its way through the thick woods until Kirk was sure he no longer knew what direction he was headed. He was lucky to have Angela leading the way. As he followed in her train, he began to think back to the accident. The image of his injured leg shot through his mind. He had never really had time to process what had happened. What had she done to him? How had she done it? From where had she come? Who was she? What was she? These thoughts and more ricocheted through his skull as his worn-out body trudged along the dirt path. Before too long (Kirk didn't know how long, having lost track of time) the trees began to thin and Kirk could see a clearing up ahead. As they approached it, they began to hear voices and see lights. Kirk reached out and grabbed Angela's hand. They halted.
"What's up there?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," she said plainly.
His confidence in her sunk tragically like the proverbial Titanic. "What do you mean you're not sure?"
"Well," she began, "I know there's an old church up this way, but no one has used it for like 50 years. I don't know why anyone would be there."
They crept into the clearing cautiously. In the clearing stood, surrounded by a subtle glow, an idyllic stone church that had graced this countryside for two centuries. It lay in ruins, but was clearly being occupied by someone now.
"Should we go around?" Angela asked. Kirk knew that they should, but curiosity owned his soul.
"Ah, where's your sense of adventure," he replied.
They slunk through the shadows to the side of the church. They could distinguish voices, but they couldn't decipher what was being said.
"What language is that?" Kirk whispered. She shook her head in ignorance. He strained to hear more. "Is that singing?" he said.
"It's more like chanting," she replied.
The crept along the cold, foreboding wall to a small window on the front side of the church. The light escaping the opening was warm and soft, more like fire than artificial light. An odor--stench--filled the air.
"What is that smell?" he whispered to Angela.
"I think it's flesh," she said, looking ill.
Curiosity evolved into a blend of horror and compulsion. They wanted to run, but they knew that they had to see what was happening in that church. Slowly they crawled up the crumbling stairs towards the old, thick wooden door. They slid through the crack in the door into the vestibule. As they crept towards the sanctuary, the chanting grew louder and the temperature rose. Kirk cracked open the door to the sanctuary to a horrifying scene. Inside was a crowd of people, wearing dark robes and chanting. They were merely observers. Amidst the crowd was a second group huddled around a large fire, eating, no, feeding on whatever had just suffered in the flames. Kirk shrunk back. He turned to Angela, but she was gone. In her place stood two robed individuals, as large as they were imposing.
"Won't you join us?" the apparent leader said.
"Do I have a choice?" he responded.
"You have a free will, Kirk," the voice replied. "What is your heart telling you?" His heart was telling him to run as far away from that church as was geographically possible, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't make it very far.
"Lead the way," he said. The second robed figure opened the doors to the sanctuary and the leader motioned him through.
"Silence!" the leader screamed. A hush instantly came over the crowd. "We have a guest," he said. "How do we welcome our guests?"
"Welcome to The Truth," the crowd said in unison. For some reason Kirk didn't feel entirely welcome.
The leader guided Kirk along the aisle towards the fire, stopping him about ten feet from the circle of rabid humans. Turning to face Kirk, he lowered his hood to reveal a wrinkled face and bald head. His eyes seemed trustworthy and his aura commanded respect. His forehead bore a deep red cross.
"Welcome to The Truth," he echoed the crowd. "I am Moses, spiritual guide of this congregation. We are glad to have you in our midst."
"What is the The Truth?" Kirk asked, casting glances in various directions.
"Isn't that what we're all trying to discover?" Moses answered. "Truth is a spectrum. Truth is a journey. Truth is an experience."
"You know what I mean," Kirk insisted. "What is THE Truth?"
"We are an awakening, a revolution, a revival," Moses replied.
"Enough with the psychobabble! What is going on here?"
"You know, Kirk."
"I really, really don't!" he insisted
"An angel appeared to me in the night. She opened my eyes. She took away my pain and my confusion, leaving in its place The Truth. She granted to me an unalterable awareness of myself and of the world around me. She appeared to us all. She appeared to you."
"Angela?" Kirk replied inquisitively.
"Her name is unimportant, for she has many, just as she has many faces and many voices. You saw what you wanted...needed...to see. You felt her power within you. You experienced it. You experienced her truth."
"No," Kirk muttered, stumbling backwards. "This is insane!" He turned to run for the doors, but at the end of the aisle stood that mysterious figure once again.
"Kirk," she said softly, "embrace me. Embrace The Truth." His eyes jumped back and forth between her and the fire behind him. She began to walk towards him, arms open. "Come to me!" she said. "I will bring you peace. I will give you meaning."
"You're no angel!" he screamed, his eyes busy searching for a way of escape. Moses advanced towards him from the other direction as the crowds in the pew began to surround him. They all held out there arms in a threatening-yet-inviting manner.
"We are your brothers and sisters. Embrace us!" Angela cried out. Kirk stood still, immobilized and out of options.
"Never," he whispered. Her eyes grew wide and fiery red as if fueled by wrath.
"Fall to your knees! Worship me!" she screamed, her voice rising to an inhuman pitch.
"Worship her!" the people called out in unison.
Moses looked at him compassionately, his arms still open. "Worship The Truth, Kirk. It's the only path to true freedom."
"Don't you see?" Kirk yelled. "She is no angel. This is a demon!"
"Your body bears witness to her power," Moses said. "Bow down to her."
Kirk, ignoring Moses's continued pleas, turned to the people who were bearing down upon him. "Open your eyes! No angel would ever ask command you to worship her!" His voice was drowned out by the orchestra of sounds reverberating through the sanctuary.
"This is your final chance," Angela screamed. "Bow to me!"
"I will never bow to you!" he screamed, his throat hoarse and pulsating. "It is written, 'You shall worship the Lord your God and him only shall you serve'!"
"I am a god!" she screamed.
"You're no god. You're nothing but a demon from hell. I will never follow you."
"As you wish," she said, a smile creeping across her face. Addressing the crowds, she yelled, "Into the flames!"
They pressed in around him, engulfing him and raising him into the air. The aisle divided like the Red Sea as the procession moved towards the fire. They placed him on a platform, binding his extremities with chains. He fought and screamed, but he found no mercy. "Help me, Father," he whispered. Immediately a calm came over him. He felt the platform elevate and move towards the fire. As the heat and stench overwhelmed his body, a peace overcame his spirit. Light surrounded him as his skin began to melt and his flesh liquefied. As his breast heaved out its final breaths, an unexpected feeling swept over him. He felt strong. He felt empowered. He felt victorious.
The End
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