EXCERPTS: Crisis of the Soul

The TRIAL began unexpectedly. Nightmares. Noises. Strange apparitions. Eerie voices, shrieking voices, echoing throughout the confines of a dark lonely world. The beginning of the horror was subtle, dreamlike, as though created within a psychotic mind.

But the horror that followed could not be attributed to the illusory world of a psychotic mind; the horror that followed could only CREATE a psychotic mind.

Revelation9:11 “And they had a king over them, which is the angel of the bottomless pit, whose name in the Hebrew tongue is Abaddon, but in the Greek tongue hath his name Apollyon.”

Revelation13:15 “And he had power to give life unto the image of beast, that the image of the beast should both speak, and cause as many as would not worship the image of the beast should be killed.”

Revelation13:6 “And he opened his mouth in blasphemy against God, to blaspheme his name, and his tabernacle, and them that dwell in heaven.”

Revelation16:13 “And I saw three unclean spirits like frogs come out of the mouth of the dragon, and out of the mouth of the beast, and out of the mouth of the false prophet.”

Revelation16:14 “For they are the spirits of devils, working miracles, which go forth unto the kings of the earth and of the whole world, to gather them to the battle of that great day of God Almighty.”

Father Apostoli stood at the bottom of the granite steps outside the church, the enormous oak doors beckoning.

He took a deep breath and, with brisk half-steps, ascended the stone slabs, ardent to enter the rites of passage. The arched doors opened as if pushed by unseen hands, extending a solemn invitation to the young priest. He immediately fell to his knees and bowed his head. Inside the sanctuary was demonic evidence of a once-thought-of, long-forgotten religious sect that has been flourishing in the world since the beginning of time.

Great stone statues adorned the altar for centuries; guarding, watching, waiting for the enemies of their beloved god of the world. Flanked to the left of the altar stood a ferocious bear clutching between its savage knife-like teeth three ribs dripping with blood. A four-headed leopard with each mouth agape, and having four extended wings on its back stood at the right of the altar. Poised behind the altar on its hind legs was a lion with outstretched eagle’s wings on its back. Its mouth was opened wide, showing long pointed, blood-stained fangs; its arms were raised with the paws facing the pews. Protruding from its belly and joined at its back was another statue whose likeness was that of a man with a roaring lion’s head wearing a jeweled tiara. An innate fire glowed through the chest, revealing the heart of man.


Revelation17:18 “And the woman which thou sawest is that great city, which reigneth over the kings of the earth.”

Revelation17:5 “And upon her forehead was a name written, MYSTERY, BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH.”

The pale-gray sky glowed an ominous red as the sun’s rays descended beyond the horizon. The overwhelming influence of the dark night unobtrusively flooding into town obscured the light of the day.

Catherine Holis, a stout, middle-aged woman opened the front bay window curtains and stood with her hands on her round hips. An approving smile stretched across her made-up face as he sinister eyes, deceptive eyes, stared at the ascending darkness.

Mama, a term of endearment used by her girls and all the residents of the town, was a devoted child of Addersville. She, like her brother Father Apostoli, had willingly and faithfully given her undying love to the god of her ancestors. Mama was a chosen vessel.

A thick gray fog encompassed the scorched field--dead field across the road from Cathy’s house. Christian stood barefoot and naked in the middle, surrounded by razor sharp thorns and thistles. He wondered if he would ever escape alive.

Death seemed inevitable: Death of his body; Death of his spirit.

But Christian couldn’t turn back. Drawing closer from behind him were the thirteen ghostly figures calling his name, taunting him, rejoicing in what seemed their triumph. Christian couldn’t go forward, left, or, right. If he conceded and allied to his enemy, at least he would be spared a fiery death; spared a fiery death but become alienated from God forever. His situation seemed hopeless! Christian had a choice: Live now, or live forever!

The thorns thrust upward through his body, assuring no escape.
“You’re ours now,” bellowed one of the figures. Where is your God? Pray to Him. See if He will deliver you from us.”

The thirteen hooded figures encircled Christian and invoked their god. “Holy. Holy. Holy is his name. We beseech thee to enter our circle.”

Christian lay in a pool of blood. The figures kept encircling him, laughing and chanting, injecting their adulterated doctrine into his mind; hanging golden medallions with the image of their god close to his face; tormenting him to near submission.

“Swear to the pontiffica maxima to serve only him. Denounce your God and you shall be free,” proclaimed the voices of a man and a woman simultaneously.

Christian fought to break free, but the razor-like thorns curled inside of him, strengthening their hold. Christian weakened and lay as though dead. Two figures stood on top of him as another branded the back of his head with the medallion; another pressed the medallion into his forehead until the image of their god burned through the flesh and became imprinted on his skull while another branded his left shoulder with the image. Christian let out a blood-curdling scream, but to no avail; he belonged to them; he wore their mark.

Jerking him from the ground, they carried him to their place of sacrifice in the middle of the sacred, dead field and placed him on an altar.

Christian was near death. His body and spirit could fight no more. As he lay waiting for deliverance, chanting voices, rejoicing voices echoed through the air. The celebrants raised their hands and looked toward the heavens, and chanted as one.

“Here, Oh Prince of Light. Here is one of Your Jewels. He is ours now. We have triumphed! We have won!” They bellowed and shook their fists toward the God of Heaven.

Seconds later spikes were driven through his wrists and feet, mocking the sacrifice of Christ.

The dragon’s fiery eyes roamed the church, searching for the one whom he had prophesied long ago. Its heaving body glowed with an innate fire dredged from the pits of hell. The dragon roared, shaking the very foundation of the sanctuary. Blood and saliva drooled from its mouth; its tongue was flickering with great anticipation as to when it would again devour human flesh it had once enjoyed.

The beast’s roar turned to a guttural yelping laugh as it grabbed an acolyte between its iron teeth and swallowed it; then regurgitating the grotesquely deformed body onto the altar.

With a coarse, powerful voice, it bellowed,“Where is that pious little prick who dare not bow down and worship me!” Its voice rattled the windows. “Where is he! He’s mine! Bring him to me! I’ll show that Christ where the heart of His servant belongs! He’s mine! Mine!” The dragon spat fire toward the heaven, defying The True God.

The innate fire burned intensely within the body of the dragon as its body was expanding, pulsating. Flames shot from its fiery eyes and enulfed the priests and acolytes, reducing them to ashes.

But Father Apostoli was spared a fiery death; instead, the dragon gripped him between his iron teeth and began gnawing and chewing, crushing and crunching his bones and spurting his blood throughout the church. A bulge formed in the beast’s neck as it swallowed the remains of the now dead faithful son of Addersville.

Silence gripped the sanctuary as the dragon’s stomach heaved and, with great force, vomited the disfigured body of Father Apostoli high into the air. He fell to the earth and came crashing down onto the granite floor.

The dead priest, his gnarled body convulsing, erupting into bloody open sores, oozing a sticky, pussy green substance that filled the sanctuary with the pungent stench of half-decayed corpse. The diseased skin began to shred away, leaving only a thin transparent layer stretched over the broken decaying skeleton. An fire began to burn, emitting an intense heat that melted the final thin layer of skin until it was bubbling like hot wax, sending fiery droplets sizzling onto the floor. The skeleton started to glow an reddish-purple and then it disintegrated into a grayish powder.

Victorious!

The dragon roared and then laughed maniacally. Another human soul that would forever bow down and worship him.

The dragon opened his mouth and expelled a blazing stream of fire towards the powdery remains of the priest. It encircled the finely crushed bones and swirled around and around, building an impenetrable wall of fire. Another stream of fire was expelled from the dragon’s mouth; in midair the stream of fire transformed into a finger-like entity and lunged into the center of the fiery wall.

Like a crafted potter, the fiery finger began swirling the vessel of the damned; molding it, shaping it, restructuring it, until the defiled remains were formed into a human frame of desolation. Shadowy figures of human organs appeared, remaining transparent until the most vital, lifesustaining organ materialized--a heart. But this was no human heart--this heart was begotten of the dragon’s apostate heart blackened with evil. Layer after thin layer of snakelike skin began to materialize until a final layer of newly formed human flesh covered the perpetual disciple of evil.

A young looking man, a new born man lay dead on the granite floor of the sanctuary in the middle of the flaming wall of despair. The new eyes of the priest eerily burned and melted away the thickly scaled eyelids. His chest began to expand and contract, expand and contract. Life had been reathed into this son of perdition.

His body twitched. The fiery glow in his round beady eyes faded, and his eyes turned to a penetrating black. A guttural yelping laugh of rage and triumph erupted from the dragon’s throat. Another son, another victim had entered his sanctuary of demonic perpetuation. With one last coarse and deafening roar, the dragon exploded into flames and vanished into the blackness of the defiled place of
worship.

The aged priest and the acolytes reappeared holding a golden image of their beloved god against their hearts. They encircled Father Apostoli and fell to their knees as one to venerate the new high priest.

They out stretched their arms and praised the image of the beast who had been born from the dragon’s heart. Chanting voices echoed throughout the church as the dark night once again fell upon slumbering Addersville.

The bowels of hell had opened with a vengeance and spewed its blasphemous life into the town which had been subtly deceived since its foundation was laid. The brooding influence had gripped a people who had been unconsciously led to desire and to patiently await their master’s awakening.

Their prayers were answered on this night. Father Apostoli rose to his feet intriumph. He smiled. His voice was deep, hollow, powerful. “My brethren . . . we have waited for the time of the prophecy. Before your eyes, it has been fulfilled. Welcome! Welcome!”

He raised his hands and blessed the disciples in the name of the prince of the power of the air. “My brethren . . . we have work to do. Go now, console one another. For the hour is near when we shall all be forever with the master.”

In a guttural voice, Father Apostoli laughed maniacally and then retreated to the sacristy. The acolytes followed the new high priest of the revived religion.

Father Apostoli was a faithful and devoted child of Addersville.

Father Apostoli was accepted.