TONG…TONG…TONG
"Can't these bells be a little quieter?" a man muttered outside the enclosure walls of the chapel.
Emanuel flinched. 'How can someone say this, let alone on Mass day?' He moved to glance outside the parish gates but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
He tilted his head to look at it. The hand was wrinkled, gentle in its grace, and upon its finger was an elegant ring. The ring may have been older than the owner of hand himself. A ring which had lost its gleam nearly looking white.
Emanuel bowed his head and turned toward the man who had stopped him. He knew who it was. He had seen the ring and the hand for as long as he could remember.
"Father." Emanuel said with utmost respect to the elderly man.
Father Elias Smith was an ancient man to Emanuel, not because of his age even though the man had touched seventy but because of his presence. He had never seen Father Elias angry or even out of harmony with his nature.
His service to parish alter had crossed thirty-five years just last summer, yet no one had ever spoken a bad word about him.
"Emanuel, my boy… Have I not told you not to let the words of others disturb your servitude? A service traded for applause will bury the servant before the grave does."
He said the word that Emanuel didn't wanted to hear from Elias.
"I am sorry, Father…" The young priest did not like it when Elias spoke of death but he knew that old age was creeping upon him. He did not wanted to lose the man.
Seeing Emanuel dejected, Father Elias smiled and patted his shoulder. "Come now, it is nearly nine. We must welcome the good folks."
Emanuel stood straight and replied," Yes Father!"
Today was Sunday and with it comes The Sunday Mass.
"God bless you, Father."
"Good Morning, Father!"
The chapel filled slowly. The Sunday Mass, once teeming, had dwindled over the years. But Father Elias was always hopeful that it would change. Emanuel… less so.
Churches used to be hope and home for people but now, to him, they were just places where men fought for attention, wealth and power.
"It is so lovely outside, Father! How is your health?" a young lady asked as she approached him with radiant smile, a smile that had made Emanuel lose his senses the day he first saw her.
He was man of faith, or so he considered himself, but now it seemed Lord was testing that faith through her.
"I am wonderful, Carol. How are you? How is little Sam?"
Father Elias, the ever-loving golden retriever was delighted to see the ebony-haired girl. Emanuel, on the other hand felt a heaviness when he thought about Sam. The boy was bright and charming, just like his mother. He could never understand how people could leave something so precious and not even bat an eye.
"Oh Father, He is good. He is with momma right now. I think he likes his grandma more than me."
Smiles accompanied her words, but the sadness in her eyes did not escape Elias. "It will be all right, child. God doesn't give anyone a burden they cannot bear. Sit, Carol. God is merciful," Elias said gently, a soft smile resting on his face.
She moved with grace, taking in the bright chapel. Light radiated from every corner. Soon, her eyes met Emanuel's, and the boy was completely lost in them. When caught, he quickly avoided her gaze and began moving toward the podium, all while she hid a small, knowing smile.
Soon, everyone was seated on the chapel benches. Emanuel stood near the podium, waiting for Elias, ready to assist if needed. The church choir took their places, and the other priests organized themselves in silent order.
Emanuel lifted his gaze to the crowd and found Carol already watching him.
Lord have mercy on me.
The door to Elias's room groaned open, and he emerged in his robes.
Elegant and regal while moving with steady pace, balancing himself as he went. Patiently, he reached the podium, paused, and steadied himself so he could begin the sermon.
He opened the Book of Revelation, the thin pages whispering against his fingers. Emanuel told himself it was nothing but age but a tightness coiled in his stomach all the same.
"Behold, he is coming with clouds, and every eye will see him"
Emanuel had heard these words before, sacred words, every priest had but this time there was something, something odd.
He saw that Elias stumbled as he said the line maybe it was just imagination.
"Even those who pierced him, and all the tribes of the earth will wail on account of him. Even so. Amen."
Elias, with his old yet powerful voice, read from the Book of Revelation.
He stopped mid-verse.
A gleam of calm and wisdom seemed to mingle with something else. His words came out murky and gravelly when he spoke again.
A slender thread of saliva fell from his mouth, shining in the sunlight like molten iron dripping onto an anvil.
"Oohhhh… yes," He breathed.
The sound layered.
"He will come."
The calm, old voice thickened.
"With vast and primal power, he will COME!"
His hands gripped the podium as wood groaned under his grip.
His face twitched, the skin along his jaw seeming to tear beneath the golden sunlight, muscles bulging as they fought to hold it together.
Emanuel glanced toward Elias with concern. It was the first time he had seen him like this.
Then-
Smash.
The head came crashing down on the altar, shattering the silence.
"COME! He will COME! With all names denied!"
The heavy impact jolted the air, rattling the candles in their stands.
The look of dread spread through him. Emanuel was struck cold. He wanted to intervene, but his legs refused to move.
Something pressed heavy on his soul. He raised a hand toward Elias and it burned. He yanked it back. There was nothing there.
Sweat poured from him, his back drenched. Something was gripping inside him, but he couldn't move.
He can't move.
He was trapped in place, powerless, a witness to the unfolding nightmare. He could only stand there, helpless, and watch the horror unfold.
The crowd was paralyzed, some braved a step forward, some struggled, some screamed in silence.
"HE WILL COME, AND WINDS WILL DIE!"
The grip on the podium became unnatural, fingers dug in as he gripped again to smash his head on podium.
The podium stood its ground, bearing the impact, but flesh answered his call.
The head split apart. Blood came gushing down the podium. One eye was mangled beyond recognition. Blood dripped from the split bones yet the man didn't die.
Screams erupted as the crowd leapt to escape. The sense of dread became a river of horror. It drowned which it could.
Men stepped on women, Women clawed men, Children ran to their family.
All came crashing on another. Strangling each other like animals, bounded, held like a rat king. Blood of podium mixed with blood of crushed innocence.
All around was chaos.
All that remained was death.
"HAHAHA! HE WILL COME!"
Again.
"FOR HIM!"
Again.
CRUNCH.
Soon came out the other eye, teeth scattered on floor, The tongue split apart. Jaw came loose and hung slack.
Yet he still spoke.
"ANSWER FOR ONE! FOR HE WILL COME!"
Again.
The podium broke under the final blow. The ever-enduring podium of chapel was shattered and with it the man collapsed, lifeless.
Only the back of the skull remained, split open, the brain exposed for all to see.
Near it, on his knees, remained Emanuel staring at the ruin.
Spark had left his eyes long before the final demise of his mentor, tears had dried, his voice dead in throat. It all came crashing down, he remained on his knees, broken and powerless.
Emanuel's face hit the cold stone with a thud, but it felt as though the weight of the world had pressed him down.
His mentor, his hope, was gone. No prayers answered. No salvation.
What was left for him now? The faith he had once clung to now seemed like a distant whisper.