Mischiefmakers: Dark Macabre (18 page)

Father Johns glimpses down, while cupping his hand to catch
the rain. He sees that the normally clear drops are actually a black
murky liquid. Then a vaporizing sewage odor floods his nostrils.
“You are not Sarah.” His voice is reserved, with a slight gag
from the distasteful smell.
The beast changes its voice back to its original loathsome tone,
“My birth will be the dawn of a new era. Blackness will engulf
light; a new beginning shall be born. Don’t worry, preacher, you
will like it.”
“What about Melissa?”
“What about her? She is my mother. Once I devour her human
soul, she will emerge a worshipped sorceress of Hades.”
“I will stop your birth!”
“Fool, you think my birth fulfills the prophecy of the Asylum
of Omen. You are wrong! Asylum of Omen will open!”
Father Johns tries to hide his bewilderment.
“What--”
“Sorry, preacher. I must go, but it has been nice chatting with
you.” The beast within Melissa takes a slight pause, allowing her
head to drop, then it swiftly lifts it and speaks once more, “Oh,
by the way, as you can see, I have already replaced the pathetic
human soul of the unborn child.” With an evil last stare, the
witchy green glow within her eyes begins to lose intensity. Without
warning, a monstrous black raven swoops from the wet skies and
lands on the porch banister. Perched directly between the priest
and the crouched woman, it stands as if guarding its master. It
grips the wet banister with razor-sharp claws that sink deep into
the wood effortlessly. The pouring rain and thunderous lightning
don’t frighten the devilish monster; it maintains its merciless gaze
upon the priest. It spreads its wings to flutter off some of the irri-
tating rain dripping from its body, but, more importantly, to send
a warning directed toward the priest. It gapes its black beak wide
and releases a powerful shrill, further intensifying the moment.
Bolts of lightning shriek across the sky, lighting up the black
city streets. Suddenly one bolt finds its way down to this particu-
lar rain-swept street, striking a tree directly in front of the house.
This collision of nature causes brilliant sparks to explode from the
tree, showering onto the dark street. Father Johns turns to watch
this strange event, the lights mirroring off his spectacles.
“Melissa!” Morgan’s voice comes from deep within the house.
Father Johns turns back toward the house. “Melissa!” Melissa
remains crouched on one knee as if in pain. The bird’s dark burgundy eyes maintain their fixed gaze upon the priest. Once again,
it opens its massive wings. The raven arrogantly splashes some of
the black rain into Father Johns’ face, then races into the dark sky.
Moments later, Morgan emerges from the darkened house,
shining a bright flashlight.
“Are you okay?” he asks, concerned, as he helps Melissa to her
feet.
“I just got a little dizzy, that’s all,” Melissa responds softly. With
his arm draped around her, Morgan turns, looking suspiciously
into the dark bushes in front of the house, still sensing a presence.
Morgan squints with a devilish glare. I can’t see you, but I know
you’re there.
Peeking through the dripping wet bushes next to the smoldering tree, Father Johns stares at the dark house. He looks down-
ward but raises his hands, again cupping them to capture some of
the rain pouring off his black brimmed hat. The dark water fills
his hands. Freeing the tainted rain by slowly opening his fingers,
he releases a soft sigh, then walks away from the house.
Thunderous lightning continues to illuminate the skies. Rain
pounds the concrete. The streets are pitch-black like the houses.
The roaring sounds of thunder rattle the earth; this raging storm
will continue through the night.
Father Johns steps into his wood-paneled station wagon. His
hands and clothes are soaking wet. His face is still filled with con-
cern. He shakes his hands vigorously, then reaches into his pocket
to remove his keys. After placing them into the ignition, Father
Johns pulls off slowly, heading directly toward the downtown
lights of Newark. He watches people scurry across the city streets,
shielding themselves from the rain and lightning. He wonders if
they even realize the change in the rain’s character. Suddenly a
man walks in front of the car. Father Johns comes to a screeching
halt. His heart racing, he looks up to see if the young man is okay.
“You fucking asshole!” the young man shouts, and he flicks his
middle finger. His eyes fill with evil intentions as he punches the
hood of the car, then starts to walk around to the driver’s side.
Fear fills Father Johns’ heart as the man approaches, wiping his
wet face.
“He’s a preacher, chill out!” another man from the shadows
shouts. This man, this savior, steps in front of the approaching
man.
“I don’t give a fuck!” he says arrogantly, retracting his finger. He
then walks off, glaring at Father Johns, his eyes blood-shot, rain
dancing upon his head, pouring onto his face.
Disappointed at the man’s lack of respect, Father Johns releases
his brakes and continues.
Forgive him, Lord, for he does not understand the impact
of his words. Maybe he didn’t know I am a man of God. But
Father Johns knows he has unbuttoned his coat, and his priest
collar is quite visible. Furthermore, the other man acknowledged
it, and still the enraged man did not care. Even if he hadn’t seen
his collar, Father Johns wonders, Is this what we have come to,
Lord, man against man? Is this how the mischiefmakers were able
to infiltrate your earth, my God, through our fall from grace? I
understand what I must do, I understand.

eep under Saint Paul’s Cathedral, in the forgotten caverns,
two men attempt to unlock the secrets behind the black
rain and its meaning. They know they must find and under-

In the dungeon office where Father Johns made Sarah a believer
of the Asylum of Omen, the priest develops his plan. He searches
through mounds of ancient documents sprawled across a large
wooden table. Standing directly behind him is a student of divinity from one of the local universities. The student has used his
summer to study under the guidance of Father Johns. Sweating
and panting heavily, Father Johns answers as many of his young
student’s questions as he can.

“You mean the beast actually spoke to you, Father?” asks the
young man, standing timidly, wearing his thick brown cloth robe.
He is tall and slender, with an extremely dark complexion, and his
voice is powerfully deep.

“That’s exactly what happened, Vincent. No more, no less,”
answers Father Johns.
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing!” Father Johns states sternly, as he stops temporarily
to look his enthusiastic pupil directly in the eyes.
“Then why fill my head with this information?” Vincent asks,
slightly angered. Father Johns stops his search once more, then
looks up at Vincent with a serious glare.
“Do you believe everything I’ve told you?”
“Yes.”
“Everything?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know the Church will not back me, not because they
don’t care, but things like this aren’t supposed to happen. Exor-
cisms, ancient battles with the devil, Armageddon. Do you understand?! Before I can convince them, the world as we know it will
end.” Father Johns takes a brief pause, then continues. “I need
you to watch, listen, and learn. I just need someone to know, to
explain, in case I do not succeed, and to carry out what must be
done if I fail.”
“Why me?”
“Vincent, you are one of the brightest students I have ever had
the honor of teaching divinity.” Father Johns steps up, face to face
with the young man. Placing his hand behind the young man’s
head, cupping his neck, Father Johns pulls his head down softly.
“Since the day you walked into the church, I knew someday you
would make a noble priest. Why you, you ask? Because you have
a pure faith, and that is the only weapon against the beast. I can’t
risk you helping me now and something happening to you.” With
that, Father Johns goes back to searching through the mounds of
scrolls. “Here it is.” Father Johns looks closely at one particular
scroll and begins reading.

“The heavens shall shower blood of blackness when the war
has commenced. The dark rain must last three moons. The lost
souls of Asylum shall gain strength with each drop of the black
fluid that tarnishes God’s Kingdom. At the passing of these
lunar cycles, they will be released to wage war alongside Mephistopheles. The rancid blood of battle will change good to evil,
wars will ensue, and the coming of our lord shall be praised by
all. Once the child of the beast is of power, it shall rise and
devour the host soul long before its birth. Then it shall recreate its essence into its own image, much like God created man.
The devouring of this lost soul of heaven shall mark the beginning of the end of The Kingdom of Light. Protected are those
whose hearts are as black as the abyss of the nether world. Be
willing to give all to him, be willing to die for him, you must kill
for him.”

“What does it mean?”
“Armageddon has begun,” says Father Johns, pulling his glasses
off his face and clasping them in a tight fist. “I don’t know why
I didn’t see this passage before. I should have studied the scrolls
more carefully,” says Father Johns disappointedly. “This blood of
blackness.”
“Is it too late, Father?”
“The beast is a liar, it would have me believe it’s too late, so that
maybe I will abandon all hope,” he responds.
“Father, why would the demon show itself now if the prophecy
has not yet come to pass?”
“Because the beast is an exhibitionist. It wants to gloat in God’s
face, even if it’s premature. I saw it in its eyes, it left because it had
to, it left because it was draining its own energy. The demon is still
weak. I’m sure it hasn’t captured Melissa’s soul yet. The prophecy
is still in progress. It can be stopped.”
“They know you know where they are. What if they just move
her?” asks Vincent.
“I don’t think they will. I believe they will only move her if they
must.”
“What do you mean?”
“It would take a tremendous amount of energy and time to set
up another doorway.”
“Doorway?”
As Father Johns begins to explain, he starts to pace the room.
“Yes, just as I told Sarah. I believe these places serve as
some sort of a doorway. A place where the pillage of God’s
precious planet shall begin. I remember in literature, it is
known as the gate of abyss. This will be the portal for the lost
souls.” Father Johns takes a moment to gather his thoughts.
He is shaken at the thought that man will cease to exist if he
or his young helper cannot succeed. Moments later, he continues. “The first building was conjured by the guardians to watch
over her. Jackie was drawn through this doorway. The Mr.
Nicholas that supposedly was the owner, was not the owner,
but in fact a guardian. The building was an illusion, it never
existed as Melissa saw it. This house she lives in now exists,
therefore, they don’t have to expend any energy maintaining
an illusion. Somewhere in that house, there is a gateway, where
the mischiefmakers shall come onto the earth. Somehow, they
have this young man serving as their guardian. They are not
going anywhere.”
“The writings say they will join Satan. Why would they come
here?”
“Simple. The universe is God’s greatest creation. They will
come here to cause havoc and destroy all God has created. This
planet is just a stepping-stone in bringing down the Kingdom of
Heaven. I’m sure not all the lost souls will come here. Most will
probably fight with the beast, turning the tide of the war in favor
of Satan. This black rain is the blood of mortally wounded angels,
both good and evil. In two more evenings from today, the prophecy shall be fulfilled. I must act quickly.”
“What are you going to do?” Vincent feels fright overwhelm
his emotions, yet the eagerness of his youth carries him through.
Every moment he fights hysteria as questions fill his mind, the
thoughts of what they’re dealing with settling upon him.
Father Johns doesn’t answer right away as he continues to pace
the room.
“I really don’t know,” he says finally, placing his hands back
onto the table. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his golden
pendant, and takes a long gaze.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Vincent asks, settling his
nerves with the hope of a vital role in the coming struggle.
“Yes, there is one thing...remember all that I have said. Sit here.”
Father Johns pulls up an old wooden chair and gestures Vincent
to sit. He places the pendant back into his pocket. “Study these
ancient words, study them carefully. But before I continue, do you
understand what I am asking you to do? Are you willing to sacri-
fice your life?”
The young man looks respectfully at Father Johns and takes a
moment to answer.
“Father, I have devoted my life to the study of our Lord and
will soon join the ranks of the priests such as yourself. I gladly
give my life to fight the beast.”
Father Johns gently reaches over Vincent and begins pointing
out some important facts.
“Here, this is the passage I read to Sarah, ‘My love will redeem
ye from Asylum, but ecstasy be thine and joy of earth. The child
of my loins ye shall protect. Thy mother be of divine nature but
lost, lost to the perils of sin, denouncing the light. These are the
conditions of my love.’ This is how we will win, Vincent. This
passage alone gives us all the information we need.”
“How? I don’t understand,” Vincent states in confusion.
Father Johns stands up straight and continues his gentle pace
around the room. He is submerged in deep thought. He begins to
speak in a low voice that rises steadily as he continues.
“It has to do with Melissa. Listen, ‘Thy mother be of divine
nature but lost, lost to the perils of sin, denouncing the light.’
That’s it! Melissa has somehow denounced God in her mind.”
“Why?” asks Vincent.
“It could be a number of reasons. Maybe she blames God for
her life on the streets. She could have stumbled into a Satanic
group and believed its teachings. Maybe she has become an atheist, maybe she has always been an atheist. I don’t know exactly.
Somehow she has fallen away from the teachings of the Church.”
“But there are many people who have fallen from the Church.
What would make her such a special case?”
“What makes her special is that somehow she has developed a
deep hatred for God. Probably unintentionally caused by a man
or woman of God, another priest perhaps, or a reverend. It would
have to be a parent or someone very close to her. That’s what the
passage means, ‘Thy mother of divine nature but lost.’ She was
raised in the church.”
“That still doesn’t explain why they chose her. There are many
like her.”
“Yes, you are right, Vincent, there are millions like her,” says
Father, reminiscing for a moment on the young man crossing the
street, those eyes of unprovoked hatred gleaming at him.
“He’s a preacher, chill out!”
“I don’t give a fuck!”
Father Johns pauses for a moment, then continues, speaking
softly.
“She just happens to be the one chosen by the beast.”
“Are you okay, Father?” asks Vincent, noticing Father Johns’
drifting gaze.
“I’m fine.” Father Johns pauses, then continues his previous
thought, “You see, we don’t have to defeat the demon within her.
I must equip her with the means to do it herself.”
“Nurse Charles?”
“Montclair Psychiatric Hospital, her name is Deborah Charles,
admitted late May for the murder of two surgeons.”
“Yes, I remember reading about that. Why did she do it?”
“She didn’t.”
“Then who did?” Vincent asks. Father Johns turns slowly, look-
ing away from his inquisitive pupil.
“Melissa,” Father Johns says, leaning against the shabby stone
wall. “But it was not her fault. The beast within her actually
slaughtered those men like animals. I have to convince Melissa
to release her anger, that is what the demon is feeding on, it
is using it against her.” Standing up from his leaning position,
he takes a few breaths and continues, “I have to go back to the
house.”
“It’s almost one o’clock in the morning.”
“It doesn’t matter, I only have two more days,” Father Johns
replies.
“You’re exhausted,” Vincent says, concerned.
“There isn’t much time.” Father Johns coughs and shivers. His
clothes are still damp from the rainstorm.
Vincent places his arm around Father Johns and begins to guide
him out of the room. Father Johns doesn’t resist, allowing the
young man to escort him to one of the sleeping quarters. “You
must rest, you cannot fight in this condition. Here, you can rest in
here.” Vincent opens the thick wooden door and reveals a dusty
room. He reaches upward, pulling a small chain to ignite a low
wattage bulb. Vincent then turns to Father Johns and helps him
out of his damp clothing.
“Can’t have you catching pneumonia. After all, you have a heck
of a weekend ahead of you.” Vincent unbuttons Father Johns’
shirt, then opens his collar. Walking over to a cot located against
the wall, Vincent assists the sluggish priest in sitting down, then
removes his pants. Father Johns tries to help by lifting each of his
weary legs. Like holding his own newborn child, Vincent places
Father Johns’ head onto the thin foam pillow. He then covers the
elder priest with a blue knit blanket he found neatly folded at the
bottom of the bed. “Lie here for a few hours. I’ll get you up.”
Suddenly Father Johns grabs Vincent’s hand before he is able to
stand. The priest’s voice is scratchy and low. He speaks once more
before resting.
“We must stop the rain, before the moon rises Sunday. You
must read the scrolls, you have to know what I know, in case I
fail.” His voice drifts into a soft whisper.
“I understand, Father, now please...get some rest.” Vincent
backs toward the door, kneels down to a small lantern, and lifts
its glass cover. Reaching into a little drawer, he pulls out a box
of matches. He strikes one wooden match and lights the charred
wick. He then replaces the glass cover. Pulling the chain that
looms above his head, he darkens the room. Closing the door, he
takes one more look at Father Johns, who has already drifted to
sleep.