Stimp, the Prophet Man

Violence: Destroyer of worlds

This is episode 8 in a storytelling experiment. Read each episode as a standalone chapter, or start at the beginning.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

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-Recap-

Stimp wakes in the middle of the night to find his backpack gone, stolen by the man in the bed next to him. Furious, he makes his way to the hall, desperate to locate the thief. What he finds is worse. Following a dark figure through the maze of hallways in the building, he stumbles upon Pastor Rob’s office. Behind the door, the sound of someone whimpering. Inside are piles of polaroids, pictures of women and children, names and dates scribbled below.

The pastor shows up, and Phil, his assistant, is not far behind. A struggle to keep the closet shut ensues, but Stimp wins out. Inside is the woman from the cafeteria, the pastor’s next victim. Blood on her forehead, alone in the dark. Stimp realizes that the only way to get out of there alive is to follow the voice of God. Run.

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Violence

How long could he run for? Stimp didn’t know, but the throb in his ribs and the ache in his arms—he was pulling the crying woman—told him time was running out. The footsteps behind had slowed, but he could still make out a pitter patter above the pounding rain. They rounded yet another corner, and the woman stopped, pulled on his sleeve to yank him back.

“What?”

“This way,” she whispered. Her finger held in a shush, hovering shaky above her lips.

He followed. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask her where to go, that maybe she knew the way out. They were sneaking now, Stimp’s breath heavy, a fire growing in his lungs. She turned and he followed, down a different hallway, led by the light emitted in a beam from his palm, white at first, now greenish-yellow.

Lightning flashed at the end of the dark hallway, a window somewhere on the other side. He started to run, ignoring the limp in his walk.

“Come on!” he passed her as he broke into the open high ceilings of the cafeteria, the lobby not far beyond.

When he got to the end where the long benches and tables ended, he turned. She stood unmoving, and looked at him. A strange smile turned the corners of her mouth, and she raised a hand. She was waving goodbye. He went to her, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her on.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“Yes you are,” a voice from the darkness.

Stimp pulled her toward the doors, and she started to cry again. He shined the light of his hand onto the dark figure. It moved slowly through the hallway, anonymous until it stepped into the fading ghoulish light beam. It was Phil, Pastor Rob’s assistant. Stimp backed away and pulled the woman with him.

“Time to go,” he said to her quietly, and she turned to follow, shrinking away from Phil.

“If you step outside, she’ll die.”

Stimp spit on the ground, raised a middle finger, and went down the stairs into the lobby. The night was dark, no moon in sight. Rain pelted against the large windows, the automatic doors. Phil was coming, slowly—too slowly. He was hurt, a gash in his side cut through his T-shirt, a line of dark blood blooming.

“She belongs to him.”

Stimp looked at the woman, her lips trembling, tears rolling down her cheeks. He pulled her head in close, cradling it, a father with his baby girl, then turned away. He walked to the doors, waiting for them to open—they were locked—then turned his head up, and prayed.

“One more time God. Please.”

He stepped up to the glass and knocked. The wind came again, the warmth gone out of it. The high windows above shook, and a strange high-pitched pinging started. Stimp looked up, and watched as a crack appeared, then spider-webbed out to the edges of pane.

Get down—

He ducked, and fell on top of the woman as glass rained down around them. He waited for the inevitable stinging pain, but not one bit touched him. He opened his eyes and watched as Phil fell to his knees, shards of glass raining down like glittering snow. Tiny red circles appeared on his face and neck, grew, then started to drip into his eyes. He closed them and looked up, arms outstretched to heaven. Dark blood trailed out of the side of his mouth.

They could leave now, the remnants of the glass door panes in pieces across the floor. Stimp stumbled to his feet. The rain had stopped, the rumble of thunder quiet in the distance.

You’re in the eye.

Stimp pulled the woman to her feet. She swayed and held onto him.

“Lindy.”

Stimp turned. It was Pastor Rob, standing in the cafeteria. Phil slumped over, a gurgling grunt bubbled out. His breaths were coming fast, the side of him heaving up and down with the effort. The pastor walked to him, his footsteps echoing in the quiet room. Stimp looked down at his hand. The fading light blinked, like a flashlight before the batteries die.

“Awww, now see. Why’d you make me do this?”

The pastor reached Phil and kneeled in behind him. Phil was on his side, a pool of blood around him. He touched him tenderly on the shoulder, then traced a finger in the little round petals of liquid on his neck. He rubbed the warmth between his thumb and forefinger, smiled, then inhaled the sticky sweet. When he pulled his hand away, Stimp could see a smudge of red above his lips. His tongue went to that place, and he stood.

“You’ve had enough of your fun, you and your God. Now, give me what’s mine, and see yourself out.”

Stimp pulled the woman closer, backing into the crunch of glass beneath his shoes.

“Don’t! You can’t take her.”

He sounded desperate. Stimp stepped again in tandem with her, avoiding sharp edges of glass sticking out of the black door frame.

“They all gave themselves to me!” he screamed.

Another step.

“Ready?” he whispered into her hair, his breath warm against her scalp, the salt of her on his lips. She grabbed onto his arm and nodded.

In one motion, he turned, and started to run. The pastor ran too, feet sliding in the broken glass, the hard sole of his shoes squeaking across the linoleum. Stimp didn’t wait to see what happened. He was out, running down the steps, the woman crying at his side.

“Get out of here!” he yelled, “Go!”

He pushed her a little, moving her towards the street, towards freedom.

“He’ll come after me, do you understand?”

Her eyes clouded over, that same catatonic look from dinner. Stimp grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

“Don’t just stand there!”

When he pulled his hands away, they came back black. Charcoal covered his fingers, the cold dead dust of a three day old fire embedded in the dried cracks of his hands. He rubbed his fingers together, then stumbled back.

Lindy’s face changed, the skin withering into ash. A black cloud formed as the wind blew her burnt skin, scattering her into the darkness of the night. Stimp stumbled and fell, sharp searing pain exploded into his insides. Half of her face was dark bone, the right eye socket exposed and blackening as her eyes faded into dust.

Pastor Rob emerged from the homeless shelter, his arms outstretched, smiling.

“I told you. She can’t leave.”

The rest of Lindy’s body wilted until all that remained was a pile of ashy clothes on the ground. Stimp pushed up onto his hands and ran.

“Go to the church,” God said, and he ran across the street towards the old stone building.

“What will I do?”

“You will perform my wonders.”

Stimp ran faster.