Sunday 24 April 2011

Worship and Ruin

My fingers twitch.

But... I’m not the one doing it. I just watch them, helpless, fascinated.

Twitch, twitch, twitch.

I no longer have the will to move my own limbs; just look on as something invades me from the fingertips. My palms are still pressed together in prayer. I want to run but I cannot even make myself stand.

I watch my fingers wrap past themselves and my hands clasp each other, gripping tightly. I feel a pressure building. Some part of me is fighting; some element of my subconscious rejects this, pushes my hands together, tries to keep this foreign thing from moving beyond them.

It fails.

My hands explode apart with a force that levers me backwards. Had I not already been on my knees I would have crashed to the stone floor on my back. Instead I face the ceiling for a moment, arms outstretched as if I am beseeching the heavens.

My arms twitch now. They flex of their own accord. No, of some other thing’s accord; some other being’s intent. My own hands reach for my neck. Gripping. Tightening. Squeezing.

I choke. I am beyond affecting anything, but my body spasms, fighting on, gasping.

A shudder goes through me. My body slews sideways limply. I drift, cast loose.

I feel detached, emotionally and physically. It is strange, looking at my corporeal self like this, from the outside. I look mirrored, when of course I have only ever seen my mirrored self. This is what I really look like, how everyone else sees me, my Elise and little Cam-cam.

I watch myself stand. I, my body, reaches out and steadies itself on the altar. Whatever is in me is not used to a human form. It strokes the cracked onyx of the altar and smiles a wicked smile. I don’t like that smile, there is no warmth in it; I fear that smile, I don’t think my face ever looked like that before, so ugly.

I watch my body walk away, across the broken stone and through the doorway. I try to follow, but I feel dazed and so very tired. Something stops me short. I look back and see a dark chain linking me to the altar; it seems made of curling, black smoke with flickering red veins. I test it, but I know it is unbreakable; it was forged to hold a far worse thing than me.

I do not feel the urgency I expect to. Maybe that is a part of this place, part of these chains, or maybe passions flow in the blood, the body, and I have neither anymore. I do feel an ache for Elise, I would warn her, but how can I?

This church was not the place I was promised. I may never know whether I was deceived or whether I simply lost my way in the woods. I lie down on the cold stone; I can still feel that, at least. I look up past the skeletal roof beams to the pearly moon and I wonder if perhaps who you worship is not as important as where you worship... or what may answer.


  1. Love this one. Love all of them, but this one in particular - it was quite captivating. Especially the line "The church was not the place I was promised". I wonder how many people can identify with that? Ok, maybe not through reason directly related to demonic possession, but still. *like*

  2. Those chains are strong, doesn't matter what entity they were created by, I guess you can't physically break something that isn't human made... Another wonderful post... hope you have a Happy Easter & this story wasn't the result of a recent event :/

  3. Thanks, Daisy. ;)
    I should think there are reasons at least tangentially related to demons, or the Devil, isn't that the point? ;)

    Thank you, Shelle, and no need to worry, it's all in my head...

    (had a great Easter, btw, the bits I wasn't working)

  4. I like the question that lingers of where you worship being more important than who you worship. Disturbing images you've dredged in this story.

  5. Thanks Aidan, that's good to hear, I liked the ending but I was worried about its lack of kick, glad you liked it too. =)

  6. Oh, this had plenty of kick! I might personally disagree with the MC's thought about where you worship being more important, but this was well done and captured the moment as tightly as the MC. I hope he can break free and warn his family (or the world?) somehow.

  7. It's dangerous to be alone. And here's a reason why.

  8. Thanks FAR, I think maybe he's just wishing he had chosen some other place...

    You're right, Raven, there are too many reasons to count. A lotta ways in a lotta worlds things can go bad for you... (great for us writers of course... ;) )

  9. What may answer... there lies the horror within.

    I think our MC is going to have plenty of time to ponder his folly.

  10. I think he might, Steve. Thanks for commenting. =)

  11. I liked that creeping possession and his out of body observation of it as it happened, starting with his position of prayer. Great feeling of 'oh dear what's going to happen next'. Nothing good, I'd warrant. Well written. St.

  12. Thanks, Stephen. I feel quite sorry for the world outside the church... I think the protagonist may have not got such a bad deal, in all...