Distortion

January 23, 2010
A shrill screeching noise pierces the night sky. A wall of orbs made of a sickly blue light gather around a writhing mass strapped to a steel table. A hooded Creature stands in the center of the screeching light spheres, brandishing a crimson blade to the body's stomach. It makes an incision right above the navel. "Vashim vi sheish," It bellows. The light spheres begin to circle around the unconscious body. The Thing begins writing on the body like a legal pad, the steel a red pen. The spheres create a vortex of light around the cadaver, siphoning more and more blood with each revolution. The Creature reveals a small jade needle in the shape of a green dragon from the confines of Its cloak. The orbs begin to excrete a fluorescent thread into the needle. "Vashim ve belaruch," it murmurs as it begins to stitch the remains of the body's eyes shut.
There is a small crunching of leaves nearby, followed by a faint splash. The sounds of the night steadily drown in a boy's flight for freedom.

It is a room an unimaginative playwright might describe: white walls, a generic tiled floor, a single flickering fluorescent light, and a small hospitable bed in the corner. A frail teenage boy with disheveled bronze hair lies in a slumber not even the dead will awake from. The bandages wrapped around his arms and legs are dotted with bright scarlet. It is as if someone has commandeered his spiritual self, leaving his physical one to slowly deteriorate.




A slender strawberry-blonde enters the room. Her green eyes take a quick scan of the boy's condition. A lean man in a cheap suit is close at her heels. His black Nikes leave a trail of faint squeaks behind him.
"So this is the body that washed up on the shore of Lake Herring, eh?" he asks with a jarring casualty
"So it seems," she sighs while reaching for the chart hanging off the bed frame.
"Hello David. I'm detective Henley, and this is my partner, detective Buell-"
"What's talking to him going to do? Talking to a cucumber won't make it come to life. Sheesh, Henley; I know it's probably impossible, but please try to act like a sane individual in public." He rolls his eyes.
"The doctor that called the police said that there are hundreds of strange symbols etched into his skin," he says as he reaches for the bandages. "Did the psycho run out of paper or something?"
"Bueller, don't!" Henley gasps.
"Relax; he's out of it, remember?" he utters in a sardonic tone, peeling off the gauze. They both inhale sharply at the foreign calligraphy drawn onto his skin.
"What in the name?" he whispers in a mystified trance, tracing the cuts with his gloved forefinger.
"What are you doing?!" She screams, grabbing his wrists.
Suddenly David's fragile skeleton jolts forward, the act causing a series of cracking noises, his face suddenly alight. He reaches his hand towards detective Beuller's face. He flinches at the touch. Suddenly the lights vanish. There is a strange fog building from the center of the room. As it dissipates, an aerial view of Lake Herring appears. There is a small log cabin several meters behind the lake. Several hooded individuals are crowded around a flat stone. A black heap of cloth is lying face down on the rock. It is moving. The earth starts to quake and a low chanting erupts from the faceless cloaks, "Vishnu va alcheim belaruch hara Orion! Vishnu va-" The earthquake becomes more violent; the chanting crescendos into a mournful requiem. The ground begins to split and a pungent yellow gas seeps from the depths below. A blood curdling scream erupts from the black mass, suddenly silencing the cacophony. Another masked Being rises from the depths of Hades’ Lair, sulphuric gas rolling off of his back like the steam of quelled embers. A scabbed hand emerges from the cloak, a bony forefinger meandering around the hilt of an emerald sword; the other around forsakened black cloth. The crowd of cloaks begins to chant another verse of the dismal requiem. Louder, louder they croon. Smaller, smaller the heap shrinks. A scabbed hand is raised in the air. The other is drawn to Its mask. It pulls. They follow. Long, jagged scars are plastered from their jaw to hairline. Most are missing eyes. Some lips and ears. Postules of pus decorate the void. The infidel rips the cloth off. The crowd jeers. A small boy with red curly hair is writhing on the flat surface, his body covered in intricate calligraphy of an unknown language, painted in bright crimson. A dark red liquid is dripping off of the rock. Silence. The sword is lifted above the creature's head, its green hue mirroring the blood lust in the eyes of Its spectators. The boy begins convulsing, his eyes a white storm. There is a flash of metal; the boy is still.
The fog begins to thin. The white room reappears, a dark crimson liquid begins to drench the bandages. The survivor grabs the detective's hands.
"Please, there is still time. Save our Souls."
His body starts contorting, his eyes roll in the back of his head. Suddenly, he is limp. The doors burst open and a parade of modern medical miracle workers comes in.
"What happened?" a doctor asks.
"I, I don't know. The room started to spin, and then we were at the lake; there was another boy strapped to a table… Oh God, is he going to be okay?" Henley screams on the edge of hysteria.
"Please step aside, ma'am," the doctor states, avoiding eye contact.
"What time is it?" Bueller barks.
"We just killed someone and you want to know what time it is?" she exasperates.
"The moon reflected from the lake was east; it must've been at dusk. If we hurry, we can stop them from murdering their next victim." Bueller explains.

"'Vishnu va alcheim belaruch hara orion,' means hail orion, the giver of life and reaper of souls in Latin." Henley states without taking her eyes off the road. "I was a Latin minor in college."
"Does it really? Wow! You do have a brain. All you need is a heart, and you'll be a fully functioning human being! Who says you need an attractive personality to function?" He teases. She glares as the car lulls to a stop in front of an abandoned log cabin.
They seemed to have stepped into a distant era; the trees, grass, and wildlife are completely untouched. A deer skitters through the clearing, splashing into a pool of water. A soft breeze caresses the newly discovered Eden, splitting the cat-tails like a shaky kindergartner's safety scissors, revealing a lake carved out of glass. The setting sun and several perfectly crafted nimbus are painted across the water's surface. There is a rustling noise coming from behind the cabin. A hooded man passes in front of the cabin window.
Bueller ran to the door, Henley following at his heels. She steps aside as he kicks the door in. There is a flash of light, followed by a shrill shrieking noise.
"It's coming from the cellar!" Henley wails. Bueller barges through the cellar door. BANG! A flash of light from behind him.
"I missed!" she mutters. A blood curdling scream is bellowed from the depths below, followed by a muffled voice. BOOM! “He's got a gun!" Henley screams, knocking Bueller out of the way. BOOM! Another flash. Henley charges down the stairs, firing at Them. They crumple to the ground. "HELP!" She turns her attention to a surgical table in the center of the room, a boy strapped to it. A polished scalpel poised in mid-air. The boy's chest is exposed, pools of scarlet leaking onto the cement floor. "Behind you! he screams.
Henley ducks, a flash of metal neatly cutting a lock of her bangs.
"You shall pay for your insolence" the Creature roars as he takes another stab. A streak of blood is exposed on her blouse. She falls. The masked figure has her pinned to the ground. "You pompous swine!" he roars in a musky tenor. "Did you honestly believe that we were to be caught with our hands behind our head, waiting for you to throw us into a holding cell? We knew you were coming. All of us." Several blazing orbs floated into the room, casting the dismal cellar in a ghostly glow. The orbs all stopped in a perfect horseshoe behind their Leader. "Come, my children; show them how we play!"
The spheres start to rotate. A gleaming spark erupts from the center of the horseshoe; abruptly leaving a menacing doorway in its wake. There are thousands of bodiless faces hovering at the entrance. The faces are disfigured: thin white scars pollute their features. Several are missing eyes, their sockets black holes of nothingness. Some have completely removed their lips, leaving a row of daggers to hide their tongue.
"Join us!" the restless souls are saying in an eerie melancholic chord not meant for human ears. "Join the brotherhood!"
Henley reaches for her gun; CLICK, CLICK. "Gah!" she gasps.
"Bela Hashuva!" the thing hisses. The demonic spirits surge upon the defenseless detective in a tide of destruction. There is another resounding BOOM! The hooded creature falls to the ground.
"Orion!" the demonic souls wail in another dreary chord.
Seconds swell in what seems like decades, each tick bringing forth their eminent death. Mind and soul hangs on the edge of truth. Is this how it ends?
"Foolish mortal! No manmade device can slay the Reaper!" it bellows as it springs into flight. There is a flash of metal. The thing's head falls to the ground.
"Idiot." Bueller moans as he drops the sword. There is another brilliant flash of light, followed by a symphony of distorted pleas for help. Hell's gates are beginning to close.
"Vishnu va alcheim belaruch hara Orion!" the ghastly cries resonates through the closing hole. A siren beckons in the distance

"Henley, we did it." Bueller whispers as he kneels at her side. No reply. Detective Bueller begins weeping as he holds her limp body in his arms. A small ball of purple light drifts in his direction. "I know." It chimes.





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