Archive for October, 2013

Damned-Nation, Prologue Part 1.

Posted in Uncategorized on October 12, 2013 by mcjeffrey

 How it started.
30.10.13 Roslin Midlothian Scotland 22.53hrs.

Father Connell opened the doors of the Chapel and stepped outside, fumbling around in his coat pocket he found his Benson and Hedges cigarettes and his ‘Jesus loves you’ Zippo lighter his sister had bought him for his previous birthday. Lighting his cigarette he took a long hard draw, taking the smoke deep down into his lungs then exhaling. his only vice was his cigarettes and even for the lord he would not give them up.
He turned to face the large oak doors, fishing the iron key from his other coat pocket, he was done for the night, and it was time to lock up, get something to eat and watch some television.
Father Connell had been at Roslyn Chapel now for 18 months, the Edinburgh Diocese having headhunted him away from York to minister the community of Roslin, selling him on the idyllic countryside and peaceful lifestyle. Hah, yeah, right. Due to the Dan Brown’s DaVinci Code followers, Roslyn was far from peaceful and idyllic these days, with people coming from all over the world to visit this ancient mid-15th century chapel, which in itself had a divine rich history with its founding Sinclair family, but as far as he knew didn’t have any links to Jesus (as if), but they bought money into the chapel and every little helped.
Setting the sturdy iron key in the lock, the clergeyman was about to turn the key when he heard a noise to his right. Sighing, thinking that it was another tourist he turned ready to reprimand them for their visit at such a late hour.
As he turned his assailant brought the wooden club down on his head instantly sending him sprawling to the ground in an unconscious heap.

Groggily coming round, the Priest was initially unaware of his surroundings. Everything seemed topsy turvey and not quite right. It took him a few moments to realise he was in fact upside down and bound to something wooden. Straining his head round to get his bearings, it seemed he was tied to what appeared to be an inverted crucifix. The blood went cold in his veins as he came to grips with his predicament.
He was centre stage in the main hall of the Chapel, the hall lit with hundreds of candles. Father Connell’s head hurt the more he strained. He was unsure of the time and how long he had been unconscious. What had happened to him and who exactly was responsible?
Panic was now raging through him as he struggled against his binds to no avail. Then he heard them, at first it was hushed murmurs. a kind of deep monotonous chanting. As slowly as he saw the un shod bare feet of at least ten or eleven persons enter the hall and stand semi-circle around him, the Father again strained his head upwards so as to take in his captors, although unable to see them all, the ones he did see were dressed from head to toe in crimson hooded robes. One of the robed “monks” (as that is what he felt they resembled,) broke from the others, carrying a large black candle. He bent in front of the holy man, looking into his eyes mockingly, setting his candle to the floor beside the Father’s head he ignited the ground, a small flame spreading along a predetermined path until it reached its zenith, horrified the godly Father realised he was at the centre of a large flaming pentagram, the monks at the outside with he and chief monk smack in the middle.
The chief monk began to chant,
“Pater noster tenebris, ad fores regni tui, quaesumus, tibi nos tibi hic canis: et sanguis ejus sit amet Dei, no tibi. Padris ad nos venit Satanis.”
As the chief monk finished, the dozen or so other monks, repeated the last line over and over “Padris ad nos venit Satanis”. Admittedly the Father’s Latin was not good but he knew ‘Satanis’ meant Satan. Fear engulfed him and the godly Father pleaded with his tormentors but no one answered. He for the first time seriously began to fear for his life, the air becoming increasingly fetid and oppressive, Father Connell began to find it more and more difficult to breathe, the heat from the burning pentagram around him, more and more unbearable and intense, the floor seemed to shimmer below him, as if it was coming in and out of focus, the air crackled and fizzed around them as the electrons became charged.
Father Connell felt a pounding in his head, at first putting it down to his concussion, he realised that it was coming from below him. The floor to the Chapel cracked and the pounding continued, the man of god sensing impending evil, tore against the ropes tying him to the inverted crucifix. Whatever was happening was wrong and ungodly. The stench of brimstone and sulpher assaulted his nostrils. He had to flee this infernal ceremony for God’s sake, for his sake. The chief monk, knelt beside him, a comforting hand placed upon him he whispered to the Father,
“Your god has forsaken you.” As he uttered the words, he drew out a dagger, dragging it from left to right across the Father’s throat, severing the carotid artery.
As his life blood seeped from him, the Father prayed, but the realisation that this day his prayers would not be answered, chilled him to the core, and as he slipped into his final sleep, he became aware that as his blood seeped from him onto the ground below it followed the flamed path of the pentagram, creating its own satanic shape in its sted. The floor then pitched, intense light burst through the foundations, a low guttural growl emanated from below him. Within seconds the beast burst through the ground, a dark heinous monstrous thing of nightmares then the floor gave way and he was falling, and as he fell he burned. He could hear the panicked cries of pain from above him. He fell to eternal damnation, satisfied that those who tormented him would soon be joining him.


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