Abaddon’s Apocrypha by MC Jeffrey.

Abaddon’s Apocrypha.

Prologue by MC Jeffrey

El Giza Egypt 1884.

The Somnambulist surveyed the sepulchre. Torches lit the  four corners of the large tomb in which they were seated, the flames causing the shadows to dance on the walls ominously, un-nerving the tall mute. The room was decorated in gold, deep reds and blues, in front of them a large stone altar draped in black Egyptian cotton with a ominous ceremonial  gold candle stick on the left and gold jewelled dagger in the centre.

Mathers was becoming impatient, the Somnambulist observed. He knew how this was going to play out, and he knew he had little control in stopping it. This was the seventh sitting;  the last one was just like this one and the outcome had been the same in the previous six. It was futile to resist the inevitable he mused.

A door at the rear of the altar opened and two large men entered followed by a thin old woman. The men (both) hairless, large and muscular were dressed in the style of the old Egyptian style oiled bare chests, white skirts with black belts, both with large crescent blades in scabards. The small thin woman dressed in a ceremonial black and gold silk, her face shrouded with a black veil.

The woman spoke first her voice seemed to fill the room, the power and tone of her voice palpable so that it was impossible to remove one’s eyes from her diminutive form.

“I am En Shalah el Sabur, the Shadow Priestess. I am told you Samuel Mathers wish to see into the shadows for the knowledge of what has come to pass, the now and what shall be. I warn you, you may not like what you see, but so be it.”

The woman removed a copper scroll from under her robes, unrolled it and began to chant in her mother tongue. The room seemed to darken the shadows seemingly enveloping around them. Within seconds the Somnambulist could no longer see the woman or the two men at each side of her. Slowly his eyes grew more accustomed to the dark and the shadows morphed into something else. He was no longer in the sepulchre but in a large dark room, his heart beating heavy in his chest the sound also filling the room, BADUM BADUM on and on deafening ever louder as the crescendo built.

The Somnambulist walked further into the room. He was alone.  At the end of the room was a door. On entering the next room, he was greeted by the sight of a man bound to an x shaped cross, his skin shredded with lacerations.  Beside him, a grotesque homunculus lashed him with a whip, the dwarf’s features twisted and contorted in a visage so unsettling the Somnambulist had to remove his gaze. The words formed in the mute’s mouth before he realised he spoke them.  Unsettled by hearing his own voice for what seemed like an eternity, the mute stared at the tortured man and asked “who-who are you?” The man on the cross looked at him with tears and pity in his eyes and although his lips did not move he answered “I am you, and you are me, we are legion.”

The Somnambulist hurriedly left the room entering another to the right away from the tortured man, BADUM BADUM…….. BADUM BADUM, the pulsating heart beat faster.   The next room exited into a dark corridor leading to another door at the end.  As he walked through the corridor, it felt as if it was closing in on him. Hands appeared to come out of the ether at each side of him, hundreds of bony hands grabbing at him. The Somnambulist forced himself through the door at the end into another room. BADUM BADUM……. BADUM BADUM.

In the centre of the room was a table, in which upon it lay a woman in the throes of childbirth, her contractions hastening and intensifying as the seconds passed. Her cries of pain barely audible over the BADUM BADUM of the heart beat. As he approached the table he realised the woman was not clothed and was naked but was flayed, her sinew and muscles visible to him, blood glistening and her insides moving together with each contraction.  A head appeared as she pushed and then with one last almighty push, the child came away from her.  Horrified, the Somnambulist looked at the birth, the mewling cries of a baby coming from the jaws of the  jackal pup head on a child’s body which was still attached to the umbilical cord.

He turned his head away from the horror before him and retched vomiting onto the floor of the room. As he looked back at the table, the woman was on her feet making her way towards him, bloody footprints marking her path her after birth soiling the floor as she came. She pulled the jackal baby hybrid behind her as she proceeded to stand in front of him, her arms immediately embracing him in a strong grip, forcing his mouth to hers as she kissed him with that lipless mouth, the child yapping and crying alternately at her feet.

The Somnambulist struggled to free himself from her embrace, his heart racing with panic BADUM BADUM BADUM BADUM.  As he pulled away from the woman, her black malevolent eyes stared deep into his,  the fear seeming to take root inside him spreading through his body and seemed to encase his heart, BAAAAAADUM BAAAAAAADUM BAAADUM………Then nothing.  The sound stopped as the pain seared through him.

The sound of a gun shot snapped the Somnambulist back to reality. The bare chested Egyptian to the right of the priestess crumpled to the ground as the bullet slammed into his forehead.  The one to the left immediately pulled out his large ornate scimitar but the Somnambulist was on him, snapping his neck in his strong arms. Mather dropped the gun screaming at the mute to finish things. The tall servant quickly grabbed the ceremonial dagger from the altar and set upon the priestess who stood frozen in shock behind the altar. Holding her in a vice-like grip, he brought the blade across her throat, opening it up as the spray of blood from her carotid artery covered the walls as she fell. The Somnambulist quickly gathered up the remaining artifacts- the copper scroll, candlestick and the bloody dagger he had only just used to slice open the priestess, and placed them in a bag before exiting the sepulchre.  As he left he could sworn he heard that voice in his head, “we are legion.”

And so it had begun and ended as so many times before on their journey, Mathers got what he came for leaving a trail of death behind him.

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6 Responses to “Abaddon’s Apocrypha by MC Jeffrey.”

  1. Fab, makes you want to keep reading! Xx

  2. Good work bro, keep it up

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