I Am Here To Save YouA few years ago, I dare not say when nor where, I was witness to an event of, to under exaggeate, epic, nay, biblical proportions. The name I have posted on this page, Reverand Doctor Syn, does not lie, for I am both a reverand and doctor, though my true name has been changed for my own sake.
To begin my tale, let me take you to my church, well, former church. It was there that I spent most my day, writing sermons, reading through the Bible, such normal activities. I know it was around midnight, and I had fallen asleep on one of the pews, for I´d been working late and had taken a break to admire the stained glass. As I slept, I had vivid dreams of deamons and angels, and they tore me apart, the deamons and the angels together. They watched me bleed as I was cut by the claws of the deamons, and the angels throttled me as I tried to scream for the lord.
I watched in horror as the ground, once earth, turned into rock, and it split, revealing a white light shining below it, from which rose more angels, this time with swords. I expected salvation from them, for them to smite the deamons and, perhaps, the cursed angels, whose feathered wings turned black and leathery. But nay, the angels looked at my suffering, and they thrust their swords deep into my chest, and all I could see was black.
I awoke, feeling a pain in my throat and chest, and lo, there were gashes, and blood covered the floor. Perhaps, I though to myself, perhaps I have been attacked in the night, and the dreams were a side effect of the assult. But, I felt the floor, and it had been turned to rock, and I saw one of the swords lying beside me.
What is this, have I been forsaken by the lord, or is this a trick of the devil?
And, as if to answer, when I looked up, there was Jesus, not the mural of him that was on the wall, but a full figure, a man. He was haggared, and had the nails still embedded in him, the wreath still upon his brow. He was holding a copy of the bible in one hand, a knife in the other.
And he spoke. His lips did not move, but his voice echoed throughout the chruch, it could be heard from all sides. He told me, and his exact words cannot be quoted, for he did not speak any tongue known to this world, but I understood him, he spoke of years in torment from the lord, years of pain and suffering, for he died to save us, and the Lord never intended for us to be saved, eternal suffering and damnation were part of the plan, and when Jesus died for our sins, he broke the plan. The mighty Lord knew not of the death of his sone for decades, until he looked into the lack of damnation to the sinners. He found out what his son had done, and spent two millenia torturing Jesus, tearing the flesh from his body, warping him into some unrecognizable beast.
And as he said it, he began to shift. Slightly, so I did not notice until a few minutes had passed,that he was changing. His new shape had begun to loose it´s muscle and flesh, and his lips withered away, exposing broken and yellowed teeth, and one of his eyes dissapeared somewhere into his skull, and his other eye turned blind, and his hair began to fall out. He grew dark, and his skin turned a deep, pure, black, and his blind eye was like a light in the dark. And the bible in his hand began to burn without flames, and the sword began to twist and turn the color of his skin.
He continued with his story, and while normally I would not have heard a thing he said (I was a bit preoccupied with his features)for some reason his voice pirced my thoughts. He spoke of besting the Lord, and smiting him. He said that the lord wasn´t to return for centuries, and that because he had died for our sins, and then suffered for our sins, that it was our turn to suffer for his sins... and that he was going to finish us for all time... he had warped the angels and bested Satan for the deamons, and that they were going to help his take over.
I began to process what he was saying, when I realized my wounds were still open and bleeding. I began to grow faint, and I saw a look of pity on his face, and for just a brief, fleeting second, his face began to shift back to what it´d looked like before, and I saw the cheeks swell with muscle and flesh underneath them, and the skin color began to turn back to a pale tan, and my wounds closed up, free of pain. But as soon as the transformation had begun, it warped back, and my chest burst into pain, and blood sprayed from body, and he lashed at my face.
And as he did, the curch began to shake, and the ciling began to fall, with huge pieces that would have killed a normal man crushing against him. And then the wall behind him fell, but as it did, the huge cross that was put up on it fell directly on top of him, and unlike everything else, it crushed him, spraying me with black blood and its of flesh.
As soon as he was fallen, the church stopped. I´d found his weakness though, the same thing that´d killed him once had done it again. I grabbed the sword, the sword that´d been beside me when I´d awoken, and took flight from the chruch, ignoring the searing pain all over my body.
I woke in a hospital, bandages covering my body. The bandages were bloody, and I assumed that the morning I woke was the morning after the encounter with Him. However, as I learned from the nurse who was by my bed, I´d been in a coma for years, and my wounds reopened every night.
I left the hospital that day, taking the sword, which´d been by my bedside, and headed to the church. I saw, to my horror, that the church had been re-erected, and that people were attending. I rushed in to see who was the Precher, and lo, there He was. I heard the voice again, rebounding around the whole curch, and he didn´t move his mouth, which had no lips, and he looked straight at me with his blind eye. And, right in the middle of the sermon, he began laughing. Laughing with such a sinister laugh I nearly screamed from the vileness of it all. And the people, it must have been sunday, just looked on, not noticing anything strange. Only the children began crying, and I saw their eyes wide, but the adults, the adults looked on with eyes of black. Not sockets, mind you, but eyes that looked like oil, and they just looked on.
Now even I don´t believe everything I saw. I realize that in order to see what I saw I must have been stark raving mad, but as I go over what I felt and heard and saw, I cannot tell myself that I did not see Him. He was real, and that´s why I must tell you... carry a cross as a favor to yourself. Go nowhere near churches, and stay clear of anything to do with him.
I must go now, time is running short, but I leave you with this. Heed my warnings, even if you don´t believe me.
Rev. Dr. Syn.