THE DEVIL CONCEALED

THE DEVILS WE BECOME

WINTER,1976

The rhythmic sound of metal scraping against stone could be heard over the wind whipping through the trees, howling like a wounded animal. Fire crackled in an iron stove, warding off the biting cold. A number of tools for dissecting big game hung from walls on rusted nails and hooks. In the center of the small wood structure, wrapped in a heavy wool sack, hung the latest hunt, ready to be killed and butchered. This was the place that Ishmael, the father of ten year old Judah, and seven year old Enoch, took their bounty.
"Since the beginning of time, the battle of good and evil has been waged in our world," Ishmael said from the shadows, scraping his blade against stone. "It is our duty, as Children of the Most High, to continue the fight of righteousness." Judah, the older of the two boys, watched as the sackcloth began to move, causing it to swing slightly on its hook. He and his father had been hunting many times. He fully understood the importance of what was about to happen. Only a year prior, he made his first kill, and became a soldier in the Army of the Most High. They were the Lions of Judah; those who would protect the children of God. This was their lot... their birthright. He looked to Enoch, who sat listening attentively to every word their father spoke. Today was his younger brother's becoming.
Enoch witnessed precious sacrifices made by his father and brother, and was also present for Judah's first kill. Yet, today was his first time partaking in the actual hunt. He had yearned for the day to make his own kill, and be accepted as a soldier. In the short years he had lived, his father had prepared him for this very moment. "The doctrine that man has rooted their lives within has been corrupted by those who wish to destroy what God has created," Ishmael continued. "The enemy lurks about, seeking to corrupt, persecute, and devour the children of God. And by doing so, destroy all righteousness here on Earth. We are those that the Lord has ordained to uphold His mighty word, and preserve His promise of retribution and vengeance upon evil."
Enoch's heart began to beat faster. Ishmael stepped from the shadows, illuminated by two dimly lit oil lamps that burned inside the dank, musty shed. The shadows cast against the wall played tricks with his mind. Flickering flames from the stove and lamps danced to Ishmael's words, as if they were alive themselves. To the boys, the large man, standing six-foot-four, two-hundred-fifty pounds, seemed as big as God. Looking down at Enoch, Ishmael continued his ministry. "It is our duty to cleave away the branches of unrighteousness that have grown from the Tree of life, that God has given to us. The wicked shall not prevail, because God has so ordained it, and ordained us, to ensure that his Word is valid. The Word cannot be broken. The Word promised the meek shall I heritage the Earth. For the Word to ring true, the wicked must be removed from this land."
Enoch stared up at his father in reverence, eager to hear the words that his brother had heard only a short time passed. Ishmael's dark beard, cast in shadow, appeared otherworldly to the children. An Angel of Vengeance.
"Do you vow your life to become a soldier for God, Enoch?" Ishmael's deep voice filled the shed.
"Yes," Enoch's tiny voice earnestly replied.
"From this day forward, do you give your life for the cause of righteousness, to be the protector of the righteous, and the blade of the Most High? To merit justice in His name?"
Again, Enoch said, "Yes." The sack began to move again, capturing their attention. A muffled grunt came from within. Ishmael landed a powerful blow to its side, forcing out a gutteral screech which reverberated though the small shed. He waited until the sack was again still, before turning back to Enoch, handing him a freshly stoned blade.
"Please know this boy," Ishmael began again, delivering his warped sermon. "Today, you will be given this beast to sacrifice in the name of God. For we must know that blood begets blood; and the only way that sin can be washed away is through blood and sacrifice."
Enoch shook his head in understanding. He tightly gripped the handle of the knife, which was stoned razor sharp. Though he had anticipated this day, his tiny hands were slick with nervous sweat from what he was to do. Nervousness not born of the act, but of doing it as cleanly as his father had taught him.
Ishmael sensed his son's apprehension. "Fear not, boy. You have been chosen, and God makes no mistakes. You are prepared. Today is your day. Now is your time." A yellow tabby cat appeared like an apparition, gingerly leaping onto a shelf across the shed. Its name was Jasper, Enoch's pet and best friend. 'This is a sign', Enoch thought as he stared at the feline. His confidence grew and his nerves calmed. Jasper sat, purring pleasantly at the scene before him. He too had been in the shed many days of sacrifice.
"Come boy," Ishmael, who was standing next to the sack that held their prey, snapped Enoch from his thoughts. "In your hands, the Most High has given you the path to justice, and righteousness. What God has given, let no man take away."
The boys watched as Ishmael removed the sack, and Enoch looked into the eyes of his first kill. Blue eyes stared back, partially obscured by long blonde hair. A woman, both feet and hands bound, nude and terrified, stared back at her captures. Her eyes tried desperately to adjust to the obscure lighting of the shed. She had listened with dread at Ishmael's speech, as he prepared the young boy for what was to come. A gag muffled her attempted screams. She looked around frantically, searching for some means of escape, but saw none. The details of where she was began to register upon recognizing the tools on the walls. A crude table stained with what she could only surmise as blood, sent a shockwave of fear through her being. Her sights locked on to a lone window. Through it, she saw a glimpse of unrecognizable woods. Not wanting the musty shed to be her last vision, she stared out at the snow covered trees, until the older of the two boys spoke, bringing her attention back inside.
"Go 'head Noch," Judah urged, eager for his brother's initiation. "The Lord 'waits her soul."
Fear gripped her tighter, seeing whom her captors were, and why they had abducted and planned to kill her. She, again, struggled desperately; a futile attempt at a last effort to survive. Jerking herself around, trying to release herself from the hook, she gave a great fight. Her wrist hurt from the rope digging into flesh. Eventually, she hung limp, her feet mere inches from a large tin tub beneath her, on the dirty floor. Enoch stepped forward, blade in hand. The woman kicked violently with her bound feet, but the boy dodged with catlike agility. A sudden, blinding pain enveloped her as Ishmael slammed his fist into her rib cage, splitting bone from bone. The blow forced the air from her lungs, nearly causing her to pass out. Another blow damaged more ribs, a muffled cry escaping.
Ishmael removed the woman from the hook, and prepared her for sacrifice. Judah slid the tin tub over to the table, where Ishmael roughly placed their quarry. Her head hung from the edge of the table exposing her throat.
Pinpoints of light flashed before her. She lay motionless, unable to breathe without pain ravaging her broken body. Weakened from a lack of nourishment for some days, coupled with abuse, she could no longer fight.
"Now, boy," Ishmael said. "It is time." Enoch looked at Jasper, who still sat watching from the shelf, then went to stand before the woman. Her ocean eyes stared into Enoch's dark iris', pleading for mercy. There was none. She closed them, weary and praying for salvation from the deadly position she had been placed in. Her eyes then blew open when she felt the blade slice smoothly from one ear, over her throat and to the other. Her body convulsed, as she instinctively fought to live. She hear her own blood patter into the tub beneath her, and gargling as she choked.
The three captors stood around her, hand in hand, reciting a familiar prayer:
"Our father, who art in heaven.
Hallowed be thy name, Thy Kingdom come,
Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven..."
She found herself saying the words of the prayer; a macarbe spiritual as she prepared to meet her Creator. The same Creator that her killers were praying to. Prayer completed, and her life fading with each beat of the heart, she glanced back towards the window, watching as giant flakes fell from grey skies.
For the first time she noticed the cat perched upon the shelf. Its tail swayed back and forth. It glared lazily, as if accustomed to such a sight. It was as the feline anticipated her demise. Though she could hear it purr, she knew it did. Before death took her, a final image was seared into her soul: the cat smiling happily.

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