Chapter One
Wednesday night. It was raining. William Fink had just wrapped up an episode of his biweekly podcast and was feeling mighty accomplished.
Fink was a self proclaimed pastor, often bordering on self proclaimed messiah, who felt it was his calling to preach... well, no one would call it "the" word, but what Fink convinced himself was the word.
Through a copy of the Old Testament published in Hebrew, a Hebrew to English dictionary/thesaurus, and an amount of free time no employed man could have, Fink has been able to rewrite much of the bible to fit his own warped philosophy. A philosophy born of melange of anger and unwarranted self-importance. By disregarding the New Testament and liberally rewriting much of the old, Fink was able to latch himself to the fringe "Christian-Identity" movement who contrary to their name were only marginally Christian and had as firm a grip on their identity as your average schizophrenic.
Fink preached the Jews were not really humans but the hybrid offspring of sinful humans and fallen angels. The same was said of everyone not falling into Fink's narrow yet fuzzy definition of "the pure white races."
There was no denying that it was message of hate he preached and so Fink embraced that. By being one of the least lenient CI preachers he was able to attract a loyal hardcore following to his podcast. A few dozen listeners just as angry but not as creative that would put down their copy of mein kampf twice each week to here Fink's podcast.
The minuscule amount of influence immediately went to his head. He began pronouncing sentences of damnation for any disagreement with his vision or any perceived slight.
To the outside observer this sad deluded man was of little note outside of the freak show quality that some of his more lowbrow listeners liked to laugh at. That assessment would change the night They arrived.
Fink stood up from his desk and stretched. His every increasing gut jutted out the bottom of his threadbare polo shirt. With a loud belch he contemplated getting himself into shape as he so often advised his listeners. He truly believed the his god, whom he insisted would only answer to Yahweh, would call the handful of people that believe the things Fink preached to take up arms and slaughter everyone else. Naturally his people would need to be in peak physical condition.
Upon reflection Fink shook his head and proceeded to pick up his half eaten bag of Doritos. "Yahweh will want me to be a general," he thought. As long as he kept his mind free of weaknesses like mercy, he should be fine. Passing judgement and commanding from the rear is much more important.
Just as he was about wipe the crumbs from is scraggly mustache, put on some interracial porn (one of his many, yet infinitely pardonable, vices), and pull out his well worn Hebrew to English dictionary/thesaurus for another night of hard work when the queerest sound startled him. A splintering of wet wood accompanied but a brief but potent burst of wind. It shuddered his windows.
Fink struggled to his feet again and waded through his living rooms crust of discarded snack bags and empty Mountain Dew bottles. His first instinct was that this was an act of vandalism perpetrated by the Jews. Only this didn't sound like his house being pelted with eggs.
Little did Fink know, his nocturnal visitors were to usher in a series of events far more life changing than any Jew he’d ever known.
