This centers on a deranged woman's path to becoming a complete nihilistic and feral serial killer. Emma Woodburn was put in the asylum for eleven years after killing her own husband and ten-year old son, along with the aging mother of a detective.
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Inside the church, standing right where the numerous benches and statues of Mary's and Joseph's angels, sculptures of the Holy Spirit, walls that had paintings of the Last Supper, the Passover, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection and the benches of the choristers where the large statue of the crucifix stood uprooted, was a completely enticed Emma Woodburn filled with a form of excitement.
It was approximately 5:57. She wore a WHITE cap over her strangely tidied up blonde hair and her eyes were bloodshot red, strained with tension as she stood before the crucifix and gazed. She wanted to pray. But the problem was the prayer had nothing to do with God. It sounded like a prayer but in those words, she spoke were a silent curse.
Her eyes kept blinking rapidly and had tears trickling down because it appeared her head had forgotten to make her blink as she met her maker.
She spoke;
"I saw a lamb on the streets in the morning. And that lamb made a very odd, hissing noise. It spoke to me. 'From whence do you come from', the lamb asked. Then I stood before it and I said, 'From the fires of Hell. From the asylum of Baltimore, I come'. Then the lamb asked in a hissing voice, 'For what purpose do you travel from Baltimore to walk the streets of New York?' Then I look at it in the eyes and say, 'To wreak havoc on the good, normal citizens of this world.'
You spoke to me, and I gave you my vision of this world. I want blood. I want bodies to rot in the dump. I want children to be buried in the gutter. I want babies to drown. I want to see their bodies crawling with insects and locusts eating their away through their system.
I want to walk on shattered glass and bleed all over the streets. I want to fly the bat. Give me wings so I can fly at night. Give me a sign to tell me that one does not need sanity.
Give me the power to heal. So, I can burn down your cities and rebuild them in my image. Give me immortality, so I can live a millennium like the gods and goddesses. What would your world be when I'm gone? What would humanity look up to when I am gone? Do this, and I will set you free from your suffering. Let the people make of every nation and tribe an altar for me, so my poison can fill their hearts with venom.
Let their bodies decay and rot and damned them all to the bottomless abyss if they should blaspheme against my wonders. Let me have the tail of a scorpion to sting. Let me have the claws of a bear to slice through wood. Let me have the canine of a wolf, and wear the hide of a rhino. For I am the Amazonian warrior. The queen of the fucking jungle.
And I come searching for you. I'm here. You came to me and spoke through a lamb. And here I am.
Embrace me."
Emma climbed on top the altar with her WHITE heels and tossed down the cup of blessing as she did so. She now looked, face-to-face with the bronze, Jesus statue with seductive eyes. A twisted smile etched on Emma's face, she wrapped her arms around Jesus's head and embraced the statue in a deep, passionate kiss. If you liked erotica or humans making out with statues, this wasn't sexy.
Her tongue was visible as it licked the stony nose and slid inside the tiny twin nostrils as well. At approximately 5:58, Father Moss came in and when he saw what he was meant to unsee, he caught himself asking, Did I come in the wrong time after all? A woman in WHITE was making out with the crucifix.
For the first time, he didn't feel like cursing. He was in the spirit to heal whatever sickness befell on that poor woman's soul.
Slowly, he walked towards Emma, but her ears had already caught the creak-crack of his polished black shoes on the carpet. After a silence, the priest finally uttered words.
"Madame. Are you here for the sermon?", he asked.
Emma ceased her kissing then dropped from the altar in a very odd human manner.
"Pardon me?", she asked in haste.
"I said are you here for the six o' clock sermon?", he repeated.
"I'm here because he asked me to," Emma smiled, again in a very odd manner.
"God asks everyone to be here," Father Moss replied, "And when he or she searches His voice, they shall find The. What's ailing you, madame?"
"I've lost my way in life. I'm at a point where I can decide what I really want to be and its affecting my relationship
with friends and family." Emma's words were stated plainly, and it sounded so true, it wasn't deceiving at all.
Okay. Why don't you take a seat with us so I can pray for you during the sermon." He said.
The priest turned his back to put his Bible down so he could do what the Good Lord takes him to do but that voice wasn't there with him.
Emma picked up the metal cross that sat on the altar and drove it right into Father Moss's abdomen. He yelped. Fresh pain coursed and ripped into his body because it was nothing he had ever felt in years. Slowly, Emma watched with eyes of raw carnivorous hunger as she dug the sharp edge of the metal deeper into his flesh, then slowly, she slid it down. All the way down to the lower bone at the top of his buttocks.
Moss felt the cold metal twist and tear his flesh inside. Slowly, it went right into his asshole between butt cheeks. More pain scourged the priest and he moaned like a fish out of water. The cross finally came out of his ass, and now blood and tiny organs fell loose from the ripped open cut. His shoe had stepped on one already. Again, Emma turned Moss forward and drove the cross into his tummy.
Again, he screeched like a dying rat. She drove the cross into him again. This time, vigorous and three times the pace. It drove into his abdomen, his waist, and tummy again. Blood splattered all over the grounds but Emma was careful it never got on her WHITE shirt or pants. Father Moss slipped on one of his intestines and stumbled with a loud thud.
The feral woman went over him, raised the cross and dug it deeper into his chest this time. For six times, Emma stabbed Moss into the left breast where his heart was beating because she had no remorse for what happened. Blood soaked her hands as she now made a bigger hole in the priest's chest like performing an autopsy on a patient. She cut the skin that was covered with his WHITE t-shirt and from there she could feel his heart thumping slowly by using the tip of the metal.
Choking and spitting blood was all Father did. He stared into that woman's eyes, and in them he saw a fiend. A nobody. An outcast. A demented and distorted soul with hunger. At approximately 6:00, Moss was dead, laid flat neatly on the altar and victim to more fatal stabbing and ripping apart of the chest. In her mind, she could tell this wasn't over. In her mind, Emma enjoyed this pleasure and laughed.
"This body needs a final conclusion."
In her "right mind", Emma unzipped her pants and onto the dead priest rain drops of urine sprayed on the corpse. She was peeing on the body. She dipped her finger in the blood and on the walls she wrote the words ,"DEVIL IN WHITE".
Having completed her dirty job, she walked out of sermon with immunity at approximately 6:10, as the attendants of the church came in to see what was up on the alter. Father Moss came at the wrong time after all.
