The Nonbeliever

The Nonbeliever
by Ray Engle

“The Holocaust is now upon us, my fair people!” Reverend Jeb screamed as fires blazed with the tree of Lucy behind him. “We will no longer let the blind objections of those who do not understand tempt us and cloud our pure hearts. They will no longer attempt to blind us, hindering the real truth. The truth is, my gracious people, that our own apocalypse has come upon us. We must all join in the counsel and battle against their tortured unseeing souls!” He raised his hands as the flames of doomed paradise cleansed the airs in front of him. The pit was horrendous. Blues, reds, and purples mixed with sexy vivacity as the flames beat each other into a stir. The flames needed feeding. They needed blood. They, the people of this small town, needed it also.
Jeb continued, “My brothers and sisters, we must strangle those forces against us. We will pry apart this meek adversarial race, and make way for the true existence. Our Existence. For We, and only we, are the ultimate being of this land.” Reverend Jeb spat with the intensity of a demon.
Spit flew from his mouth as he continued his oration.
“The mighty Sistanis will come. Oh yes, he will come! Sword in hand, and we will fight the adversary alongside him.” He paused, not only for dramatic effect, but to wipe back the sweat of his spouting brow. Forcibly he raised his hands again, the flames shooting higher than they had before.
“Let us feed the all powerful. For he is the one who will lead us to our destiny!”
From the shadowed corn walked two men in loin clothes. Cow skulls were strapped upon their shoulders. The congregation knelt to their knees and began singing the songs of sacrifice. I mimicked them, squatting down the ground. I'm unsure of myself, but attracted by this quirky little séance.

I had decided to attend the meeting two days before. I was at work on the Hermanson farm, doing all of the normal chores of farm life. Paul Hermanson was the owner of the land. Since I had come into town last week, he had put me up in his loft and had been paying me to do odd jobs and help with the soon-to-be-harvested livestock. I had been on the road for a few weeks. I hadn’t had much luck finding work in the dingy towns and watering holes between Boise and Denver. Most people turn a snickering eye to a guy on the road. In this age of fear, it was not uncommon to get a few car windows and front doors slammed in my face. But not Mr. Hermanson. He and his family had welcomed me with open arms. And for that, I was exceptionally grateful.
As I pitched hay out of the barn, I heard young Tobey, Paul’s son, calling from the chicken coup.
“Hey, Dave! Come on over here for a sec, would ya?” he said in his crackling and early adolescent tone.
I tossed the pitchfork to the side and descended the ladder. The late summer sun was peeking above the horizon, shadowing the open land in a hellish orange color. There, standing at the barn’s entrance was Tobey and a dark and proud looking man. I had never met him, but I had seen him around town. He was always talking to the folks at the town store and receiving waves of admiration. He was tall, about 6’4, with a black hat and black suit. He wore a string tie below his face, which was beat red and rustic like the leather strapping of a worn belt
“Hey Dave, I’d like to introduce ya to a friend of mine” Tobey said with a gangly smile. “This here, is Reverend Jeb Davidson; he is the pastor of the local mission.” Tobey said, showing his crooked three-toothed smile.
“Hello, Reverend. Nice to meet’ cha.” I said, knowing what was coming next. I always hated being put in this predicament. Being on the road in mid-America, you always run across the church people. Or, maybe I should say they run into you. They are always willing to give you their spiel on “why and how the Lord could save you” and how, “my church is always a welcome home for you and your family.” But I know what they’re up to. The more people they can fit in, the more money they will make. Religion is just like every other business in this world. Making money, simple as that! As a little boy in upstate Montana, my parents were close “friends” with the local pastor. He was such a good friend that even when my parents lost their house to the bank and we were living in my dad’s old Chevy, the preacher still called upon us for a donation.
So, as I thought he would, The Reverend asked if I might want to visit the church sometime. I nodded, not really listening. I was used to this jabber from the bible-people, and how "The word of god is the way."
“I heard you were new to the area, so I asked Tobey here, to introduce me and you” he said, showing his pearly whites. Boy, the town was paying a hefty price for those pearly whites, I thought as the Reverend continued his sell. “The word is a good way to make friends in a small town. We will be meeting in the cornfields by the tree of Lucy on Sunday evening. It will begin our weeklong celebration of the harvest season. You would be most certainly welcome if you can make it”
“I thank you for the invitation. I will most certainly attempt to make it to your celebration on Sunday evening.” I gave my normal reply to the jargon, but something was different about this guy. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but something intrigued me about him. Maybe it was his hypnotizing white teeth, or his charm. I just wasn’t sure.
After Reverend Jeb waved his goodbyes, I was thinking about heading out to the meeting. I wasn’t sure why I was even considering it. Maybe it was the comment about making friends in a small town. I had been living in town for a few weeks and hadn’t acquired too many friends or met anyone. I worked at the Hermansons’ six days a week, and made pretty good dough as a farmhand. They had treated me well. And that Martha, she knew her way around the kitchen. Maybe this could be my opportunity to get introduced to a few other farmers. More money is always good, especially when you’ve been motoring across country for the past several years, doing odd jobs in some of the smallest and driest western towns one could see. I didn’t really care what their beliefs were. Plus, the Hermanson’s had been very good to me. I looked at it as a “thank you” to them for being so hospitable.

Between the large cow-headed men, a petite blonde-headed girl walked naked. She was not well endowed, and looked a shade under her womanhood. As she stepped toward the pit, the chants grew louder and deeper. And the flames shot higher and higher.
The Reverend tied the girl to the iron table in front of the pit. She looked dazed and emotionless as the chants, which I had tuned out before now, encircled every motion and thought of the sacrifice. Still the young girl stared fully ahead with no signs of fear or worry.
What the hell is happening here? They’re not gonna kill…It is all just part of the celebration. Kind of like the body of Christ. Yeah, that’s it. The body of Christ, I thought as the Reverend took a wrapped cloth from beside the iron table.
Only this is unlike any mass I had ever seen…
He untied the string and took out a shiny snake-like knife. He raised it above his head. Okay, that’s enough…he cant be…
Holding the weapon in both hands and pointing the directly down toward the young girls naked stoned body.
“Will you join him?" he bellowed at the chanting crowd. The flames flickered and erupted as the crowd wailed in nervous and sporadic awe.
Reverend Jeb screamed again, “WILL YOU JOIN THE MASTER OF ALL THAT IS POWERFUL!”
In unison the crowd came to attention, “Yes, oh black majesty. We will follow you into the eternal darkness.” The words cut the night air like lightning before a thunderstorm. The pit swelled again, the deep fire burning more vibrantly as flames shot into the stars and the smoke shut them off one by one. As the Reverend plunged the knife into the soft young flesh of the girl, screams filled my head. And the death cry from the petite blonde girl shook me to my very core. I yelped as I hobbled to my feet, “Stop! Oh my God, what have you done?”
I ran up to the blaze as her body descended into the flames. The girl’s body was now burning, roasting over the coals of this hellish parade. An awed hush came over the proceedings, and stares of disbelief covered the Reverend’s eyes as the young girl’s insides sizzled in the heat of iron and fire.
“What are you doing? Oh my god.”
“She has sacrificed herself to the god, Sistanis” the Reverend said, with a fiery grin just like the one I had seen two days ago. The same grin that that hypnotized me. The same white pearly grin that charmed and made me feel trust again.
“Our society is saved, tonight. We have fed the Almighty’s hunger. We will prevail against the adversary of the Sistanis.”
“You can’t do this. It’s not right,” I said staring into the madman’s eyes, as they didn’t blink and his mouth closed around his teeth. Before me, his charm turned into cold objection. The flames burned in front of us. “I am going to get help.”
“My son!” he demanded and I turned back to face him again. His face has returned to the same face I had saw in the barn, not two days ago.
“All is well now. The mighty Sistanis has been fed the blood of our sacred virgin. You must come with us, and celebrate the events of this wonderful feeding before we gather to hunt.”
“Feeding! Feeding! You just killed a girl,” I said, still disbelieving that the things I saw were actually happening. “You killed her! And now, you are going out to hunt. Hunt What?”
“Why son, the nonbelievers,” he said with a chuckle. “Those who do not understand the power of Sistanis and the beauty of survival.”
“Wha…What are you…?” Behind Jeb. From the Tree came a little girl. In the darkness of night, only the soft and calmness of her beautiful face could be seen.
“Who…who is that?”
“Ahh…she has come early.” Jeb smiled again and walked toward the little girl with his hands raised. “How special it is to see you…”
“NO, look out!” I rushed toward the girl grasping her by her dark robe.
I ran to the edge of the corn-encircled site with the little one snug against my body. As I made it to the edge, I heard the Reverend howl to his minions to capture me. Frantically, I surged into the dark wilderness of the cornfields. Not really sure where I was going, I ran faster than my feet would carry me. The girl was soundless and felt as if she were in a dead sleep as I scurried over the rough terrain. From behind, I could here the thumping of feet and voices of the townspeople hunting us. Breaking many stalks at the base, I slashed my body on the leaves and protruding stones of the ground. Suddenly, I came out of the corn. I shook with fear and adrenaline. The body of the girl silent and sleeping against my chest.
Only she wasn’t asleep. As I looked at her little body, her eyes met mine and her stark gaze infiltrated my thoughts. The beautiful blue eyes, lit only by the moon, dazed me momentarily.
“Are you okay?” I asked with aspirated breath.
No reply. She sat there. Speechless.
She must be in shock… Which way do I go? Right or Left? I could feel my mind begin at dart. Stable reasoning was eluding me. The corn and the moon were laughing. The howls of hunters were closing in.
I turned to scurry to the left and my face met with a powerful blow of metal. I fell to the ground and she fell beside me. The rocky path of gravel broke my fall. I felt a snap up my spine. As my consciousness faded, kicks and punches tore at my body. I could here the laughter and celebration of men who had found their hunted prize. My last vision of the night was the girl’s cold blue eyes as they took her back into the corn.

As I lie in the ditch feeling the cool of summer’s end morning tickle my face, the queasiness rumbles inside my head. My eyes unwittingly open, while the air stings my glazed bloodshot eyes and the brightness of morning whitens my sight. The dew of the earth has matted my hair to my face like smashed shag carpet. I hear nothing but the chants and screams of the night before. The events are twisting in my head like a demonic Ferris wheel. The thundering pain is flushing out and back into my ears. I blink. The glaze and crust that covers my eyes is stubborn. The air smells of a corn-crisp morning. Along the edge of the gravel road I can make out the corn stalks. They are quite tall, and in the nonexistent breeze they still mock me. I rise up. My head warps along with the agonizing creak of a tightened spine and sore wounds.
I have to get outta here, I think as I sit, taking in deep breaths, I suck in the refreshing air and expel the pollution and waste inside. Little by little, the night before begins to seep out of my mind and body.
The coolness of the air makes bone rattle against bone. I think of that poor girl. Is she still alive? A slight hissing buzzes through my ears and I remember the chants. That was when night was my god, and now in the daylight the devil reigns.
My tailbone throbs like migraine. I scan my beaten torso pinching off damp leaves, mud, and twigs. My shoes are missing and the mud has turned the white cotton of my socks into a brown makeshift slippers. My jeans are torn in strips and a mixture of blood and urine cover the crotch. My memories fade in and out like clouds covering the morning sun. I remember thoughts of running in many directions and hearing the yells of the insane following me.
The gravel road is a long slender gash in a sea of dirty yellow stalks. The locals were preparing for the harvest season. Fall is merely an eyelash away from chilling this town and the ditch I crawl from.
As I rise to my feet, the swaying begins. The road looks much longer now, as I stand head above the corn stalks. I peer in all the directions. There is nothing but corn, and the occasional broken down house or barn—and of course the Tree.
I must get as far away as I can from the forsaken place. I strut forward, going in the opposite direction of town; I can feel the blood leave my head. My vision struggles to stay straight. My tailbone throbs and my back aches with each stride. The mud buildup protects me from the jagged gray green monster path. My head reacts to the change in motion and begins to scream like the crows of a field. I must get help. Maybe she is still alive?
I search the horizon looking for signs of new roads. My mind plays back the singing and howling of Reverend Jeb and his people. Why didn’t they kill me? Am I dead? What am I?
I hear a snap from behind me, and the little girl stand at the side of the field. I run to her.
“Oh my God, it’s you! Are you okay? What did they do to you?”
She is still dressed in the black robe. Her white blonde hair contrasts with the darkness of their garb. She is still in a trance. I try slapping her to get her attention.
Still no response.
“Come on, let’s go. I have to get you some help!”
Like before there is no reply.
I stare into her big blue eyes, hypnotized by the beauty of them.
“Come on…we have to go now. Reverend Jeb could be here any minute!”
I turn back toward the road ahead, pulling her hand in mine. There is no budge from her and my arm pulls from the socket.
I turn back to her.
An ax enters my vision.
I turn to run and piercing pain drives through my back and down my legs. I fall to the ground, and once again pain shoots up my spine. I gaze as images flow in front of me. The stone cold white face of this helpless child follows the pain. Blood sprays into her beautiful blond hair. Still, her calm face doesn’t budge. Her blue eyes stay in trance as if she is looking into some far off galaxy. They wake my numbing head and the cool air enters my brain. I think of a Montana morning. How the sun rises every day and washes the earth of night and the big blue-sky reaches farther than any eye will ever see. The roads of the great wide-open sky still dance in front of me like roller coaster tracks. Only now, the tyranny of blood coats the heavens and blood rains in the hills and valleys. I look at this beautiful blonde girl standing there motionless in front of me. An small axe rests in her small grasping hand.
My body gets colder as if I am floating back to daybreak. Again, I feel chills rattle my bones
Now, the Reverend Jeb stands before me. Smiling his pearly face-wrinkling grin. The same fangs the townspeople have paid for. The ones that Sistanis has paid for.
“So, you nonbeliever, I told you! The blind will be struck upon and the wrath of Sistanis will forgive no one.” He squats in front of me and I can feel his breath upon my blood soaked cheek. It is warm and dry like the leathery skin on his face. “Sistanis has come. Almighty Sistanis, the great and powerful.” He points to her. Yes her, that little helpless child.
“You are crazy,” I say to him, only I am sure he cannot here me.
He laughs.
The girl’s blonde hair now strawberry. The followers slowly appear in my dying eyesight. The Hermanson’s stand, shaking their heads at my bloodied remains. A look of chagrin tightens on their mouths. The cow-head men step up to the front and bow before the girl as do the followers. As does the Reverend.
“Thank you, nonbeliever, for continuing our week of celebration. The hunting of you has been quite fun.” The smile stretched wider on his face. “The hour is getting nearer now. The next feeding will commence soon.”
The world draws to black as the cow-headed men lift me to my feet.

Disbelief clouds my head again. The cow-heads step alongside me, tying my wrists to the iron table. In what is left of my brain, I hear the chants of the Tree of Lucy. The mumble and shriek of another sacrifice beginning. I cannot move my arms and I stare straight into the sky as I feel the heat of the pit on the soles of my feet. Reverend Jeb stands before me. The flames of the pit burn the night sky again. They flicker and tickle the clouds. Off to the side, the Reverend pulls out his Snakelike dagger.
“WILL YOU JOIN HIM!” he shrieks.
Upon the response of the faithful, the guillotine drops.
Sistanis comes down from the heavens to get me and take me to the Tree of Lucy. Where I can rest in eternal numbness with the other simpletons. The other nonbelievers.