Work Text:
(Click of a tape-recorder)
(An audible sigh can be heard)
ARCHIVIST
Statement of Nova Islington, regarding an incident at her local church in Guildford.
Original statement given October 21st, 2016. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.
Statement begins.
ARCHIVIST
I was never really a religious person at all. I guess that’s strange considering my upbringing, in a household with devout Christian parents. Well- don’t get me wrong, they weren’t, y’know- the bad sort. They never pushed their views on me or whatever, but i guess they were kind of disappointed when i reached the age i formed my own opinions to find i didn’t believe in all that. And i wasn’t mad at them for having their own opinions either. Ok, so i wasn’t what you’d call a tame teenager? I definitely had my outbursts… a lot of them. But religion was just something that never came into my temper-tantrums. I had a good childhood, unlike many, so i was grateful for my parents understanding.
The weird shit started after they died. It happened just over a month ago- a car crash out of the blue. I was distraught, of course. I only really have a couple of true friends, and my parents were the closest ones i ever had apart from them. So yeah. It wasn’t great. It’s still not obviously. I was recommended therapy and i begrudgingly decided to go, and to my surprise it’s actually helping- but that’s not what i’m here to talk about.
I was the one to organise their funeral, despite the grief. I wanted to, they’re my parents for fuck’s sake, so i got in touch with the local funeral directors to get it sorted. I knew they would have wanted it done properly, in a church and everything, so of course i was gonna respect their wishes. My friends were concerned for me, whether i could handle doing it because i ‘always act so strong and hide my emotions’. All i wanted was to just put my feelings aside for now and grieve afterwards in private. I hate big events like this where a fuss is made, but they knew people and other church-goers in the community who were probably expecting a fancy funeral, so the responsibility fell on my shoulders.
The directors were normal enough, if a bit snobbish. Kept asking me if i was ‘able to afford it?’. Like of course i can, or i wouldn’t be here, would i? They should’ve been grateful, i was putting money in their pockets, and it was pretty damn expensive too. Luckily it was sorted quickly- looked like they wanted to get talking to me over with as soon as possible. Which was fine by me.
So, it was going to be on September 14th, and at the local church- the one they always visited every Sunday. I used to go too when i was much younger, but later on i instead spent my Sundays hanging out with friends or enjoying having the house to myself. Just doing normal teen stuff. Now of course, I kinda feel bad about not going with them back then. Now i’ve moved out, and now they’re gone- sure it wasn’t my sort of gig, but it could’ve been another chance to spend time with them.
But how was i supposed to know the future, really? I had a lot of thoughts like those leading up to the funeral. To pretend the upcoming event wasn’t bothering me would be a lie- i felt that a lot of people were relying on me, despite the gathering not being a crazy number of attendees, as my parents were pretty private to be fair. But all i could do was wait and hope i wouldn’t fuck up the speech i’d prepared when the time came.
And so the day arrived, weather overcast and gloomy, and the sky threatening rain as i drove along the winding roads. I was in my rusty red hatchback, the car my parents had got me when i first learnt to drive. Sure, i guess i could’ve walked, but i didn’t wanna risk running into anyone. They’d only give me some pitying look and offer their condolences. I just wanted to go in and out, have done with the affair. Try to process this myself without people i hardly knew chatting with me like we were at some meet-and-greet.
But when i turned into the small car-park that sits behind the church, i was more confused than shocked to find it utterly empty. Panicked, i jumped out and checked my phone. Had i gotten the wrong time? The wrong day even? Or worse- i’d told everyone else the wrong day. I didn’t think the grief had affected me that bad. But no, i was on schedule, as i’d been planning for days. No-one else had turned up yet. So i decided to head in and see what was going on. Surely not everyone had walked here, right?
The clouds loomed as i moved around to the face of the church. I’d visited it on so many weekends as a kid, brought along by my parents, listening to the sermons given. Of course, i’d been too young to fully understand what was being said, but the memories were comforting as i got nearer, of being with my parents, being a part of something they loved. Its main door was still as imposing as ever, framed by two gloriously colourful stain glass windows, a kaleidoscope of shapes picked out in red and white.
I pushed it open with a reverberating creak, and light flooded the place, making it obvious just how dark and empty it was. Or at least- i thought it was empty at first. I noticed the carpet runner that travelled down the aisle was different to the last time i’d been there. It was a wine red, with a swirling pattern like old Victorian wall paper. My eyes were drawn to the pews beside it, and that’s when i realised. Every seat had a bible on it. And every single book was open.
I stepped forward hesitantly, and peered down to look at the nearest open page. My parents had read quotes to me often in this very place, when my small hands had barely fitted around the book. But this quote i didn’t recognise.
“Galatians 5:17: For the flesh desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are in opposition to each other, so that you do not do the things you want to do."
It was then when i heard it. The strike of a match, and the hiss of a candle being lit. I jerked my head up to see the now illuminated alter, and almost gagged at the sight abruptly revealed. I’ve already said i don’t believe in God, but in that moment i wished i did, if only to pray to have that image wiped from my mind.
The weak light filtered into the cavernous space, catching on an outline and making it glow eerily. I blinked and squinted, adjusting to the change. It was a person. A naked man knelt on the raised platform- at least i think he was a man. There was no way to be sure.
Because his skin had been removed.
It was like raw chicken, glistening in the weak light. His arms, his legs, his hairless head- all of the skin was gone, revealing the muscles and tendons that pulsed beneath, as red as the carpet behind him. His blood pooled around his calves, making its way down the steps in tiny violent rivers. He sat with his head hung low, looking like a puppet who’s strings had been slashed. He was so still i guessed he was dead, until a figure stepped out from the shadowed corner of the alter, and the man let out a terrified whimper.
The figure was hooded, a grey cloak that obscured the face from view. It stalked over to the trembling guy, appearing inhuman in the way it moved. Jerkily- as if it had too many limbs. Or maybe not enough.
From underneath a pale, sickly hand emerged, crawling with veins that were its only pop of colour. The claw-like digits clutched around an object. It looked- for all the world- like ice, carved into the shape of a cup. It was held so tightly, yet it wasn’t melting at all. The floor underneath was completely dry. Dry of water, anyways.
It approached him and reached out that long, thin arm towards his face. It then spoke, sounding like three people at once, all of whom were using their vocal cords for the first time. And it said “This is for the death”, before pressing the ice cup to the side of the man’s head.
And he screamed.
It echoed viciously, a never-ending wail of pain that felt as if he were ripping his own voice-box in two. My eardrums were at bursting point but i couldn’t move to cover them; i was frozen to the spot. I watched as the ice sank through his flesh as if it were hot butter, burning it acidicly. More blood began to run down his face as a perfect circle was carved into him, and he screamed and screamed.
Then that gravely voice rang out again, removing the cup and moving it to the top of his scalp. “This is for blindness.” And plunged it once again.
It seemed to sink even deeper this time, and acrid smoke rose from the forming wound- a cruel chemical-esque reaction. The man writhed like he was tied down, but no ropes bound him. Why didn’t he run? He just stayed knelt in agony, as another circle was branded on whatever was left of his- his meat.
And then the figure turned to look straight at me.
I knew now was the time for me to run, to get out before i was the next to be skinned alive. But i couldn’t move. I wanted to, but it was as if my brain and body had disconnected, causing me to be screwed in place by fear and disbelief. I wanted to scream and yell for help, anything. However, the figure made no motion toward me. It just stared- or i assumed it was, its eyes being shrouded deep in the fabric of the hood. My breathing was shallow as i wrenched my gaze away from the scene, instead focusing on the door, on getting out, on just simply running. All the while with him yelling in unfiltered torment.
The blood had reached the bottom step, pooling and soaking itself into the carpet. I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose, trying to calm my body and focus on pulling my right leg free of- of whatever was keeping me there. I could smell the tang of copper in the air, filling my lungs and brain until i could think of nothing else. And still the being did nothing, not even to the skinned man.
It was then when an emotion i hadn’t been anticipating tore through the trance i was in. Anger. A searing rage. How dare this- thing be here. How dare it be on the way to adding yet another death to this world, at the place where my parents were going to be laid to rest? This was all wrong. And it made me fucking mad.
And so my leg finally pulled free. Maybe it was the new feeling of anger cutting through the fear that did it, i don’t know. In all my life i’ve never frozen on the spot like i did then. But i didn’t care- i didn’t want to consider the reason incase it broke my concentration of pelting along the aisle and reaching for the door.
Yeah, i know. I left that guy in there. But let’s be realistic. In case you forgot, he had no mother-fucking skin. So he didn’t have long left anyway. And also, what was i suppose to do? Run up there and get myself killed in the process too? No, i wasn’t meant to be there in the first place. And that hooded figure-
It was the next day when my neighbours asked why i didn’t turn up for the funeral. Apparently it happened without me, at the same church i’d been in that day. I checked with them and everything. Which- nuh-uh. That shouldn’t be possible. But they seemed so adamant the funeral had been carried out like planned, and i simply wasn’t there.
I refused to leave my house for fucking days after that. People around me just assumed i was grieving, but i was shaken. Of course i was. I think anyone would be after seeing whatever the hell that was. Some weird cult ritual? I don’t know. But that figure- i swear it was not human. I don’t give a shit if your snobby archive people believe me or not, because i know that was real. I know what i saw. I even tried to talk to my therapist about it. Big. Mistake. She just said that ‘We all have our different ways of processing grief, but i don’t think this way is healthy’. Like what the hell?! Processing my parents death would be- i don’t know- going through the five stages, connecting with friends, etcetera. Not watching a skinned man being tortured in a church.
And the worst part is there was literally nothing i could do about it. I tried contacting the police, but the guy on the phone actually laughed at me. I had no proof. That’s why i came here, it’s my last resort, to tell someone who might actually believe me.
Or i did have no proof.
It was a month after all that when the letter arrived. I’d recently moved house; there was no way i was gonna exist anywhere near that church anymore. I was confused about it even before i opened it, as i’d only just moved in, so hadn’t got the chance to give anyone i knew my new address. Guessing it was just a bill or something, i went to tear it open. There was nothing on the front, apart from my name. The paper was yellow, smelling of mildew, and it felt… old. Brittle. Like it would crumble if i squeezed it too hard. And when i lifted she sheet out the envelope, it was blank, bar four words.
“The Flesh Is Willing.”
Needless to say i now stay further away from religion than ever before.
ARCHIVIST
Statement ends.
(Rustle of papers)
Well. It seems as if The Flesh is becoming even more desperate to gain followers in its ranks. And preventing the ritual of other Fears in the process, with ‘this is for blindness’ and ‘this is for the death’ being two obvious giveaways.
We did find the letter Nova Islington mentioned in their statement down in storage, however when they said the paper was ‘brittle’, they were extremely accurate in that description.
The original letter is now a pile of dust gathered at the bottom of a folder in a filing cabinet, and is no use to anyone whatsoever.
I got Melanie to try and follow up by contacting Nova via a phone call, and it seems as if both of them got on like a house on fire. No new information was able to be gleaned, but whether this was due to Melanie getting distracted by arranging to go out for drinks with Nova, or a legitimate lack of intel, we can’t be sure.
As for the mysterious hooded figure, it wouldn’t be a long shot to assume it to be a friend of Jared Hopworth. I would try and confirm this, but i would rather not run into Jared if i can help it.
This one seems like yet another dead end, but one which does point towards the Fears search for power and to carry out their rituals. But none have been successful just yet, so i suppose it is only a matter of time.
End recording.
(Click)