The Curse Of The Moloch (22)
He ignored the friends of his fantasy who were peeved for his inattention as they circulated above his head. Jeremiah, in simple words, only mentioned the need of place to rest and of a job to earn his daily bread. Brother Amos, eyes beamed through his thick iron-rimmed spectacles at the words of the righteous man. His words, through thin lips, told Jeremiah that his search was over; the building where the mission was situated was shared by other tenants, mainly owners of small work shops, and they are in in need of new janitor as the last one left two days ago. The puckish face of missionary did not reveal that the last cleaner was a drunk who simply walked away from his job never to return; nor did he mention that the work was simple drudgery with low wages, and that it was hard to find another replacement. "Trust in the good Lord and He will find the way," beamed the evangelist. � � � Chapter Forty-six Jeremiah became one of the soldiers of the Lord for the Holy Light Mission, and he joined the missionaries in their search for lost souls amoungst the debris of the forgotten ones in the foul district of the city. The good people of the order had found for him a uniform; it was a bit skimpy on the cuffs, but one of the pious women worked at her best with needle and thread to make it look proper-like. The naive man from the hollow was proud of the cloth despite it being tight around the waist and short around the ankles. He was equally proud of his barely fitting peaked cap with its shining brass medal insignia of the Lord's station that barely covered his thick head. He swelled in his simple pride as he walked together with the other followers of the Good Word. And when the believers were deep in their holiness, Jeremiah would show his clothes of honour to the creatures of his fantasy and they circled about him in joyous approval. Brother Amos became a fast and somewhat true friend to this hulking stranger; the good man saw only a beaming angelic face of a new and trusty soldier to his order. Jeremiah was a strong force in the work of the mission as his presence on the mean streets offered protection from the hecklers and even from those who in rare moments pelted them with rotten fruit. The sight of the uniformed hefty figure with the devilish grin on his frowning face was enough to quiet their jeers and lessen their missiles. He didn't use force; only the sight of his threatening figure was sufficient. Jeremiah was given temporary quarters at the mission, namely a found mattress placed in the storeroom, and he was allowed the use of the kitchen to prepare some food for his breakfast and supper. Sister Esther, in her plainess, took kindly to him and with a slight loving hand saw to his neccessary provisions. The hulking creature was grateful in his simple way to the kindness shown, both by Sister Esther and the rest of the missionaries. He showed his thanks by his presence on the streets and in the late afternoon by doing the menial task of cleaning the premises. For Jeremiah the mission and its holiness offered his needed protection against evil spirits and threatening demons. To his simple thought, the walls of the mission was a strong bastion against the coming of Miz' Jezebel with her threats of the sacrificial fire of the Moloch. At the dark of night Jeremiah rested quietly; his reasoning assured him of the protection of the thick walls of the religious station that prevented the threatening nightmares which had plagued him in the past Brother Amos approved of his good work and repaid his new missionary in kind. True to his word, he arranged that Jeremiah would serve as janitor in the building, but only in the afternoon hours as his services was required for the morning work of the Holy Light Mission. The building owner had to agree as trash was piling up in various corners and a new man couldn't be found, not for the pittance given as wages. As an added measure, Brother Amos and his followers cleaned out the past cleaner's tiny room in the basement of the building as a place of shelter for their new convert. Jeremiah did not welcome the transfer to his new quarters as he was forced to leave the fortress that held back the terrors of the night. Brother Amos didn't question him for the reasons of his suspicions; he only thought that poor young man had fears of leaving the community of Lord. The goodly soul, with soothing words, comforted Jeremiah by stating that he was still under the canopy of the Lord. The salvationist lessened his fears by stating that the new quarters were a righful part of the mission, which brought a bit of relief to his mind. The preacher who wished him a hearty good luck for the coming future then blessed the new soldier of the Lord. Jeremiah's daily routine was same from day to day. In the morning hours he proudly trooped the streets in search of lost souls with the Holy Light missionaries; at the hour of twelve joined with them in prayer and in the partaking of their repast. Afterwards he would change into gifted work clothes and tend to his duties as janitor of the building. The work was hard but his sinewy muscles, hardened from from the misery of his flight, helped to lighten the load. The job was mainly collecting the mounds of trash from the various workshops, hauling the mess to the basement; there in the center was a huge ancient incinerator for burning the collected rubbish. Up and down the dimly lit stairs Jeremiah would climb for hours in the sweat of his work as each load was brought down and burnt. His tiring work ended in the growing darkeness of the early evening, and his aching legs had sufficient strength to trudge to his room in the basement. A quick wash with a half bar of laundry soap on the naked upper part of his body and on his coarse features of his face refreshed him, and he was able to relax. After drying himself on a threadbare towel he dressed himself on a freshly laundered shirt, the blessing of the hands of one of the women of the mission. Jeremiah had an added enjoyment after the toil of the day. In the evening he had the pleasure of the gifts of Sister Esther, namely a tray with a plate of sandwiches and a cool glass of milk left near the door of his room. Jeremiah delighted in her presence through the fading whiff of her rose water that she had sprinkled sparsely on her spinsterish body. Sometimes he knew of the good will of Brother Amos when he had found a quantity of religious tracts alongside the plate of food. But tiredness slowly increased in his body. The pleasure of the unseen company of Sister Esther and Brother Amos lasted only through the partaking of his plain meal and a quick look at the pictures in the pamphlets. The hour was late and there was a thought of rest, which he hoped, will be spared the plagues of fearful dreams. He left his room for a moment and went to an electric box centered in the basement; there, as instructed, he pulled the handle of the main switch that plunged the corridors of the building into darkness except for the weak light in his room. Jeremiah closed the door securely to his tiny room as he entered as a measure against the threatening fears he fantasized that roamed through the mists of the night air. There was also his known fear of the Moloch and the fiery pit of sacrifice that ran through the deep imagination of his fantasized mind. He knew he had a curse caused by his sin against Miz' Jezebel, his vengeful mother; a curse that had momentarily faded away whilst he was safeguarded in the walls of the faith at the mission. Now again he was separated from any protection that held back the evil spell. He paused for a few seconds in his cramped quarters before reaching for the chord to the light switch as if he was expecting a appearance of the shadowy spirits of the night. Then he yanked it plunging his chambers into darkness; the rays of the waning winter moon feebly threw its light through a small barred window. Quickly, with a swift kick of his feet he threw off his unlaced boots, and a tug to open the belt of tight trousers, Jeremiah fell onto his straw-filled mattress into a tired sleep. The feared nightmares did return to disturb his sleep. Over and over he turned on the rusty screaming bed trying to shake off the figures and terrible scenes of his troubled mind. The vivid nightly terror pictured his job as being in the depths of hell with the cursing of his taskmasters being the minions of the devil. In the depth of his nightmares he saw them as stinking creatures with diabolic features; their cloven hooves clattering around him as they prodded him with their sharp spears. The taskmasters of the devil, with cruelty on their lips, belaboured him with their words. "Do this!""Do that!" "Hurry up!" Their cursed commands echoed vibrating him to sweating wakefullness in the early hours of the morning. As time passed Jeremiah's nightly terrors increased in its imagination and he saw that the devil's apprentices had leashed upon him flying demons and evil shadow spirits that taunted him to work harder and faster. The lashed at him with barbed whips as he carried the loads that fed the stinking sulphuric fires of the nether world. Then, within the depth of his fearsome dreams, another terrible scene unfolded in all its horor. He heard the shout, "Yah, Yah, Yahu, El El Moloch." The chant of the frentic worshippers increased in its tempo in the feverish belief to fire god as them came closer to him. New sounds entered the delusion of his terrible nightmares: Within his disturbing sleep he heard the primitive cadence of a skin-taut drum beating to the rhythm of the marching believers to the idol of sacrifice. The estactic worshippers that came closer and closer to him... One fateful night, the reality of the vision of the fearful nighmares shook him to awakening in the darkened room; the weak beams of the waning moon added to cold creeping terror in his trembling body. Jeremiah quickly found the string to the hanging lamp and with a hard tug he brought the light that chased away the demons of the night. His body was wet with prespiration brought about by the vivid scenes of his dreadful dreaming. Jeremiah found that continued sleep was impossible. He got out of his damp bed and walked about the tiny room trying to clear away the fears. He picked up the religious tracts and scanned their pages for salvation but the weak light hurt his eyes when he tried to make out the words. With the fear of the returning nightmares of his sleep, Jeremiah decided in the spur of the moment to seek the relief of the cool night air. "Maybe them thar critters 'll git away frum me sleep if ah walks about. Sure 'll giv' a help, " he thought as he hurriedly dressed himself. Bundling himself in the warmth of his heavy pea jacket and the covering of his wide-peaked cap, the burly figure left his room. The weak light beaming from his room afforded him the needed beacon for passage through the basement. Jeremiah slowly climbed the stairs marking each step carefully. Whispering cold winds directed his way through the dark lobby to the exit of the building. The coolness of the night air filled his body with relief as he made his way along the deserted streets. Suddenly he heard in the distance the pealing of the hour from a distant cathedral. Slowly the resonance counted out the toll of eleven; the surprising count told him of a miserable sleep of only three hours. Then the sound faded reopening the curtain of silence of the city. Darkness was all about with only the dim street lamps casting a glowing mark on the deserted streets. Jeremiah's footsteps led him to a different part of the vast metropolis but in his eyes, a strange place. The area was lit with busy bars filled with the inebriation of their customers; the noise of their drunken gaity, that emmitted from the various taverns, filled the streets with their raucous noise. The man was from the hollow was startled by sight of the eight bars, counted in his figuring. As he looked around the taverns he saw that the streets were lined with women of the night soliciting their bodies to prospective clients in waiting automobiles. He watched under the shadow of the building at the continual mark of sin that coursed its way along the street. Jeremiah stared for a long time into the area of inequity until he heard the pealing of twelve strokes. His facination of the scene in front of his sight filled his thoughts that he failed to see a figure coming towards him. Only her words startled him to attention. Words that came from tired drunken lips, "Hey there mister, did y' want a good time?" There in the dimness of a flickering street lamp Jeremiah saw the fearful apparition, the sight of the prostitute's blowzy rust-coloured hair. Fear coursed through his crazed mind to deep horror; the phantom form of Miz' Jezebel, the haunting figure of his mother, had returned to exact her vengance. The blinking of the coloured tavern lights turned into flashes of lightning that brought the sight of the cave of the idol of fire. He was filled with awesome terror. The fearsome monsters from the depths of hell coursed about his crazed mind taunting him with menacing threats of damnation. His mind was filled with dread as the sighted haunting ghost came near him; with a lurch of a mis-step, the encircling arms closed upon him. With desperation he tried to remove them as his fears increased in the thought of being dragged by her to the fires of the Moloch. Harder and harder the arm tightened around his waist. His grip on the protitute's roughly shaven arms felt to him like the boney grip of the flaking flesh of his haunting mother. The perfume of the aging tart choked him as he struggled; it was like the stench of the burning fires of hell that clung to the black of his mother's tattered dress. The drunken words of entreaty was only heard as a reminder of Miz� Jezebel's terrifying call of retribution upon his unquiet soul, "Yah'll be taken t' th' hell fires of th' Moloch. I'll see y' burn!!!" Jeremiah felt the boney claws of Miz' Jezebel searching for opening in his trousers and he tried to draw back into the hiding shadow; a fearsome dread coursed through his mind when he felt their sharp points. Then with all the strength of his body he twisted the arm of the figure until the prostitute cried out in pain, but her cry was covered by the raucous noises of the street. In the madness of his mind the crazed figure turned the inebriated streetwalker around; with angry fury he grabbed the vision of Miz' Jezebel by the damnation of her near redddish hair and dashed her head against the hard bricks of a nearby building. He repeated the beating of the head with curses from his slurred tongue, "Y' ll not take me t' th' Moloch. Damn y'" Over and over went the pounding until his stained hands held a red haired mass of gore and blood. Jeremiah allowed the loathsome sight of the avenging ghost to fall onto the sinning street; the warm blood of her fouled body flowing in the stinking dirt of damnation.... � � � Chapter Forty-seven The matronly policewoman carefully held the arm of small middle aged woman bent in sorrow, as they walked slowly through the dimly corridors of the county morgue. Eight times in the past months, she or her sister officers had to escort a kin folk to identify the beaten body of a defenseless victim in a surge of crime labelled by the press, 'Red Hair Serial Murders'. The crimes of murder defied all logic of its motives, and in the efforts of the police to find a solution. The policewoman's flecked eyes stared coldly at the pathetic creature; her grim facial features showed no signs of feeling for the tear-streaked woman as she walked in this tragic mission. The officer of the law knew the drill, which was simply to escort the next of kin to the sight of the body for the purpose of identification; a job done repeatedly that almost hardened her feelings. As they neared the lighted examining room of the morgue, she felt tightened boney fingers clenching the crook of her uniformed elbow. The two paused, apart, at a large window that fronted the cold glaring mortuary and waited for the attention of the attendant that would allow their entrance. While they waited the tear filled eyes of the sorrowing woman search out the large well lit room; her eyes spotted a covered figure on a cold stainless steel gurney, and her thin body shivered involuntarily under the warmth of her winter clothing. As she stared she heard the words of the policewoman telling her of the routine of examination of the body, mixed with a word or two of comfort. The pitiful creature was shook out of her sorrowful reverie upon the sound of a loud buzzer. Her glance through the window sighted the young attendant signalling. With the right arm of the policewoman around her shoulders, she was led through the heavy door to the examining room. The footfalls of the pitiful woman were leaden as she followed the attendant to the covered figure on the gurney. The woman waited as the orderly slowly uncovered the top half of the sheet reavealing the cold hard lines of the features of a middle-aged women frozen in the veil of death; the top of her red-haired skull was thankfully covered to the hide the savagery of a severe beating. The kin looked with shock at the corpse's lined face, frozen in the horror of the attack. The poor woman nodded her recognition. Then she stared for a minute longer before the attendant mercifully recovered the remains. Then the pitiful creature hugged the police matron, placing her head on the ample bosom, and let loose a flood of welcome tears that opened the grief of her soul. Through sobbing lips she poured out words that spoke of her deep agony; "Aiyeeee, tis' me sister Mary. Oh Jesus in heaven tis' her. May the Lord have mercy on her blessed soul! Sixty she'll be this coming Friday." "Who be the evil person that did this to me poor sister? Who? Tis' be a wicked an' cruel devil that can do such a terrible thing. Tis' curses, tis' curses filled with me hate that I call upon the murderous swine. Curses! be upon that devil! May he be carried to the foul depth of purgatory!" "Me dear sister... Tis' a shame... She's being a widow for the past few years. Lost her good man in an auto accident, bless his kind soul. Me sister Mary was not blessed with children and had no one to look after her, poor dear. Been living with me after his death. Took good care of her, that I did. She being no bother to me or to my family, always helping about the house." "Beautiful and saintly she was... Look! Look at her now.. She be now frozen in her agony...My poor darling sister's face... Be, till the end of me time, I wil never forget that horrible look on it... Cold, she be, cold as ice!" "Always a good word to everyone. Her face was joy to behold. Ever so full of happiness. My children really liked their Aunt Mary. And so did the entire family� That we did.... Even to our neighbors, me good sister spoke kindly to... And they had a liking to her as they be asking her over to their homes..." "But, only yesterday. Tis' was late in the afternoon � Said that she was a bit naughty. That was her words� Do remember them... She told me with her blessed voice� . Hush like she be talking.. She whispered that she had tinted up her hair.. Looked at hair, that I did... It be a bit different... Had a light reddish-brown glow... No gray hairs showing... Naughty I scolded her... I said 'what will the good Father say at the Mass?'
Go to part: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23
Copyright © 2002 Norman A Rubin |