Among the Fallen: Resurrection (12 page)

Crazy Barrie was the kind of person Urban Legends were made of. People drove past and saw him habitually sweeping the road and he often waved at them happily as they mocked him. People often joked and called it
the clean mile
as it was an exact perfect mile of road completely trash and leaf free. Alex had never seen him personally, but rumours were rife and very varied as to what he looked like. Some say he was a strange hobbit looking man and others claim he is a wizened old man with a pipe and long grey scruffy hair. But extraordinarily, nobody ever really stopped to find out. Alex back then, like most of Blackwater; saw Barrie as some sort of joke. He did nothing to deserve such treatment, but somewhere in his life he decided to live differently to the others, and as a result, was labelled an outcast by those who considered themselves sane.

Alex crept up to the cabin and listened as she could hear an old man whistling to the music happily.

She kneeled down listening to the joy coming from the cabin which warmed her heart from within, the gentle crackling of the fire numbed against the instrumentals of a decade past. She gently walked around the hut peering into a dirty frosty window, a warm light flickered and a figure could be seen in a rocking chair eating, his head loosely nodding to the orchestral music that filled the cabin.

“Anyone out there?” an old voice came from inside. Alex stepped back. She imagined walking in and saying hello as the poor old man blows her head off with a shotgun in fright at her ghostly appearance. But Alex being Alex, liked people, especially now more than ever.

“Erm, Yeah hi, I’m Alex I’m from Blackwater!” she said nervously. “I’m on my way home and I saw your light from the road” she continued warily as a long cold silence fell upon the cabin. The silence dragged for a few moments as Alex looked around the darkness, the music suddenly lowering in volume as the man stood from his chair and approached the windows.

“You driving?” he bellowed nosily.

“Erm, No walking!” she sighed as the dogs howled on the horizon. There was a slight pause and Alex gazed around the trees and the red sky, her paranoid mind fearing the shadows that loomed over her ominously.

“Well you had better come in then, have a brew!” the voice said with a friendly tone. “The door’s open!”

Alex took a deep breath and then walked round to the front, pushing the door open slowly.

The music was gone and there was no candle, no light; nothing. It looked like nobody had lived there in years, just a silent and disturbed cabin that had appeared to be ravaged by time itself. She stood in the doorway for a few moments as she peered inside, placing her hand on the old diesel generator placed by the door, its surface ice cold to the touch. Alex was fast becoming irritated by herself, her growing paranoia especially, and the fact she was seeing things that weren’t there was fast becoming a constant annoyance; she definitely spoke to someone, his voice was as clear as day; or was it?

She shivered as she walked in, the cold air inside causing her to shudder and her breath steam.

Cobwebs and mould had set in the cracked coffee mug on the table, the candle was covered in dust and the radio never even had a plug on it. Huge wooden beams of oak held up the roof and the old iron fire stove was also cold to touch, something definitely strange was going on, but it seemed to be happening within her mind rather than the world around her, or so it would seem. She walked up a couple of steps into what could be best described as a living room, various racks of books and an old black and white television sat unused, a dogs bed and what appeared to be a car engine laid littered and in pieces all around the floor.

Musty wooden strips of wood and old plank floorboards squeaked as she walked around cautiously inside, the lightening outside flashing in the windows and lighting up the invisible dust that fell from the rafters. Above her appeared to be an open floor and a ladder that led to it, but there was something odd about it that almost felt like she was being summoned, her morbid curiosity almost stimulated. She frowned and gazed up at the area as she clasped the ladder, looking down at the floor for a few moments and then over the old room sympathetically. Suddenly, she threw caution to the wind and climbed the old ladder, pulling herself up into the room and stood gazing over the area with a shiver as the air around her turned ice cold.

In the corner was a bed with what looked like someone asleep in it, breathing gently as the old tatty sheets raised a lowered continuously with every breath, the room filled with long and drawn out snores and broken breaths.

“Hello?!” she whispered nervously, approaching the sleeping man with growing restraint. The person in the bed coughed and muttered, turned over and went back to sleep, his limitless snores echoing around the old cabin. Alex walked over and gently pulled the sheet back revealing nothing but a blood stained mattress, a few lumps of dried flesh and handfuls of matted hair. She covered her mouth in revulsion before noticing a small note, tucked away inside the sheets. She leant over and picked up the old piece of blood-stained paper and then pulled the sheet back over bed, startled slightly as the sleeping shape reappeared and continued to snore. Alex backed away carefully and opened up the note.

Creepy Poem – Dear Alex – No Date

Dear Alexandra,

My love for you lately knows neither limits nor bounds, Limitless patience as I watch and wait in your
grounds. Sometimes I stare through your window begging to be seen, watching you change for bed
and dreaming about you keen. You are my world and my one reason of being alive, the more I see
you and the way you pose for me I thrive. But lately I am finding myself forever let down and ignored,
my unflinching loyalty and lust for you without reward. So I have been thinking of a way to bring us
closer together, for us to hold hands in any fearless world and bad weather. To do that we might
have to go away in a world far from reach, A place where we are alone and untouched by actions
and speech. For soon I will come for you and take us to a faraway place, together in a land where the
still await us and our loving embrace.
W.S

She looked at the poem queerly as the words made her feel growingly cautious, its creepy and sinister promise to her making her feel deeply anxious. She had never met this man in her whole life, never even gave his cabin a passing look whist driving, yet here was this note. Was it a serious poem? Had it been left there deliberately?

She walked over towards the back wall and on it was old newspaper clippings; Barrie, so it would seem, definitely had a thing for the news and the wall was littered with random clippings. She was suddenly drawn to one clipping. “
Swine Flu hits Blackwater!
” Frustratingly, all it had was a title and a photo, no story; but it did look considerably newer than the rest of the articles. She scanned the wall briefly taking in Blackwater’s bad news until she came to the ones she hoped weren’t there.

“
Mayor’s daughters: MURDERED!
”; “
CITY MOURNS
!”; “
William Stanson Arrested for Beaumont
Double Murder!
” and “
STANSON: DEAD AT DAWN
!” Alex gazed at the clippings and stood quietly as her mind processed what she was unfortunately seeing. Who was William Stanson? He was found guilty and executed for their murders? What of the accomplice?

She looked at the mug shot of William beleaguered and with doubt, his face scribbled over and hidden in thick marker pen. She slowly reached out and touched the picture but she felt nothing, not a single feeling or emotion, it was not him. She didn’t remember much, but she looked at his scribbled face and just knew instinctively he had nothing to do with it. She felt that in her heart that when the time comes, she would know her killer and she would spot him from the millions very easily, his smell, the way he moved and walked, his breath alone was carved into her soul and tortured every living and breathing moment, she could still smell his vile stench on her even now. As Alex ran her hand over the clippings she paused suddenly, as if her mind told her to stop deliberately. She looked under her hand and pulled a clipping from the wall.

Beaumont Murders spark Global Suicides - Blackwater Gazette.

On June 20th, 2012, Victor Edwards taped himself speaking of mass suicide and believed “it was the
only way to appease Decido; the Death of the Sisters is the sign of their arrival”. The Fallen Angel
cult opposed suicide but believed they must leave Earth as quickly as possible, after claiming that a
race of superior beings called the Decido were about to enter through a gate on Earth, Edwards
convinced 239 followers to commit suicide so that their souls could enter Heaven before the Decido
destroyed the gates into Heaven. Edwards believed that after their deaths, they would enter Heaven
before the entrance was permanently sealed forever, which Edwards described as being a century old
war coming to a climax. This and other religious beliefs held by the group have led some observers to
characterize the group as a type of Fallen religion as the name Decido is a Latin name meaning the
Fallen. Edwards committed suicide with 239 other members in Elkhart, Texas by mixing Sulphuric
Acid with vodka. They also placed plastic bags over their heads after ingesting the mix to ensure
asphyxiation in case the mixture did not kill them. The cult members, aged between 26 and 72 were
said to have drowned on their own blood after the cocktail dissolved their lungs and stomach. The
tape itself clearly sees Victor Edwards claiming that the murders of Alexandra and Sarah Beaumont,
almost on the other side of the country, is a clear sign of the Decidos coming upon the Earth. What
makes the event even stranger are similar Cults across the world all partaking in mass suicides in as
many weeks after the death of the two sisters in Blackwater just off the East coast of the United
States. In Norway a group called ‘Medlemmer av den falt’ which loosely translates as ‘Members of
the Fallen’ left a 300 page suicide document answering for the suicides of 2,533 members claiming

‘the gates of Heaven will soon close’. What else makes this religious bout of deaths stranger are
similar mass suicides in Korea, Japan, England, Africa, Malta, Slovakia, Italy and France, totalling
more 10,877 suicides all over the world in total. Church Leaders have condemned the suicides
claiming that the Fallen are mere Parables and stories. The Vatican refused to comment on this
issue.

Alex frowned antagonistically as she read the article to herself. She would never have believed the ramblings of these religious nuts in her living life, yet here she was, looking upon this article at these poor people desperate to get into Heaven. She smiled sarcastically at the
Church Leaders
comments, it always amused her that these arrogant Priests could justify certain elements of the Bible as real yet discredit other elements as
Parables
. Surly a Faith is to believe the whole thing rather than just the sugar coated bits?

She screwed the paper up and threw it to the floor angrily. She gazed deeper at the clippings for a moment or two but struggled to find anything of interest. Suddenly, she heard static from the room below. She turned and looked over the side, down into the living room curiously. The old television was lit up and strangely searching through its own channels, its switches were flickering and its dials turning almost ghostly. Suddenly, it found a channel. Alex stood looking and listening as shivers ran down her spine.

The Old Television in Crazy Barrie’s Cabin.

On the screen appeared a crowd protesting outside the Blackwater Correctional Facility on Naccoon Island, all holding up various banners both for and against Capital punishment, and chanting angrily as a limousine passes through the crowds.

Reporter:
“You join us outside the Blackwater Correctional Facility, Live to witness the arrival of
Grayston Beaumont, the father of the murdered sisters Alexandra and Sarah Beaumont. The
impending State Execution of William Stanson may provide the Beaumont family and what seems the
majority of this crowd with some form of justness.

The view suddenly switches to the spectators, the reporter interviewing random people in the crowd as the chaos continues; Alex merely stands quiet, watching from above beleaguered.

Old man:
“I’ve been to many of these executions, I love them, but this one is different, this one is
right on our doorstep and I think it’s great, fry the bastard that’s what I say, those poor girls didn’t
deserve what happened to them, he lost the right to live when he killed those girls!”

Reporter:
“But Stanson still maintains his innocence?”

Old man:
“Don’t they all!”

Alex shivers then looks away as her eyes well up, her vision suddenly drawn back to the report.

Case Detective:
“There’s no mystery here, he followed the girls and murdered them, and we found
the evidence linking him to the scene, evidence so strong that he may as well been standing over the
bodies. We never bought his alibi and more importantly, the jury didn’t buy it; case closed.”

Reporter:
“Some people here seem to think he’s innocent.”

Case Detective:
“Look lady, they are protesting execution of a man with difficulties, a man that had
it tough, no family, no money, he practically lived the streets, it’s sad, it is, but I lost sympathy the
day he strangled a six year old girl and then went on to beat her sister to death just to steal her car.”