Title: Hell on Earth
Author: Meagan-bird
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.
The doors to the church opened quietly.
The creak the hinges made was a soft sound, one that was barely concealed by the priest's homily. No one paid attention as the seven forms silently filed in, slinking along the back of the church in search of a seat. Gabe was sitting in the front, like she usually did, so she could see the priest better. She liked Father Mike; he was very casual in his teachings, very much a people person. She had found that if she sat up in the front she could usually understand the readings better. So there she was again, in the very first pew, listening with rapt attention as Father Mike covered the book of Revelations. Normally the parish didn't like to touch on that subject -- what with all that was happening in the world, Armageddon seemed much too close for comfort -- but that was another thing she liked about Father Mike. He believed in following the rules, but not to the extreme. Since the teens in the weeknight religion service had requested that he explain the elaborate, sometimes confusing book in class, Father Mike decided to make it the week's reading. Gabe shifted a little in her seat, an unconcious smile formed on her lips. She loved hearing about the Bible; sometimes it was even more interesting than a Stephen King novel. Prophets and martyrs and angels -- Revelations was chock full of angels. Most of them happened to be pouring fire upon the earth, but that was hardly the point.
Someone closed the door loudly, loud enough to make the slam echo off the walls and distract people from the sermon. Gabe frowned a little and turned along with the rest of the parishioners, expecting to see an embarrassed housewife who'd run a little late. She was surprised to see six or seven teenagers neatly lined up against the back wall, slowly spreading out to each side. They were dressed strangely, like something she'd seen in a Social Studies video about the Amish. She was about to glance back at Father Mike, mildly annoyed at the interruption, when she noticed something else. They were carrying sticks. ... no, not sticks, something else ...
"Pardon the interruption, Father," one of them murmured.
When they closed the door, only a few of the parishioners had turned their heads to see. Now nearly all of them swiveled to look at the speaker; it was a pale boy in a neat black suit, his hands clasped calmly behind his back. Gabe frowned slightly, twisting in her seat to see him better and cursing her breezy summer dress as she did so. The one negative aspect of church: her stupid skirts that restricted all comfortable movement.
"Excuse me?" Father Mike asked, half confused and half concerned. The boy smiled at him and waved each delicate pale hand; once to the left, then once to the right. The oddly dressed teens that had gathered behind each row of pews obediently spread forward, walking up both sides of the church and surrounding the parishioners.
"You see, we're new in town," the pale boy said, briefly running a hand over his thick dark hair, "and we felt this would be the most appropriate way to introduce ourselves. And seeing as there was no welcoming committee..." His lips twitched into a smirk, and something inside Gabe went cold.
"Sit down, young man," Father Mike said evenly. "I'm sure you and your friends could find a seat in the back --"
"We'd rather not," the boy murmured with a tilt of the head, glancing briefly around the church. "In fact, I think it's time you stepped down and let me read a little."
"What --" Gabe's head whirled just in time to see Father Mike sink to the ground; a boy with curly brown hair placed a foot on his back and calmly removed the long-handled scythe from his back.
Several people screamed.
Gabe, however, was struck silent with fear. The rest of the teens the boy had brought in with him were moving in for the kill, and quite literally; people were going down like flies, blood and metal were flashing in each pew. There went Mrs. Thatcher, who taught 2nd grade down at JFK elementary, and Mr. Harmon, who worked in the hardware store downtown. Mrs. McClay, Lara Granford, Simon Dratch, down they all went, struck down like Lucifer from the heights of Heaven. Gabe whirled and saw one of the funny dressed kids coming towards her with a hand-held scythe; she finally managed a scream and stumbled back, landing hard on her rear. There was a loud ripping sound as the breezy material of her dress tore all the way up to the hip. Her mouth opened in a breathless shriek as the girl with curly blonde hair raised the scythe above Gabe -- and brought it down into the elderly man behind her.
In less than five minutes, it was all over.
The dead lay strewn haphazardly around the church, some slung over pews and some half under them. Gabe had stumbled to the back and pressed herself into a corner after discovering the doors were guarded by two more oddly dressed teenagers. The rest of the teens she'd attended the service with that morning clustered in their own corners, and when the storm of violence had calmed they were the only ones left standing -- aside from the sobbing children that had hidden beneath the pews. At last, the weapon-wielding teens slowly walked towards the front of the church, where the black-haired boy was standing calmly. His mouth formed a pleasant smile as he gazed around the room, and Gabe, even through her haze of panic and terror, had to admit he looked rather handsome.
"Isn't it odd," he said, his voice loud and clear in the silence of the church, "how much the dead look like they're merely sleeping?" The boy reached slowly towards the body of Father Mike and lifted him by the hair, showing his deathly white face to the teens in the back. He closed the eyelids with his thumb and forefinger, then chuckled quietly. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep..."
"You sick freak," one of the boys Gabe knew whispered. Though the words were barley audible, the boy with black hair snapped his dark gaze over to the speaker.
"Silence," he said coldly, and the boy obeyed.
"Micah?" He glanced over his shoulder at the girl who'd nearly stabbed Gabe with her scythe. She chewed her lower lip uncertainly. "Micah, shouldn't we be --"
"Silence," he ordered coldly, then paused as the girl recoiled. The boy who was apparently named Micah released Father Mike's hair, placed two fingers over her mouth in apology, and smiled again. "It's taken care of, Ruth. Now step back." Ruth blushed a deep crimson and stepped back, trying to hide her pleased grin. Micah turned back to the church of frightened children. "What was the sermon today? Shall we take a look?" Gabe struggled for breath, looking over the pews littered with bodies. Oh my God, she thought hysterically. Oh my God... "Revelations, eh?" he said in amusement. " 'The first angel went and poured out his bowl on the earth. Festering and ugly sores broke out on those who had the mark of the beast or worshiped its image --' Oh, you silly Catholics!" Micah clasped his hands behind his back and tipped his head towards them. "There are changes taking place, my children. Big changes. I see some of you looking towards the doors. Do you think I would be so stupid as to allow others to interfere? No. I have sent more of my soldiers to take out the town, building by building. The police first, of course." He smiled again, lips pulling back to reveal oddly even white teeth. "We don't like policemen."
"Why are you doing this?" a girl in the corner whispered. Micah tilted his head to the side, an expression of innocence.
"I don't think you're ready for our reasons yet," he said simply. "Jedediah?" The boy with curly brown hair stepped forward.
"Yes, Micah?"
"How far do you think the troops have spread?" Micah was inspecting each child carefully, faint interest in his black eyes. When he reached Gabe, she shuddered instinctively and tried to hold together her ripped skirt.
"They've reached the hospital," Jed said after peering out one of the windows. "I imagine they've passed through the neighborhoods already." Gabe forgot about Micah's probing eyes for a moment and covered her mouth with her hands. Edith was at home today; she hadn't been feeling well enough to go to church that morning. Hot tears threatened behind her eyes but seemed unable to flow. Edith's dead, she thought numbly. Edith's dead, oh God, Edith's dead --
"Good," Micah murmured, his gaze still lingering on Gabe. At last, he looked away and towards his silent comrades. "Let us see how they are progressing, shall we?" He walked towards the doors slowly, each step echoing in the silent church. "I would suggest you stay here. We will return, and if anyone is missing, they will meet with the wrath of a much more powerful god than that which you have learned about in this place." Micah paused at the door and looked down at Gabe; a slow smirk spread across his pale face as his eyes swept over her once again. She shivered and held her torn dress together with one hand, trying to look him straight in the eye. After only a moment, something cold stung inside her and she snapped her head down. Gabe could hear him chuckle softly and push the door open. "Brave new world," he said, amused, and walked out.
Author: Meagan-bird
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.
The doors to the church opened quietly.
The creak the hinges made was a soft sound, one that was barely concealed by the priest's homily. No one paid attention as the seven forms silently filed in, slinking along the back of the church in search of a seat. Gabe was sitting in the front, like she usually did, so she could see the priest better. She liked Father Mike; he was very casual in his teachings, very much a people person. She had found that if she sat up in the front she could usually understand the readings better. So there she was again, in the very first pew, listening with rapt attention as Father Mike covered the book of Revelations. Normally the parish didn't like to touch on that subject -- what with all that was happening in the world, Armageddon seemed much too close for comfort -- but that was another thing she liked about Father Mike. He believed in following the rules, but not to the extreme. Since the teens in the weeknight religion service had requested that he explain the elaborate, sometimes confusing book in class, Father Mike decided to make it the week's reading. Gabe shifted a little in her seat, an unconcious smile formed on her lips. She loved hearing about the Bible; sometimes it was even more interesting than a Stephen King novel. Prophets and martyrs and angels -- Revelations was chock full of angels. Most of them happened to be pouring fire upon the earth, but that was hardly the point.
Someone closed the door loudly, loud enough to make the slam echo off the walls and distract people from the sermon. Gabe frowned a little and turned along with the rest of the parishioners, expecting to see an embarrassed housewife who'd run a little late. She was surprised to see six or seven teenagers neatly lined up against the back wall, slowly spreading out to each side. They were dressed strangely, like something she'd seen in a Social Studies video about the Amish. She was about to glance back at Father Mike, mildly annoyed at the interruption, when she noticed something else. They were carrying sticks. ... no, not sticks, something else ...
"Pardon the interruption, Father," one of them murmured.
When they closed the door, only a few of the parishioners had turned their heads to see. Now nearly all of them swiveled to look at the speaker; it was a pale boy in a neat black suit, his hands clasped calmly behind his back. Gabe frowned slightly, twisting in her seat to see him better and cursing her breezy summer dress as she did so. The one negative aspect of church: her stupid skirts that restricted all comfortable movement.
"Excuse me?" Father Mike asked, half confused and half concerned. The boy smiled at him and waved each delicate pale hand; once to the left, then once to the right. The oddly dressed teens that had gathered behind each row of pews obediently spread forward, walking up both sides of the church and surrounding the parishioners.
"You see, we're new in town," the pale boy said, briefly running a hand over his thick dark hair, "and we felt this would be the most appropriate way to introduce ourselves. And seeing as there was no welcoming committee..." His lips twitched into a smirk, and something inside Gabe went cold.
"Sit down, young man," Father Mike said evenly. "I'm sure you and your friends could find a seat in the back --"
"We'd rather not," the boy murmured with a tilt of the head, glancing briefly around the church. "In fact, I think it's time you stepped down and let me read a little."
"What --" Gabe's head whirled just in time to see Father Mike sink to the ground; a boy with curly brown hair placed a foot on his back and calmly removed the long-handled scythe from his back.
Several people screamed.
Gabe, however, was struck silent with fear. The rest of the teens the boy had brought in with him were moving in for the kill, and quite literally; people were going down like flies, blood and metal were flashing in each pew. There went Mrs. Thatcher, who taught 2nd grade down at JFK elementary, and Mr. Harmon, who worked in the hardware store downtown. Mrs. McClay, Lara Granford, Simon Dratch, down they all went, struck down like Lucifer from the heights of Heaven. Gabe whirled and saw one of the funny dressed kids coming towards her with a hand-held scythe; she finally managed a scream and stumbled back, landing hard on her rear. There was a loud ripping sound as the breezy material of her dress tore all the way up to the hip. Her mouth opened in a breathless shriek as the girl with curly blonde hair raised the scythe above Gabe -- and brought it down into the elderly man behind her.
In less than five minutes, it was all over.
The dead lay strewn haphazardly around the church, some slung over pews and some half under them. Gabe had stumbled to the back and pressed herself into a corner after discovering the doors were guarded by two more oddly dressed teenagers. The rest of the teens she'd attended the service with that morning clustered in their own corners, and when the storm of violence had calmed they were the only ones left standing -- aside from the sobbing children that had hidden beneath the pews. At last, the weapon-wielding teens slowly walked towards the front of the church, where the black-haired boy was standing calmly. His mouth formed a pleasant smile as he gazed around the room, and Gabe, even through her haze of panic and terror, had to admit he looked rather handsome.
"Isn't it odd," he said, his voice loud and clear in the silence of the church, "how much the dead look like they're merely sleeping?" The boy reached slowly towards the body of Father Mike and lifted him by the hair, showing his deathly white face to the teens in the back. He closed the eyelids with his thumb and forefinger, then chuckled quietly. "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep..."
"You sick freak," one of the boys Gabe knew whispered. Though the words were barley audible, the boy with black hair snapped his dark gaze over to the speaker.
"Silence," he said coldly, and the boy obeyed.
"Micah?" He glanced over his shoulder at the girl who'd nearly stabbed Gabe with her scythe. She chewed her lower lip uncertainly. "Micah, shouldn't we be --"
"Silence," he ordered coldly, then paused as the girl recoiled. The boy who was apparently named Micah released Father Mike's hair, placed two fingers over her mouth in apology, and smiled again. "It's taken care of, Ruth. Now step back." Ruth blushed a deep crimson and stepped back, trying to hide her pleased grin. Micah turned back to the church of frightened children. "What was the sermon today? Shall we take a look?" Gabe struggled for breath, looking over the pews littered with bodies. Oh my God, she thought hysterically. Oh my God... "Revelations, eh?" he said in amusement. " 'The first angel went and poured out his bowl on the earth. Festering and ugly sores broke out on those who had the mark of the beast or worshiped its image --' Oh, you silly Catholics!" Micah clasped his hands behind his back and tipped his head towards them. "There are changes taking place, my children. Big changes. I see some of you looking towards the doors. Do you think I would be so stupid as to allow others to interfere? No. I have sent more of my soldiers to take out the town, building by building. The police first, of course." He smiled again, lips pulling back to reveal oddly even white teeth. "We don't like policemen."
"Why are you doing this?" a girl in the corner whispered. Micah tilted his head to the side, an expression of innocence.
"I don't think you're ready for our reasons yet," he said simply. "Jedediah?" The boy with curly brown hair stepped forward.
"Yes, Micah?"
"How far do you think the troops have spread?" Micah was inspecting each child carefully, faint interest in his black eyes. When he reached Gabe, she shuddered instinctively and tried to hold together her ripped skirt.
"They've reached the hospital," Jed said after peering out one of the windows. "I imagine they've passed through the neighborhoods already." Gabe forgot about Micah's probing eyes for a moment and covered her mouth with her hands. Edith was at home today; she hadn't been feeling well enough to go to church that morning. Hot tears threatened behind her eyes but seemed unable to flow. Edith's dead, she thought numbly. Edith's dead, oh God, Edith's dead --
"Good," Micah murmured, his gaze still lingering on Gabe. At last, he looked away and towards his silent comrades. "Let us see how they are progressing, shall we?" He walked towards the doors slowly, each step echoing in the silent church. "I would suggest you stay here. We will return, and if anyone is missing, they will meet with the wrath of a much more powerful god than that which you have learned about in this place." Micah paused at the door and looked down at Gabe; a slow smirk spread across his pale face as his eyes swept over her once again. She shivered and held her torn dress together with one hand, trying to look him straight in the eye. After only a moment, something cold stung inside her and she snapped her head down. Gabe could hear him chuckle softly and push the door open. "Brave new world," he said, amused, and walked out.