Yikes. Well, I switched POV's quite a lot in this, so I'm sorry if it annoys you, but I kinda felt the need to so you could get a grip on how everyone is feeling. I know each POV is pretty short, but this chapter was hard to write. I hope I'm not losing it, but maybe it's for the better.

Mucho thanks to Sinister Sanity and Iokaste for reviewing my story, it really does mean a lot and though I have yet to learn how to shorten my sentences better, I really appreciate the constructive criticism.

Also thanks to those other silent subscribers (and I say silent because I haven't heard from you) for, um, reading! I'm trying hard on this story so I hope it at least shows. I'm not exactly used to the idea of writing fan fiction, but it's a refreshing change. And now on to the story!

Malachi Boardman had never considered himself as Isaac's messenger boy, let alone special delivery boy, as he trudged down Main Street, staring off ahead with a dull sense of awareness. Though he knew the others viewed it as otherwise, whispered differently when his back was turned, he refused to let any of it matter to him. He was working for the Lord, not Isaac. Isaac only spoke His words, and therefore, Malachi concluded proudly, he was obeying what the Lord commands.

Retrieving the girl and bringing her to the Clearing—isn't that another word for delivering? His mind teased—had to be the simplest of all tasks he had ever been assigned. The girl had not once ounce of strength left straggling within her (although it never occurred to him that she had, even before). Besides, the image of her wounded and being forced to stare into the dead faces of her parents made it that much easier for him to push back the annoyance of the chore.

The father had not yet died; though his blood still leaked from the side wound he had received from one of the others, a young boy named Joseph. The old man was stronger than any of them had estimated, but given that he was outnumbered, it was only a matter of time before he fell back into their hands. Malachi had not fretted upon learning of his escape. And now, as he tilted his head toward the moon, he smiled. The girl would perhaps get a chance to speak to him one last time. It would be a show each could enjoy. It would be the show that could possibly make her see.

The stars were plentiful, like guardians protecting the moon, and he chuckled wickedly, his trudge transforming into a confident stride. The night was so clear, so very much His, that it was overbearing. His Presence lurked around every corner. Behind the buildings It crawled, over the rooftops It soared, but in the corn where It was the strongest, He preyed.

And tonight was going to be that of recognition for the girl. But for Malachi and all the others, it would resume to be the same old song.

--

The Clearing was empty as the darkness washed over the land in waves and the last of the sun's warm glow faded in the distance, on its way lighten another place in the world. The Lord's impatience rumbled through the sky, thunder so loud that it could torture the willing ears of his followers, as they poured out into the streets, dazed.

The children could sense something great, and yet something to be feared, a danger so magnificent that it could take them all away. A danger so fierce, that it could kill if it so wished.

Yet it didn't. At least, and they were thankful for it, not now.

They had heard rumors surrounding the outlander's life. Some children spoke in low tones about how Malachi had slit the girl's throat. Others spoke of how she was locked away inside one of the buildings, still living, still breathing, still defiling. The situation seemed like a punishment to them, though they had had no control. None took any favor to it.

But were they willing to speak out against His conduct?

No.

The older females of the assembling crowd took charge of the younger children, who wailed in the choking darkness for comfort. The older males formed a separate crowd, preparing themselves to protect when the need suddenly came to be. And with the way that the darkness above split in half by a single bolt of white lightening, it appeared that it would rise soon, and that they would have to act accordingly. Isaac was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Malachi, and while the children found themselves lost without the reassuring words of their leader, the menacing redhead's disappearance was a blessing.

Above, the thunder seemed to speak horrible words to them, a warning that none could decode. Another flash of lightning, and the rain was hurled down at them, drenching through their clothes. But it felt more like acid, as the children screamed from the invisible burns that scorched their exposed skin, now seeping through their outmoded clothing. The wind shrieked through their ears, His screams, and they knew.

It was His warning.

The corn was being swished every which way by the angry torrents of wind, and each child swallowed his or her fear for the moment, subjecting themselves to His powers.

Because the night was His time, the night was His domain.

--

He could hear the rain beating against the roof of the barn, could hear the thunder's rage as it settled closer rather than staying off where it was best, in the distance. For a moment, he just listened. And he realized that this storm wasn't like all the others. This was His wrath, His way of telling them that failures were not an option. In the demand for a sacrifice, which He had been promised, the Lord had decided to throw a fit.

A fit? No, it's not just a fit. His mind interrupted. It's a warning. A warning saying that next time, perhaps it won't be this pretty.

This was pretty?

He scoffed at the voice, which had sounded foreign, an outsider invading his most inner thoughts, lodged into the darkness that covered his mind. The smirk he always seemed to wear with absence had vanished, and for a moment, his expression was sober. For a small second, it had been freed from the intoxicating spell of madness. A stirring in the far left-hand corner of the barn disturbed his thoughts, chilled his bones, as he flitted his eyes toward the darkness. He could see nothing, but that didn't mean that something wasn't there, lurking, watching, and breathing. And for an instant he thought he could hear the raucous breaths, thought he could feel the empty sockets of its eyes somehow seeing through him. Evaluating his worth.

No. His mind wanted to collapse, the fear sending his heart to pound wildly in his chest. And then a voice, a terrible sound, like a rake scratching against a chalkboard, sounded in the depths of his mind.

Malachi.

The voice was not male or female

(Malachiii)

And yet it began to sound like his mother's when he had mercilessly struck her down.

You killed me.

He could hear the thing shuffling forward, toward him, the straws of hay scratchy and rough underneath the pressure of its feet, and Malachi took a step back, his eyes searching desperately for a glimpse of the creature.

Creature, is that what I am?

His adam's apple bobbed up and down from the fright, and the air escaped from his lungs in one huge blow.

(In the corner in the corner look in the corner)

But he couldn't see anything. The shuffling had stopped, the voice had died, and now the only sound he could hear was that of the wind banging its fists against the barn. His mind slowly clicked back into place as his heart struggled to obtain its steady rhythm. He waited for a minute longer, and once he realized that it had just been his mind

(He Who Walks Behind the Rows)

He continued his task. He found the girl lying in the same place he had left her, and his movement seemed to slip out from under him as he hovered above her lifeless body.

Lifeless. Is she dead?

(Yes)

"No," he breathed, crouching low so that he could listen. He heard nothing.

Her chest did not rise, so it did not fall, and her eyes were still beneath purple lids. Her skin was pallid, so bloodless, and fearing what she was, he carefully placed his hand across her forehead. It drew back instantly, as if he had been burned, and after debating everything inside, he figured he had.

The girl was freezing. The girl was dead.

The voice rose from behind him.

You must bring her to Me.

--

Away from the barn, back in the Clearing, the children gathered. And they waited.

The father was nearing hysterics, clutched tightly and surrounded by children on all sides, screaming for his wife and daughter, though the wife was held up beside him. Dead.

Under the calming reassurance of Isaac's promising words, order had been restored, though the wind still tore through the corn like madness on the run. And, as Isaac stared at the frightened faces around him, his brothers and sisters, each knew that it was true. Madness was, indeed, on the run. It was on a rampage.

He wants more than a sacrifice, Isaac realized dully, a little fearful now. For once, He wants something more than blood. And He still refused to tell what.

Another knows. The voice whispered coolly to him, and along with it Isaac imagined a snake slithering adroitly through the fields. Another has realized.

The rain no longer fell down upon them, but the wind, strong and determined, swept through the Clearing fiercely, seeming to slice through each of their bones. To be outside in such weather was to be insane, and yet, Isaac knew they had no other option. The comforting walls of their homes could not save them now.

"Silence, my children, for the Lord had commanded for us to wait!" The gushing of panicked babbles suddenly dried up upon the sound of his haunting voice, their attention now called. Isaac studied how well they each dealt with pressure, surveying the youngest children as they shivered underneath their wet clothes, some of the harder females placing sturdy hands upon their shoulders, drawing them close. The softer, weaker females, those who tended to the cooking and cleaning, seemed to drift away, lost in their own piles of frightened thoughts.

The eldest males stood out the most, standing tall on all sides, staring straight at him, which pleased Isaac very much. Though he had little control over the situation, they still believed in him.

You hold no power, Isaac. Listen for the sounding approach of your most loyal follower, for he has news.

And Isaac did turn his back, ebony eyes scanning across the blustering fields. And he listened.

Sure enough, even over the loud shrieks of wind, he heard.

--

The corn seemed to yield a path for him to make his way through, and the wind seemed to die all around him as soon as he stepped out of the corn and into the Clearing, where all awaited his arrival. The wind still continued to blow, though it had languished greatly. All eyes flitted to the dead girl cradled in his arms, but the pair that stood out most was her father's.

You are wrong; she is not dead. She awaits her rebirth.

Malachi knew now that it was the Lord speaking to him and not his dead mother. But he didn't know why. The Lord had never spoken to anyone other than Isaac. Why the sudden change?

Worry not, my child.

Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. Setting the lifeless body down in the gap between the children and Isaac, he breathed hard and fast. He rose slowly and planted his feet firmly on the soggy earth, glancing up to see Isaac's distracted face. His black eyes were exploring the pale body, traveling across the wounds that the children had inflicted, and Malachi thought he could detect remorse. Then, as he took his rightful place among the others, in the center where Ruth stood, the wind died completely. He grasped Ruth's hand in his as was expected, and also because he was afraid.

Fear not, can't you see it?

For a moment, he could. He could see everything.

--

The sky was brightened with fresh strokes of lightning, and the wind picked up again, though this time the girl was its target as it swarmed around her with invisible hands. The children backed away, ignoring the father's pained cries, and watched in amazement as the girl's eyes slowly opened, staring above at the furious sky. They watched as their beloved Clearing changed, its well nourished soil and plentiful green grasses slowly losing all the nutrients it held. Gradually, each blade of grass dried up and became a dark shade of brown, and the green corn surrounding them began to look like all the rest, dried and golden. Useless.

They stared in awe at Isaac, who was frozen stiff, his eyes refusing to remove themselves from the girl as her color returned, her wounds healing and becoming soft skin once again.

They watched as she rose on languid limbs, back from the dead. Her mouth moved gently against the dying wind, speaking silent words. Eager, they tried to listen, and disappointed, they heard nothing.

However, as they watched Isaac, watched as his eyes grew wide, they knew.

This was no outlander. This was the Lord Himself, not only speaking through a vessel, but controlling it as well.

Isaac nodded slowly, dropping to his knees and closing his eyes as the girl came before him. She raised her arm, hand landing upon the boy preacher's head, where she fell into his shocked arms.

The wind was dead. The Clearing was dead. But the girl was very much alive.

The ropes hang

To keep us all awake

And I should have known

It only takes one break

Of your pose to get off

And to save our place

Home with you all

That's all it takes

Well, I should have known

It's still the same song

It's still the same song

Deftones - Deathblow

Ha, I got a little carried away and used Stephen King's unique writing style with the parenthesis. I couldn't help myself, I'm reading the book It for the second time and it's fun. Um, I don't know for sure when I'll update next, other than it might be a long time until I do because 1.) I have tons of school crap to worry about, 2.) I don't know where this story is going, I've changed it a lot as I'm going along, and 3.) I don't know if anyone (other than two people) really likes this or not. Please understand.