The Holy Spirit

Extra: Death of The Spirit

A memory.

The church.

It was a beautiful day. The town has gathered once again at the church to pray to the Lord.

And there was thirteen-year-old Lucas Catgrow in the front row, just how he liked it, sitting between his mother and father. His mother pressed her finger against a loose hair, keeping it straight for him; his father put an arm around him, smiling. Lucas prayed along with them when it was time. It was a good day, just like every Sunday.

Lucas hadn't expected it to be his last.

-

The church bells rung, and none of the people inside had noticed an intruder that had snuck in. A satanist had arrived: and not just any satanist, a black-clad one that was armed with a desert eagle.

Lucas was the first to notice. He saw the odd-shaped lump in the person's pants.

He tugged on his mother's shirtsleeve. "Mom, I—I'm not feeling well—"

A 'bang' rose up in the church. The person had shot off the gun into the air.

The reverend stopped preaching, only now encouraging all to leave. "Go! Get out!" He shrieked, stumbling over the pews along with some others.

One woman raced to contact the police with the corded phone.

Another shot went off. More screaming from the church erupted.

Lucas' eyes darted towards his terrified parents and the gun the person held.

His hand twitched, then he paced towards them.

All of the person's attention went onto Lucas.

The gun was cocked straight at Lucas' heart.

The gunshot went off.

Lucas touched his chest, feeling around it and a foul smell rose up. The smell of his flesh bursting out of his body.

He didn't panic nor move. He was paralyzed out of fear.

Another shot rang, and now his intestines spilt out of his body and onto the floor.

He made a horrified gargling noise and collapsed to the floor, blood and guts spilling from the holes the bullets had made.

Most of the people had gotten out safely, and the police had arrived. They hadn't noticed Lucas.

His mother and father rushed to him, sobbing.

"Mom? Dad?" Blood poured out of his eyes, unable to cry normal tears. His vision was horribly blurry.

"Lucas! Lucas, can you hear us?" His father shook him. "You're—you're going to be okay, son..." he tried to believe in it, but no, he couldn't. He knew his son, the one he had worked so hard on raising, was dying.

"Lucas... we love you. We love you so much." His father hugged the boy's foul-smelling corpse. He didn't care if his blood stained his Sunday best suit. 

His mother vomited and cried at the same time, unable to bear the sight of her child's carcass.

-

A week later, a funeral for their boy was held.

His parents were half-crazy, unable to bear the loss of their son. 

They would believe he was still there, like pretending to greet him at the door when he was supposed to come back from school.

They refused to accept that he was gone.

-

Lucas looked around the empty area, full of nothing but rocks engraved with names of others.

He wiped his bloodstained face, stained with the bloody tears he'd cried when he had passed away.

The boy grew anxious, horrified to the feeling of his missing family.

"Mom? Dad? Where are you?" His voice was low and echoing. He continued to speak.

"This... This isn't funny!" 

"..."

"Please help me..."