The priests led the people beyond the circle of huts, and
holding their torches on high, they illuminated a small wooden structure,
perched as if by magic directly over a very large chasm in the ground. The
little group couldn’t help but peek over the edge and were struck by a terrible
sense of vertigo. There was no telling how deep or wide it was, for the far
shore was out of torchlight range, and a dirty mist boiled and bubbled within,
as if troubled by demon draughts from down below. Sometimes looping ribbons of
dark green slimy mist would reach up and wind themselves around the hut hoping
to topple it into the abyss. Thin blue veins of static electricity stabbed
upwards, illuminating the mist and running along the bank of the precipice like
the crooked fingers of a witch, tentatively touching her victim, probing for a
vulnerable spot. Occasionally it would flicker and run across the rickety
wooden walkway spanning the gap between the bank and the wooden hut. The
horrified group huddled together and backed away as far as they could…Officer
Angelo included.
“Who first?” said the priest with a callous disregard for
the terror on everyone’s faces. Suddenly their questions didn’t seem so
important. And worse still, most of them couldn’t, in the great scheme of
things, even remember what it was they had wanted to know. Everything palled
into insignificance in the face of that tenuous little hut, seemingly balancing
on nothing but the up-draughts from Hell. Officer Angelo finally knew why
no-one had managed to capture the Prophet.
“You first,” said the priest, deciding for them. The
chosen man looked around him with wide, startled eyes, as if he was just about
to make a run for it. Then some higher volition seemed to take hold of him and
he began obediently to walk slowly towards the hut in a kind of trance. The
little bridge swayed and creaked ominously underneath him, momentarily halting
the man’s progress, but he regained his balance and soon he was knocking at the
door. Almost immediately the door opened like a black toothless mouth and he
entered like a lamb to the slaughter.
“We’re all going to die,” said Officer Angelo to himself.
“Dear God, what kind of a place is this?”
“Not much of a holy
shrine is it? Looks like the shithouse from hell. You’d a thought they’d tart it up
a bit,” said the peacock lady. “They don’t expect me to go in there do they?
Hey you. What kind of con are you running here?” she shouted at the priest but
he appeared not to hear her, or not to care. Her anxiety was causing her to
come apart at the seams. She was just about to launch into another tirade when
the man emerged from the hut in what seemed to be a very short space of time,
his face frustratingly expressionless; no one could tell what had gone on in there.
The priest then pointed to Angelo.
“You next.”
“Hey! What about me. I was here first. What kind of male
chauvinist crap is this?” said the woman with the sunglasses, obviously trying
to brazen out her fear by being as cocky as she could.
“Everyone get turn. No worry.”
“Listen you prick, just because I’m a woman….”
“Hey. No swear. You talk nice. You ugly mouth, no see
Plophet.”
“Well I’d like to bash your stupid face in you….” said the
woman and stopped suddenly, realizing that by the look on the priests face this
was going to get her nowhere.
The Getham stared at her for a long moment.
“You finee?”
“Yes.”
The smell of wood smoke hung thickly in the cloyingly
claustrophobic little hut. There was a small burning torch hanging from the
wall near the door, but the light only penetrated the first few feet, as if the
gloom was made of thicker stuff than mere darkness. Officer Angelo stood next
to the door, waiting. The silence got louder and louder until it was banging in
his ears.
“Come closer,” said a deep rumbling, disembodied voice
from the shadows. “I won’t eat you.”
WHAT WILL THE PROPHET SAY? WHAT WILL HE DO? BE SURE NOT TO MISS NEXT WEEKS EXCITING EPISODE.
