Satan's Vessel

*

The sun seemed so bright. The footpath was hard beneath her feet. Her chest was so tight it was hard to take in any air.

As she ran, she kept looking over her shoulder but didn't see anyone following her. Dogs barked as she rushed past her neighbours' houses. A motorbike roared by.

She hadn't run far when she turned at the sound of a loud horn blast. A blue sedan screeched to a halt in the middle of the road. A group of children on their way to school stopped to point up at the sky. The driver of the blue sedan got out and did the same, oblivious to the fact that cars were piling up behind him. More horns honked. People yelled as they waved their arms out their windows.

Kaitlyn looked up and her heart skipped a beat. It was just like she'd seen on T.V. Winged figures. Seven of them. Like giant birds, they soared high above, dark against the sun.

She ran, assuming it had something to do with her. Knowing it had something to do with her. She had no plan, no direction, all she could do was get away somewhere, anywhere, as fast as she could. Had they seen her? Should she hide? And what of those men at her house? Those creatures. Were they really angels? She thought of Father Bartholomew, then of the man with the knife. Her guts twisted sickeningly. It had happened in her living room.

They'd tried to kill her!

More screaming made Kaitlyn look up again. One of the figures was plummeting towards the ground, like a bird spying a fish—and Kaitlyn had a pretty good idea who the fish was. Her legs were aching. Her feet were sore. She was gasping for breath. She couldn't run any longer.

The tone of the screaming changed, and she knew that the plummeting angel was just above—she could feel it, she knew it, like a horrifying pinch at the back of her neck. With a cry, she dropped to the ground and rolled beneath a nearby car.

On her belly, Kaitlyn clawed her fingers into the pavement, her chin braced against the concrete, hoping, praying that they hadn't seen her. Better—that they weren't interested in her at all. That it was just her vivid imagination and her panic.

Hoping was pointless.

She sucked in a breath as a pair of ugly, white feet landed on the footpath beside her with a thud. Further down the road horns blasted, tyres screeched. There was a loud bang! followed by the shattering of grass. More people screamed.

The blood rushed in Kaitlyn's ears as the feet approached. They were covered in twisting blue veins. The nails were chipped and black, as though dead.

The feet paused. Kaitlyn held her breath. He might not know she was there. He could just be looking. He could just be looking around.

Please. Please. Please.

Then he crouched. No cloak or hood this time. A pasty white chest. Long dark hair like a shroud. He was staring at her with those dead eyes. Kaitlyn screamed and attempted to crawl out the other side, but a slender white hand shot towards her and seized her wrist.

It was so icy!

And so strong!

Kaitlyn screamed again as he began pulling her out with a strength that was shocking. Her chin and knees and the tops of her feet scraped painfully against the concrete. Her skirt and blouse rolled up. He kept pulling her out until she was in the open, and she could feel the warmth of the sun beating against her back.

Kaitlyn cried out as he hauled to her feet with his immense strength. He clasped her to him, her back to his chest. He was so cold! In her shock and terror all she could do was sag in his arms as his companions descended, landing around her one by one.