Words Distorted, Threats Unspoken

A short story

This piece was inspired by a prompt for The Top Ten Stories by Timothy J. Sabo and is part of a series of fictional pieces which aims to explore some current social issues. This one focuses on the prompt: “Distorted Christianity.”

“What the hell just happened?” asked Tom, as a smooth, pale, painted surface came into focus a couple of yards in front of his eyes.

It had cobwebs on it. Spiders lurking at the edge. A ceiling, yellow in color.

Tom looked to the side, moving, then groaned with pain as he began to turn over onto his side. It was hot, and everything about his body hurt. He had quickly realized that he was lying down on some kind of bench or couch. And he had no memory of how he got there.

“The injured guy’s awake,” growled a voice from behind his head.

Tom twisted again, this time leaning his head back to see a huge, pallid man. Curly hair dyed purple, thick glasses. A saggy brown suit. The man was holding a glass of beer, sipping it through a plastic straw, and was looking beyond Tom and across the room.

There was the sound of a door clicking shut. And then, footsteps were approaching from the other side of the room, clicking on a hard floor.

Groaning again, feeling pain yet unable to locate what exactly hurt, Tom sat up on the bench, and looked towards the approaching figure. It was a woman this time, lithe, Hispanic, and dressed in black. She was freckly, with hair that was intricately braided. There was another couch across from Tom, and the woman sat down on it. The man came over and sat beside her.

“Ah… you’re feeling better?” said the woman brightly.

“I, I… wait — how did I get here?” Tom had now begun to take in more of their surroundings. The room was square, its walls the same pasty yellow as the ceiling, and dimly lit. There was a single door; otherwise, the edges of the room were lined with trestle tables, each covered with the abandoned remains of party food.

Flies circled near the edge of the space.

“You fell,” growled the man. “Right outside the door of our church. Totally blacked out.”

The woman’s dark eyes gleamed. “It was the work of the Lord that brought us to you.”

Tom frowned for a moment. “So, uh…. you mean that God made me fall unconscious?”

The pair exchanged a glance, but didn’t reply at first. Then, the man spoke up again: “Do you remember what happened, buddy?”

“My name’s Tom, not ‘buddy’. Tom Gibson. I…” Tom hesitated, thinking hard. The last thing he remembered was leaving work, after a long day feeling pissed that Hector had got a promotion ahead of him. It suddenly occurred to him that his smartwatch usually kept him updated with his health status. He glanced down. The face was smashed; there was no display at all. No updates, no messages.

“Shit.”

“Huh?” The big man stared at Tom, clearly expecting more detail.

Tom shrugged. “Uh, no. I mean, I was at work — that’s all I remember. I don’t recall falling and hurting myself. Sorry.”

The woman smiled cryptically. “We can endure everything through the power of the leaders who give us strength!” She spoke in a sonorous tone.

“Lucía and I brought you here, and got you patched up,” growled the man. “Four stitches in your head. I think you’ll be fine, God willing.”

Lucía now reached out and squeezed the man’s upper arm, wrinkling his baggy brown suit jacket in the process. “Jürgen here is a gifted medic. Our congregation truly is blessed.”

Tom slowly stood up. “Nice. Well, hey — you’ve both been really kind, but I should be getting going now.” He now circled around the back of the couch he had been lying on, eyes now focused on the door.

Jürgen and Lucía’s eyes followed Tom as he moved, but they didn’t move or speak. Ignoring them for a moment, Tom stepped over to the door and reached out to turn the handle, only to find it locked. He rattled it for a moment, half-aware of the overripe smell of food on the nearby trestle table, then turned to his pair of hosts.

“Uh, would you guys mind letting me out now? Really — I’m fine. Or do I owe you some money for the medical treatment?” Tom reached gingerly to touch his head, feeling a bandaged area just above his right ear.

“You have to stay here with us,” said Lucía, now standing. “You are part of our mission now. As the Lord said, ‘Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations.’ That means we must recruit lost souls from all over.”

Tom frowned. The room was very warm, and the air stale. He noticed a trickle of sweat now running down his temple. “Umm… I think I’ve heard that phrase. But are you sure that’s what it means?”

Jürgen now put his empty beer glass down on the floor and stood up, something jangling inside his baggy jacket as he did so. “There can be no doubt, Tom,” he said, as he walked closer. “God also said, ‘Power is made perfect in weakness’. That means that we must have power over you. You will stay right here with us until you understand.”

“Now, I’m sure that’s not what that line is supposed to mean,” Tom shot back. Without realizing it, he had inched back as the pair approached.

Now, with the firm locked door at his back, he was trapped.

Lucía and Jürgen had stopped a yard away from Tom, eying him like a pair of predators. Lucía’s dark eyes glittered as she spoke another verse like a chant, almost careless of how he would respond: “God loved the world and gave up his only son, and now everyone who obeys our church and follows our rules will have eternal life.”

“Uhh…” Tom wiped his brow with the back of one hand. He felt queasy, whether due to his recent injury or something else, he wasn’t sure.

“The Lord has appointed us shepherds, and all of the ordinary folks are the flock,” added Jürgen. “They must be obedient.”

Tom’s frown deepened. He could see that there was no point in arguing with these fanatics, these cultists. Though his knowledge of the Bible had become very rusty, he was certain the pair were taking vast liberties with the holy book, both in word and intent.

His Ma would know the quotes better than he did. But he knew bullshit when he heard it.

All the same, he might have no choice but to play along if he was to get out of here.

Fortunately, acting like he gave a shit and pretending to like other people was a skill that Tom practiced every day at work.

“Well, then,” said Tom after a moment’s hesitation, trying to keep his voice calm despite his predicament. “I admit, you two have gotten me really interested. This obedience thing sounds pretty cool. I mean, followers — hello? Sign me up! But seriously, I’d love get a job around here, ‘cause I tell you — working at Produce Mart sucks.”

Lucía took a step closer, leaning against one of the trestle tables, her features radiant with fanatic joy. “Obedience isn’t easy to maintain,” she said softly.

Tom snorted softly, but tried to keep a friendly and earnest expression as he looked at her. “I’m a parent, Lucía. I know all about that sort of thing.”

“We do always need… enforcers,” growled Jürgen, stroking his chin.

Lucía looked across at her partner. “What do you think, Jürg?” she asked softly. “Has this one got the potential?”

Jürgen didn’t immediately answer; the man had gotten distracted by something. He was now looking sideways at a trestle table, at a plate with the greasy remnants of a lamb chop. A fork and steak knife were tucked at the back, hidden under the plate’s edges, and above, a fat black fly was lazily circling. As it came closer, Jürgen reached out and slapped his huge hands together, crushing the insect between them.

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t flies one of God’s creatures?”

“Part of our mission is to clean filth from the world,” said Lucía sharply and in a louder voice, now stepping so close that Tom could feel her breath on his cheek. She raised her hands, clenching her fists. “All kinds of filth and heresy. It’s the American way. God has instructed us, and any faithless people must be corrected, or else…”

She left it hanging. Regardless, Tom thought he had a good idea what these fanatics might want to do to people who didn’t agree to be ‘corrected’.

“Okay, so… you’re clearly full of righteousness,” he said, trying his best to maintain the friendly act. “Like I say — I’m super impressed. Super impressed. So, won’t you show me around, and let me get to know the rest of the congregation?”

The pair stared at each other for a moment again, as Jürgen took a moment to step back scrape the debris of squashed fly from his hands. Tom moved into the space where the big man had been standing and turned his back on the trestle table, clasping his hands behind his waist.

Then, Lucía nodded.

Jürgen shrugged. “We’ll try you out,” he growled, as he stepped forward and pulled a long bronze key from his jacket. “But the rules remain the same. You stay, until you can obey without question.”

“Fair enough.” Tom nodded, then squeezed back against the table to make way, feeling around behind him. His fingers touched the fork, and he froze.

“The congregation truly is a marvelous place,” said Lucía with a joyful grin. “You will love it, I promise! It’s an adjustment at first, but we have so much fun here.” She licked her lips.

“Yah. This place is special,” said Jürgen, as he pushed open the door, stepped through, and then beckoned Tom to follow. “There is none of that sin of the outside world. Here it is… pure.”

“Like fruit juice,” added Lucía perkily.

“Juice, right,” muttered Tom. As Lucía waited, her eyes still glittering at him, he turned and stepped towards the door in Jürgen’s wake. “We’ll see about that.” And he stepped through the doorway, cradling the steak knife inside his sleeve.

Read more from The Top Ten Stories right here, in this follow-up story by Logan Silkwood:

Who is J. F. Danskin? Alongside my Medium writing, I’m an author of LitRPG and historical fantasy. Links to all my books and sites here.

A shoutout again to Timothy J. Sabo and to the rest of the writers who are doing this project: PJ Jackelman, Sherry McGuinn, Geoffrey Gevalt, Helen Hensell, Sudarsan Karki-SuperSudar, Logan Silkwood, Annie Trevaskis and Uwem Daniels.

And you can read some more of my fiction below: