The Sketchbook

Book the First

Strange Happenings
By
Patrick Eklektos
The Sketchbook, Book The First: Strange Happenings
by Patrick Eklektos
Copyright:
Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States
 The works here enclosed are a small collection of my early complete works and one incomplete
work. These stories, although written with a purpose, are for the enjoyment of the reader but more also
for the glory of God! They are the expressions I have in viewing the world and are intended to
encourage self reflection. I claim no mastery over the written word, but I hope you can find it to enjoy
these meager works for the glory of the Lord unto whom they were devoted. Praise be to the Lord
Almighty! Soli Deo Gloria
 Honour
By: Patrick Eklektos

I
The night sky was lit by a thousand glimmering stars, veiled not by cloud or intruding light of
mortal make. And the moon let its radiant, silver beams of light fall upon the shimmering ocean. As a
cool sea breeze caressed the fair, white cheek of a maiden wonder. Her beauty was like that of an elfin
maiden of old lore, or else, of an angel from the heavens. She looked beyond the sparkling, shimmering
sea as she thought of a man.
She thought of him not as a young maiden of her age might think of her sweetheart, but as one
might think of another lesser than herself. He was dashing, it is true, and quite rich for a single man of
twenty-five, but he was also arrogant and prideful. It is for that reason she thought ill of him. He
seemed indifferent to the needs and desires of the passengers of his ship; indeed, he seemed to think no
one person in the whole of the world was his equal, and perhaps he was right. But it was true; he did
seem quite honorable and noble like, perhaps that is why Charles Honour was a suitable name for him
and his ship. However, it may have been that his conceit was inherited from his aristocratic family.
The maiden was so consumed in her thoughts that she noticed not at all the sound of the souls
of a man’s shoes striking the wooden planks that covered the deck of this magnificent ship. Oblivious
to all that went on about her, she was startled by the clear call of her name, “Virginia.”
Now this was not all that was said, and to be fair to her caller I shall recall the whole sentence,
“May I have the honor of accompanying you in night watch, Virginia?” Now Virginia turned to look
upon her intruder to behold none other than the man she had beheld within her thoughts.
“I am in no position to stop you, after all, this is your ship,” Virginia said with unconcealed
sarcasm after Charles had restated his request.
“Forgive me, mademoiselle, I take no pleasure in forcing my company upon any who take no
pleasure in it, lest it concerns business. Hence, I shall take my leave of you,” said the young man, in his
usual cold manner and with his usual appalling lack of emotion, while ending his cordiality with a short
bow.
“Wait,” Virginia called out, and for what reason she was not entirely certain.
“Yes, mademoiselle?” said he simply.
“Forgive me for being so rude,” she said with an unexplainable surge of emotion, “I will gladly
welcome your company.”
Upon hearing this, a small, child like smile could be seen creeping across his face, but only for
a moment and then he resumed his solemn, expressionless countenance. He again approached her and
resumed his stance by her side. And she looked at him, a little differently this time; that is with a sort of
compassion for him that she had not before felt. He too looked at her and, though with the same
expressionless face, she could see in his eyes a glimmer that seemed to denote affection. But then, why
should she not recognize that he had some sort of affection for her, did he not, after all, cast his eye
upon her of all the other ladies aboard ship who might be more beautiful and rich than herself? It seems
that he might have been attracted to a certain beauty she had, which was in so much more abundance
than all the other ladies he had before seen; that is, a beauty of spirit that spawns from a different kind
of maintenance for the body than that which pertains to vanity. In a word, her beauty spawned from
virginity, and it was a beauty like that of the heavenly host.
The couple, in their newfound mutual affection for one another, began to talk, a habit not oft
practiced by Charles, and the night slipped away swiftly. As they conversed, each grew more and more
affectionate toward the other. Finally, the bell tolled midnight, and the two awoke from their fantastic
dream. They both realized the time for their separation was drawing nigh, though neither wished this to
ever occur, but the hour cared not for those disadvantaged by it. Although it happened that afterward
many a night was passed in like manner, and after each night the couple grew closer to and fonder of
one another until they loved each other passionately. But the episode that occurred on the night of their
last such evening, just three days before the scheduled arrival in port, must here be explained.
Charles ended the conversation of that night with an offer to escort his fair companion to her
quarters and, in her fevered state; that is to say, the fever of love, she consented without hesitation or
resistance. He took her to her cabin door and watched her as she opened it. Though both seemed to
have lost all their senses, they were aware that the hall in which they stood was completely empty and
no one could observe their actions. With this knowledge, coupled with the understanding that she had
never loved any man more, Virginia offered her lover a kiss with the dual offer, though less obvious to
any other observer, of admittance into her chamber. The young man looked on with desire, and one
could see, though he stood as impassive as ever, that there was in his eyes a struggle, a contest between
two warring factions. In one moment, his sharp eyes dulled and in another, they glinted. Finally, the
struggle was over. The young took a step back and bowed as he spoke, “I have never kissed a woman,
and I shan’t kiss you now, my dear Virginia.”
Needles to say, Virginia was shocked, “Why Charles?” she asked almost breathlessly, with
much confusion and disdain.
“It is because I respect and love you. Such an act would control and then destroy us. Please
remember, I refuse to do such because I adore and love you.” At this, Charles turned to make his
departure, when a sudden shock violently rocked the boat, causing both the young man and the young
lady to lose their balance. The young man, however, was able to keep himself from falling, and upon
seeing his companion unable to hold herself up, he quickly caught her and restored her to a standing
position. He was then off to discover the source of the disturbance. And in the mean while Virginia
silently watched the young gentleman quickly stride away as she thought, “No woman could ever know
a better man.”

II
Virginia ventured on deck to discover the mystery for herself. When she had reached her
destination, she observed that many, like her, had come to discover what had disturbed their evening.
She also noticed others there, those not of the curious type, who had apparently been summoned.
Furthermore, she observed he who had called all the passengers together, he who was nonother then her
young gentleman.
He had gathered all the crew and passengers to relate a most distressing bit of news; that is, that
the ship was sinking. Apparently, the boiler in the engine room had exploded and a large hole had been
blown through the side of the ship. Panic began to spread amongst the crowd and the mass of
frightened people soon became a mob.
“I beg you, wait!” Charles cried out, and the mob seemed stop. “If you will notice, the ship is
not sinking quickly. We have time to make an orderly departure in the lifeboats. My men will distribute
life jackets if you will be so kind as to wait.”
 This did not please all the crowd and some of the men grew restless. “How can we know how
long this ship will remain atop the water before she goes under?” Asked one of the more unruly men.
“We will save more lives if we do this in an orderly fashion.” Charles declared, “Now, my
fellow men, I call on your honor that you might allow the women and children to board the boats first.”
The unruly man spoke again, “there are more of them then there are of us, what if there is no
more room after they are safe?” many other men agreed with the first and they stood against Charles.
“Then I call upon your courage and strength for the sake of your wives and children.” Charles
answered calmly. But the men would not have it this way and nearly all of them stood at the side of the
first man who seemed to be silently elected their leader.
Then Charles asked in earnest, his voice filled with emotion, “Is there no man who cares more
for those weaker then himself than he does for his own life?” Unfortunately, his call seemed to fall on
dead ears save only for one young man, a painter no older than a boy of nineteen, who leapt from the
crowd to stand at the side of this true gentleman. Charles, realizing the impending danger from the
other men, gave a whispered order to the captain of the ship, and in a few moments, the captain arrived
with the rest of the ship’s crew, all of whom fortunately remained loyal to Charles, and they were all
well armed with weapons form the ships armory. The captain then gave the boy a rifle and to Charles
he gave a revolver. “Now,” cried the young gentleman, “you have forfeited the honor you could have
obtained from your heraldry toward these women and children and you are forced to do that which you
had refused to do before, despite your selfishness.” But the first man refused to give up; he ran to one
of the boats and tried lowering it. Then Charles again spoke, “I warned you, but you did not listen to
me!”
Then, while all were watching, there resounded in the air the sound of that thunder of certain
death. The man grabbed at some wound in his chest and then fell to his grave of water and fire. Virginia
had observed all this first, then she turned to behold Charles. He was deathly pail, with an expression of
horror mixed with remorse, and his sidearm was leveled in the direction from which the dead man had
fallen, poised for its deadly duty. But it was not from his weapon that Virginia saw smoke billowing;
rather, it was from the rifle of the painter that one could see smoke and she knew it his weapon that had
been discharged. Charles then said, in a voice almost horse, “Help the women into the boats.” It would
not be until later that Virginia would learn that the man who had been shot was Charles best friend, but
at this moment it did not matter.
The shock of that incident had deadened her senses, she may have even fainted, and thus, when
she came to herself, she was surprised to see that she was already in a lifeboat. She looked about and
realized that boat within which she had been placed was the last of those departing from the ship. She
also noticed that all the boats were filled beyond their capacity. She then directed her gaze toward the
ship, it was now quickly sinking and very close to being submerged, but what startled her most was that
she saw some were still on its deck, without hope of escape. Foremost of those was her young
gentleman, Charles Honour, and he was looking at her boat, nay he was not looking at that, rather, he
was looking at her. So he would die, happily in the knowledge that she was safe.
Virginia felt the burning urge to leap out of the boat and join him in death, so that, though they
may not be allowed to forever remain together in life, they may do so in death. She made ready to act
upon this resolve when she felt the clasp of a hand take hold of her arm; she then turned to behold the
young artist. “He told me not to let you out of my sight until you were safely ashore, in the care of
loved ones.” Said the young man as he looked toward the water and perceived her wish. Virginia then
sadly realized that Charles was determined to rescue her, even from herself. Charles had defined true
love; that is, with his self sacrifice.
 III
Virginia looked out into the open sea as the sun slowly arose over the blue horizon; she looked
where the ship had slowly sunk into its grave. She was in a state of shock, unable to cry, or speak, or do
anything, but look on. Only a few hours after the HMS Honour sank, some fishing boats arrived and
began loading the passengers aboard their own ships, but Virginia still looked on. While one of the
ships began loading those aboard her boat, she lowered her hand into the water and she let her delicate
fingers glide through the cool, silver ocean. She did this without conscious thought, but perhaps it was
because she had hoped to bid her last farewell to Charles. As she made these mournful strokes, she felt
her fingers strike something wet as the water but solid as her hand. She recognized it immediately as
soaked clothing and, believing it to be some poor survivor from the ship, she instinctively looked over
the boat at it. Indeed it was a body, but she could not tell whom it was for the poor man lay floating on
his stomach with his face in the water.
She then cried, “There is someone in the water!” begging for aid, as she had not the strength to
pull him out herself. Men from the fishing vessel came and, with the help of the young artist, they
pulled him out of the ocean water. As they pulled him aboard the boat and turned him over so as to
reveal his face Virginia gave a cry of delight and then of horror when she recognized the lifeless body
of Charles. In the horror of the moment and in her utter despair, she fell faint.

Light flooded into the dark recesses of that faint mind as it was awakened from its swoon. They
darted about the room and observed it to be a very small cabin with few fixtures, yet there lay not far
away the most beautiful thing in the room; that is, the fair form of a lovely woman. Emotion surged
through all his senses as he sat up, and then he wondered why he was alive or if he was alive at all.
Then there arose from a dark corner a tall and lean, elderly man. He approached Charles’ bedside, or
whatever you might call the side of a simple cot, and said in a low, cracked voice, not above a whisper,
out of respect for the young lady, “We thought you were dead. If it were not for that young lady there,
you might now have been just that.” Then after regarding her with a smile he began again, “You were
almost drowned, but thanks to my skill here you are.” Now Charles began to smile as he inwardly
thanked God for His doctory.
He thought for a moment, and then he asked the old man, “When will she awake?”
“Not for some time. She had fainted after seeing you, I since revived her but she is now
sleeping form sheer exhaustion.”
With his mind relieved, the young gentleman lay down his head again as he thought of how he
might ask her what was at the forefront of his mind; that is, concerning marriage.

This is the conduct of all truly honorable gentlemen, remember it young men of this sensual
age. And, my dear young ladies, take nothing less from your boyfriend lovers, you are worth more than
a tool for sexual enjoyment. So I write again, men, be like this man. And women, look for men like this
man.

Finis
 Flight in the Forrest
By: Patrick Eklektos

He sat upon his bed with his head bent low as he contemplated the strategy he would enact
against that tyrant who had so oppressively threatened his freedoms. To put it simply, he was a rebel
against the government that had been established over him. But I shall not have you believe that this is
some heroic tail accounting the engagements of a righteous warrior against an evil dictator like Hitler
or Stalin. Instead, I shall record the final journey of a defiant youth who had rebelled against his Father
and Mother. I cannot be certain of the details, or even of the subject, of the argument, which had driven
this Youth to his present madness, but it had been enough to send the Youth into a fit of anger that had
led him to entertain thoughts of a most rash nature.
He was a simple boy, though he might argue that he was a rather complicated man, beyond the
understanding and reason of any person twenty years his senior, or else older. He was clad in common
attire, although anyone older than he, or younger for that matter, might say his clothing was nothing
short of bizarre; nonetheless, such dress was common for his generation. Only one color dominated it;
that is, black. I little know why he preferred so vulgar a color, but perhaps he had wished to match the
color of his clothing with that of his soul. He had also an innumerable variety of scattered mettle
adorning his face. There were earrings, nose rings, and lip rings with more than a mere one decorating
any single location. Indeed, he looked more android than he did human. He had also a chain, no doubt
to complement the metal in his face, hanging from his pants. It must have been made of led for it
seemed to have been what had pulled his pants down to such an immodest level, it makes one wonder
what held them up at all. Furthermore, there climbed up his right arm a great, black deformity, which
was of the most grotesque images of death and evil; in a word, it was a tattoo. And though there may be
little wrong with such a device, of a more innocent nature, this particular tattoo was the visible mark of
that which had brandished his heart and seared his soul. Finally, there was the little matter of his hair
which was in such disarray that it seems the Youth had confused the pruning sheers for his clippers
when he had attempted to cut his own hair, or perhaps it was some adolescent style that, God willing,
will be forgotten soon. This young man was a common, American youth; that is, he was a rebel.
He sat on his bed, as afor written, contemplating his options. He had lost his last argument with
his father and, as is proper with good parenting, he was appropriately punished. He now sought a sweet
sort of revenge and he had just come to the notion of running away. He considered this for a while,
arguing with himself whether this would be for good or ill, but his evil heart defeated any good
arguments against going. He reasoned that he deserved more respect than he was given at home, and
the world offered so much more of this. Also, he felt his parents would realize their fault, feel sorry for
him, and thus he would hurt them with his absence. This filled him with such a sick, dark pleasure that
he determined to set out immediately. How I pity thee, O child of folly.
He had the prudence, or else foolishness, to wait for all his household to doze peacefully in the
undisturbed sleep of the night. With stealth that seemed reserved only for the Devil himself, he made
his way past the sleeping sentries and crept out of the confines of his home. He was now in the wide
world, and it was up to him to make the best or the worst of it.
It happened that the Youth dwelt in the Midwest, near the Rocky Mountains, where there are the
most beautiful forests, perhaps in all of America. But whilst their beauty is the grandest when the light
of the Son shines upon them, the darkness that covers them in the twilight hours causes them to look
most hellish, perhaps it was for this reason that Puritans saw the forest as a symbol of man’s depravity.
But because the Youth little knew this and because such a forest lay not far away, he made for it.
It is said that on nights as the one on which the Youth traveled, dark and eerie with a chill as
cold as death, one might see a ghost or something of that kind. Furthermore, one might say that forest
in which the youth had just entered is the sort that is typically haunted. And although such ghosts and
specters of the night cannot be seen lest they are revealed, their presence is easily felt; such was the
case of the Youth. And the farther he ventured into the forest, the more keenly he felt this presence, and
this fear held his heart with such an iron grip that he could little control his senses. To escape this
looming doom he began running, mad with fear. He wove his way through the ancient trees, jumping
over fallen logs and dodging low branches. As he passed these, he could see little more than a darkened
blur of browns, greens, and blues where the faint light of the night had mingled with the colors of the
wood. Underfoot, he crushed pine needles and, here and there, some weed or other underbrush that had
the unfortunate lot to grow where he tread. And as he clumsily made his way, he would hear some
scampering from some animal that had bolted away for fear of some approaching danger, whilst the
Youth thought every such bustle was an advance of his unseen enemy. Yet the farther he ran, that dread
drew closer until it seemed to be upon him. After running a distance, seemingly unattainable by any
mortal in one quick sprint, the Youth collapsed under fear and exhaustion, and as he fell, there came
rushing over him a thick, deathly cold fog, like that which one might see hovering over a bog. It
seemed to envelope all his body, up unto his shoulders, save only for one knee, which appeared to
protrude out of the thick, white blanket like some lone island in a vast ocean.
Out of this mist there arose four dreadful, demonic ghosts. Upon beholding this dread, the
Youth’s face became so pail he looked as though he were already dead, and it might have been better
had he been so. Furthermore, his heart began beating at a pace greater even than that which he had
whilst running. One could clearly see in his face that certain fear felt by all pray, after being so
ruthlessly hunted, when finally caught by its hunter. And had you ever seen a ghost, you might easily
sympathize with the Youth’s plight. But if anyone is filled with so great a fear for the sight of just one
ghost, should not that fear be multiplied at the sight of four? Such was the fear that seized the Youth.
There before him were the four ghosts, although you might collectively call them goblins, each
was of a specific kind. The lesser two might themselves alone be called goblins, for they were
tormentors. These two seemed that they might be the very jailors who would guard a poor lost soul as
he suffered eternal damnation in hell. The first of the two goblins looked as though it might have once
appeared beautiful, but now its face, or some substance that had adorned its face, had melted over it so
as to form a horrid countenance. Its eyes were so sunk into that plastic face that they could not be seen
through the thin vertical slits that had been formed, while its mouth formed an affixed frown. Its
garments might have once been flowing and attractive but who now could see them as such in their
present ragged and torn form. It seemed also to have once had a shapely figure that was now bent and
broken. The Youth recognized it; perhaps the way all might recognize their own demons, as Lust.
The second goblin the Youth also recognized. Its features, however, were different than those of
Lust, though no less grotesque. Its eyes were glazed while its lids formed a half droop. Its countenance
was dull and placid as though it paid little attention and it did anything else less. However, its fingers,
or else claws for they looked more like talons, twitched at all times as though it were eager to seize its
prey. The Youth knew this to be Addiction; that is, in the Youth’s case, to drugs and the like.
The third ghost the Youth did not recognize the way he had the others; instead, he knew it from
pictures he had seen, particularly, that one which branded his arm. You, my dear readers, might know it
by its common name The Grim Reaper. There it stood, or rather it seemed to hover in mid air, in the
dress it is so oft pictured in; that is, in a long black robe which is tattered and torn at its ends and with a
sickle for a staff. It also had a hood that cast in shadow its mysterious face. The Youth knew it to be the
Angel of Death*.

*
I believe that the angel of death is a fallen angel. Author’s note.
 It was the fourth that filled the Youth with the most fear, yet this monster he did not recognize;
it might be called a Specter. When the Youth looked upon it he could see through the thing, but when
he did all that he saw beyond it was distorted. And from the Specter there seemed to glow a pail, green
light. When the Youth gazed upon its face, he saw that it was indescribable. This is because, with the
Specter’s every movement, its face changed into a thousand twisted and deformed shapes. But two
parts of its countenance remained ever constant; the first was its ravenous fangs that seemed ever eager
to consume flesh and soul. And the second was its empty eye sockets, or else some unearthly shadow
cast them in perpetual darkness. The Specter then advanced until it was not a yard from the Youth and,
as it did so, it looked intently, but viciously, upon its prey while a wicked smile seemed to find its form
upon its constantly morphing face every now and again.
The Youth then summed up all his courage, which was not much, and said in a weak and feeble
voice, “What are you?”
The answer came cold and with that same hollow tone of an echo, “We are four ghouls
summoned to hunt and maim you, and then to haunt and kill you.” So spoke the Specter.
“But, what are you?” asked the Youth again.
“I,” came a voice that seemed to emit from the grave, “am Hate, your murderous hate. And I
have come to hunt and maim you, and then to haunt and kill you.”
The lack of emotion in that answer struck still more fear in the heart of the Youth but he
managed to speak, although he felt he could do nothing else, “Why have you come to kill me?”
“We have been summoned to do so,” came again that same hollow voice.
“Who?” begged the Youth in despair, “Who has summoned you?”
“You have summoned us,” that same solemn voice said.
“I have done no such thing,” the Youth declared in a weaker and feebler tone than before.
“Thou hast done this thing in your heart as thou defied and rebelled against your Father and
God,” declared the Specter in its same hollow voice but this time it was filled with condemnation.
“So my end is come upon me!” lamented the Youth in despair. “Is there no one who will save so
wretched a boy as myself? Am I to die alone and without hope?”
“No! There is no such person!” Exclaimed the Specter, half threatening and half earnestly. It
advanced a pace, and so did all its companions, readying themselves for their murderous affair.
The youth looked around in fear when, in a still, small voice, he heard whispered in his ear
“Whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.” He could not be certain from whence
it came, but he knew it to be more holy than the speech of the goblins. He therefore listened and
resolved, though only in a few moments, to act upon that which he heard. The Youth fell upon his
knees, just as his tormentors had encircled him, and in a loud, clear voice he cried, “Dear God, I do call
upon the name of the Lord! O God, forgive my trespasses against You! I beg for mercy! I cry for
salvation! Dear God, I call on the name of the Lord, Jesus the Christ!” And as he begged this last plea,
the Youth began to weep bitterly. But then, his tears of sorrow changed into those of joy. He was free.
The Youth stood erect, and looked upon his assailants. He no longer quaked under their deathly
shadow; rather, he was filled with hatred for them, as one is for one’s old self. The goblins ceased their
advance for fear of some new foe, One that is greater even than death. Then the Youth spoke in a
commanding tone with a power not of his own, “I command you, O Spirits, to eternal damnation, never
to return to haunt me. This I command you in the name of my Lord, Jesus the Christ!” Just then, the
Son arose out of the East; its light broke through the trees with glorious, golden sunlight and enveloped
that small space where the Youth stood. And as those warm rays struck the mist-laden ground, a breath
of cool, fresh easterly wind blew away that icy cold mist. And as this was blown into oblivion, it took
with it also the goblins. They were scattered in the wind, and as he saw this, the Youth could hear them
wail a cry of lament and torment, as they were taken to their fiery dungeon. All, that is, save only for
the Angel of Death who had fled, no doubt to some dark recess of the forest, from the light of the
coming morn when it cast itself into that darkened place. Such was the end of those demons that had so
long tormented the mind of the Youth.
The Youth then fell again upon his knees in prayer and thanksgiving to our Lord, Jesus the
Christ, who hath saved all those who call upon His name. And after he had finished, the Youth again
stood and turned to behold his Father. His Father smiled and said, “It is time to come home, my son.”

So it is, my dear reader, seek and ye shall find, ask and it shall be given unto you. For this
reason, I beseech you to seek ye first the Kingdom of God.

Finis
 A Death In Silence
By: Patrick Eklektos

In every breath there is life and in every beating heart there is love. Alas, not all men have seen
this and therefore disregard the most beautiful of life and love. This life of which I write is that of the
child in the womb, that same child who is willfully murdered by his own parents in the practice now
called abortion. This is the story of one man who saw anew the life of his child.

I sat in the most uncomfortable of seats with little more than an airline pillow to ease my pain.
But it was not my physical pain that troubled this somber hour; rather, it was the recollection of the
previous day’s events that weighed my mind down so. Perhaps it was only my bodily fatigue for having
to wait eight hours for the Red Eye flight, you see, my flight had been canceled and I had to be put on
another plane. Or it might have been the pressing need of this business trip. My personal rise in the
ladder of my present job was at stake, and, should I miss this trip, that position, of which only I
deserved, would be awarded to another. But most likely, for it was closely related to my present
thoughts, it was the argument I had that resulted from my last visit with my girlfriend.
It is impossible for me to continue my narrative without giving some explanation of that
argument. The subject of which, I write without hesitation, was my child; that is to say, my girlfriend
was pregnant. This little concerned me because I had some money put away with which we could
easily do away with our little problem. I do not think that any man can fully understand the female
mind, but not even I, with my considerably understanding nature, could determine why she refused to
commence with this abortion. She would be free of shame and she would have the opportunity to
continue with her life, yet she still refused. I presented before her every manner of logical argument in
favor of terminating this menace. But no entreaty would move her. Finally, just before I had left for my
trip, I presented her with an ultimatum. This was that she either choose the child or myself. The only
regret that I carried with me when I left was that I had left her in tears. But she is a reasonable woman;
I had no doubt that when I returned she would have made the right choice. Still, I could not help but be
plagued with remorse for my forcefulness.
I therefore resolved to relieve my mind of this anxiety with the comfort of sleep, dreaming
away my troubles, and for all my discomfort, I found myself immensely relaxed and made success of
this resolve. I felt that I had hardly fallen asleep when I awoke to a violent jerk. I do not mean that
same violence that occurs on the account of turbulence; rather, this was much more forceful. I therefore
awoke in alarm. I looked around me and I could immediately detect a sense of panic in the many faces
of my fellow passengers. The flight attendant was giving orders to ensure our understanding of the
necessary precautions in this case, though my fear rendered her inaudible to me. I struggled for my
seatbelt in a desperate attempt to secure my safety. My hands quivered as I struggled to buckle myself
into my seat. And I soon after discovered that, due to technical problems, the plane was rapidly
descending; in a word, the plane was going to crash. In no more than a few seconds, it all came to an
end, though it seemed to last an age. First I heard a loud crunching and scraping, then I saw the
enclosure of the plane close about me, finally, I felt myself lurch forward and collide into the seat
directly ahead of me. Then all went dark.
I remember opening my eyes to a most eerie darkness. It was not completely black for there was
a glow of red to illuminate this strange chamber. I thought I had died and entered an empty void. But
there was a peculiarity in this place that I had not expected to accompany death. First of all, I had
always been under the impression that this void would be black as well as cold. But I felt certainly
warm, as though I was submerged in a warm liquid. Secondly, I did not believe that I would be in a
conscious state but there I was, reasoning with myself. And finally it did not seem to be an
uncomfortable, though a little cramped, realm to spend eternity. I was rather ready to settle there
permanently when I made a most startling discovery; that is, I had hands.
Upon further investigation, I discovered that I had all the human parts like those of my previous
self. In a word I was human. This dashed all my ideas of being in a void, so I concluded that I must be
in a sort of Heaven. But what heaven would allow me such a deformed body? All my features were like
those of an infant. And then I realized what I was; that is, I realized after I caught sight of and
understood that an umbilical cord extending from my stomach. I now knew that I was an unborn infant,
no doubt some curse for the doom to which I had sent my own child. It now occurred to me, for the
first time in the entirety of my existence, that I, just like my own child, was a person within the womb.
I had sent my own flesh and blood to the slaughter, so I was to be punished with the same doom. Yet I
little thought that any danger could, or would, reach me. That is, until I felt overwhelming hate, anger,
and sorrow in the heart of my mother. I found that I could perceive this with an uncanny sensitivity, just
as I could perceive many things that were not noticeable by my physical senses.
I began to feel fear and dread for an oncoming and yet unperceivable doom. I desired to cling to
my mother for comfort but such thoughts and desires seemed to draw closer that dread. I slowly
realized that no comfort would come from my mother. She did not love me, in fact, I believe she hated
me and saw me as an inconvenience rather than a blessing. It was not long after these contemplations
that I felt the chill of death, as though the Grim Reaper already had a hold of me. I knew that death
would soon have me though I determined not to die without a fight. “Let them come with their
butchery!” Thought I, “Let them try to destroy me! It is I who shall win this day!” My resolve was so
determined that I thought myself invincible and I readied myself for war. Though such vigorous
determination burned within my heart, I could scarce help but feel a chill of fear creep into my soul. Yet
I determined that this day the meek would inherit the earth.
I know not what time passed before death’s hour struck, but I did know that the time had come.
I sensed all that was around me; that is, those preparations for the abortion. Dread fell over me, as the
time passed slowly and my heart became lonely, although it was not truly long before I saw it, the
instrument of my doom. It was a needle, though it looked like Satan’s spear with a legion of demon’s
claws grasping at it as though each desired to have their own part in my murder. And amongst those
demons, I saw the face of Baal and others like him, as I was laid mercilessly before yet another alter of
human sacrifice. He and his demonic horde laughed at me for my death. Fear gripped my heart as this
weapon drew nigh, had I tears, I would have cried.
I struggled with all my infant might; I moved this way and that, but my strength could not last
and I therefore attempted to push away the spear but to no avail. My strength was spent and that
weapon would not depart, though it had been commanded by its own will. My only hope now was in a
greater power, in a worker of miracles. It was upon Him that I called and, though death did not depart,
my fear was replaced with comfort and joy. Though my mother wished me dead and though I knew not
my earthly father, I now felt the love of my Heavenly Father. The chill of fear left me and was replaced
with a Heavenly warmth as I felt the Hand of God resting upon me. The demon legion instantly left and
the needle quivered as though uncertain of its duty to kill, or perhaps the hand of its guide trembled.
Nonetheless, my tomb was to be my mother’s womb, not for the inaction of God but for the sinful
desire of man.
I cannot describe the pain I felt when that cold steel pierced my infant head. I felt the life
drifting from my body when, suddenly and without warning, my life was torn from me as my brains
were sucked out and my head deflated. I was dead and my mortal world was silent. Although my small
body no longer had life, I could still perceive all that was about me, and even more so now than ever
before. For example, I could hear, though I know not with what lest my soul had ears for hearing, a
horde of demons laughing and celebrating the success of their murderous conquest. I could also feel the
anger and hatred of my mother replaced with anguish and despair, no doubt for the loss of me, her first
born. Though I have had to take considerable time to write these thoughts, and I have yet more to pen,
most all of them I perceived in a matter of seconds, or perhaps it was ages. To this day I am uncertain
as to the precise time that passed then.
When I left my infant body, I felt afloat in the universe although I remained in the same room as
my mother and my murderer. But this could not have lasted longer than a minute or two. For I soon felt
strong, holy hands grasp me kindly and take me to some unknown height. The ascent was not so quick
as to deny me one last look upon that room where I had fallen cold and silent. And here I looked upon
my weeping mother, not seventeen years of age, with a countenance of utter remorse and a loss of
beauty that only His Holy Hand from Heaven could restore. Then I looked upon the man who has
disgraced the name of doctor. I saw the evil in his eyes and in his heart, both of which had been seared
by the very fires of hell. As I looked upon him, I saw the noble profession of doctoring destroyed by his
murderous crimes. I saw that he stood along side his master, delighting in the senseless slaughter of so
small a child, with no love in his hardened heart and no compassion for his fellow man. In contrast to
him, my body was dead yet my soul lived, whereas his body was very much alive and yet his soul was
dead.
After ascending a little further, beyond the cold confines of that hell called a clinic, I saw the
world. I beheld the cool, green grass with the golden rays of the sun cast upon it to give light to the
sport of little children at play. And I thought of how I should never play with the elfin children of my
own age, nor should I ever dance upon the cool green that blankets the earth with the maiden trees and
the fairy flowers. As I saw a small boy celebrate the anniversary of his birth, I realized that no such
joyous tribute would be afforded me. I would never enjoy such delights, created for the delight of the
little child, as the sweet flavors of honey and sugar. I saw also that, but for my death, I might have
excelled in society and the arts, I might have become a composer greater even than Beethoven or
Mozart. But, alas, I was dead.
There were, as I saw all around me, more souls like my own being carried by the hands of
angels. I beheld men and women both young and old ascending or else being swallowed up by the earth
into an utterly dark abyss. But more abundant than all of these men and women who had lived for a
time on the earth, were little babes like myself who had not had even a moment to live in the wide
world. And yet, not one was swallowed by the abyss. They all were in the arms of a heavenly host of
angels, being carried unto their Creator and their only Father. I beheld millions upon millions of these
ghostly little elves, utterly rejected by all save the One who created them. And now He was welcoming
them into His home to be His children and to be loved by Him.
I looked now Heavenward, toward an ever growing, ever glowing Light that fell upon my soul
with the warmth of Love. From this Light, I could not turn my eyes though I were given the whole
world to do so. The earth faded behind me, but I cared not for eternity lay before me. Finally, I came
before the gates of Heaven where I would enter into the presence of my Lord. When those great golden
gates opened wide to admit our spirits, I beheld the most glorious Being in all the universe, Whose
wonder and power was greater than that of either man or angel. I beheld the Son of God, Jesus the
Christ Himself and I was filled with wonder and awe. My only desire was to kneel and reverence Him.
As I beheld His Majesty, He turned to me and approached me. Oh, the shame I felt and yet I knew His
Love had forgiven me. While in His presence, I understood that I could no longer remain for I had only
briefly experienced the short life of a little child through his eyes. My own life was yet to be spent,
whether it be wisely or foolishly depended upon my own choices.
The darkness that then enveloped me seemed to be instantaneous, though I could be mistaken
considering that I had no proper reckoning of time. When I opened my eyes I saw, through the low
light, the passenger compartment of the plane I had boarded the previous evening. I lifted my head, an
action that let fall my airline pillow, and looked out the window, half expecting to see the souls of those
little children. Then I wondered if it had only been a dream. I suddenly realized that it was not a dream
and, though so many had already died, I had it in my power to save one. It was then that I knew my
duty as a father.

Although this story is pure fiction, there is no lack of truth in that millions of innocent children
lose their lives daily to abortion. I have included a poem; The Beautiful, to lament those unfortunate
children who have died on the alters of money and pleasure.

The beautiful are dead or dying,

While evil men hoard silver and gold.
The beautiful, their souls are crying,
While earth grows dark and cold.

Love is lost and compassion gone,

Death has dealt a mortal wound.
Evil is gaining and is at its dawn,
The beautiful murdered in womb.

Angel above and God in Heaven,

Are full of sorrow and in mourning.
The blood stained hands of evil men,
The innocent lives they are taking.

Go little children, Go unto Christ.

Go where love is not forgotten,
Go little children, Go unto peace.
Go where your beauty is not trodden.

Finis
 The Evangelist
By: Patrick Eklektos

Alderman Adder was the greatest famed evangelist of the day, or so it was reported of him. He
was beknown and beloved for his revivals, the which were said to have brought about mass
conversions. Indeed, such conversions of hundreds and thousands to Christianity was declared to be by
a system of his own design, patented and professionally acclaimed. For thus, and much alike, was he
famed, and such was his fame that knowledge of him spread far and wide, even unto my own ears.
Upon hearing such reports from so many reliable Christian brothers, I immediately resolved to
accost this adder of the Faith in order that I might discover his trade. I did accost him in due and short
time, for he was not at all difficult to discover and little effort was made to hide his most honourable
person. However, I found it much more the difficult to gain audience with the so very popular giant.
Yea, but mine end was met and our moot was set.

On the day Monday, the 30th of April, I met with Alderman over a luncheon. So eager was I to
learn of the great man that I quickly, and rather naively, dispensed with the formalities of greeting and
began by asking his method, the which he gladly told me, for a small profit. He thus began by
informing me of the necessity of relevance, “That is,” he said, “because most do not desire to attend
Church, let alone listen to a preacher of the Gospel. We must come to them on their own terms and
show them that Christianity is not as strict, formal, and ‘religious’ as is of common thought. After all,
Christianity can be fun as well as all the rest of the world. Therefore, we must come to them in rock
concerts, plays, and parties. Else they will not come at all. It is essential we meet the felt needs of the
seeker. We must, in short, be seeker-friendly.” After this, Alderman paused in expectation of something
in the way of a compliment.
This pause, however, was precisely what was my wont, giving me time to muse, and I followed
his speech with a question. “But what of Paul’s exhortation to the Roman’s; that is, that we are not to be
conformed to this world but, rather, transformed by the renewing of our minds…?”
“Also,” continued he, with a countenance somewhat clouded, as though my question were of no
consequence and, in fact, little to his liking, “One must never confront these prospects with difficult
Scripture, hard sayings, and convicting passages. These can only succeed in frightening away those
upon whom our hopes rest. We must show them the love of Christ Jesus. Indeed, we must dictate to the
mass that God has a wonderful plan for their lives. Only this will convert, with perhaps a few added
promises of much pleasure, which could not hurt our testimony. And, if we absolutely must, we will
them that Jesus wishes to save them from their difficulties; He loves them so much so. But we must not
give them too much an overtone of hell, else they will scatter like so many frightened sheep before a
wolf.”
Here again, the Adder took a pause. In the mean while, I sat aghast for a time ere I began again
objections new, “But oughtn’t we warn them more the earnestly of their impending danger, of Hell
Fire? Aught we not the more so tell them of what it is that sends….” However, I was not let to finish
my thought for, after looking at his watch, Alderman arose from the table with the intent of interrupting
our conference, and informed me of an important, previous engagement.
“However,” said he, “I would be much obliged if you would do me the honour of joining me to
observe my methods. For I am bound by contract to attend a revival meeting and I must go thither
tonight. I firmly believe that you shall be inclined to agree with me when you see my great success at
converting so many.” I gratefully accepted his offer; somewhat won by his winsome way, though I had
been somewhat loosed from the grip of his charm, reported so grand. Indeed, I was curious. I wished to
see how this man could win so many to the Faith without the use of so much as an iota of Scripture.

On the way thither, Adder informed me (for he had also graciously offered me conveyance in
his own luxurious vehicle) that he had been invited to a rather large gathering wherefore he had been
paid a pretty sum to preach a pretty sermon. And thus he continued his boasts his success. He then
assured me a seat on the stage, from which he would give his message, wherefrom I would enjoy a
perfect view of his glory.
We arrived in short time, after which we were conducted to “the back door;” that is, a stage
entrance of sorts, of some great mega-church, constructed like unto a stadium. The stage manager then
informed us as we entered that the Adder was to give his speech after the rock band had given its own
metrical message. My interest was peaked and I asked, “Of which band do you speak? And what is
their message?”
The manager looked at me as though I were a simpleton and sarcastically asked in turn, “Have
you never heard of them? They are young and on their way to stardom. Indeed, I do believe it possible
they could be given a contract from some recording agency ‘out there.’” This he said referring to the
secular rock industry.
“But who are they?”
“They are,” said the Adder, “The Double Cross. Indeed, they have reached thousands with a
message of love and hope without ever offending anyone.” At that moment, I muttered, “They may
have offended Christ.” But the slight went unheard and Alderman continued, “Tonight, they informing
the mass that ‘no matter whatever they have done, God still loves them.’”
My frustration by this time was quite in a flame and I exclaimed with a fury, “That is stark
heresy! You speak madness! What of God’s wrath? What of the stench of sin before God? What of the
damnation of those at enmity with God; that is every sinful, carnal man? And is not the message of the
Cross offensive to those who hear it?” My raptures, though I spoke at the top of my voice, fell on deaf
ears.
Then Alderman Adder spoke again after a short time, “Listen, my friend, the old ways are dead.
The seeker has no wish to hear such hard sayings for they will only serve to drive him from God’s
Love. We must do all we can to attract him. We have therefore adopted several methods from that vast
and wonderful realm of supply and demand; that is, the world of enterprise. And like our business
counterparts, we must supply the consumer with that which satisfies his desires; that is, music,
entertainment, and.…”
“…carnal lusts.” I put in. “And what of the Word of God? Has that no prominent position in
Salvation. How can men come to Christ without the gospel?” Yea, but my questions were never
answered for the Adder was called to the stage. And ere we parted, he spoke to me thus, “Watch me my
son, and you shall soon be of my mind, when you witness my success.”

It was a grand stage and stunning to behold. The soothing lights, the neutral colors, the perfectly
straight lines all gave the eye something pleasant to behold, perfectly neutral, perfectly calming. Yea,
but it all seemed so cold, the very neutrality seemed dead. It looked very much like some
contemporary, compartmentalized work of art. However, there was an even greater wonder this stage
and its Plexiglas Pulpit. For, lo, to my awe and wonder, I beheld, seated in rows upon rows, not living,
breathing men but carrion galore. They were corpses, a lifeless mass of men and women. What gall,
what gore, yet Alderman, nonetheless, stood before them, as though he saw the matter in them, they,
the vacant and silent.
To my morbid horror, I beheld Alderman preach a message of love, hope, and happiness to this
lifeless crowd. He told them such things as God had a better plan for their lives and they needs only ask
Jesus for this. He gave them such an empty promise as God would have to fulfill their felt needs in life.
But what struck me most was the he promised them that God promised this purpose in their lives. At
this I looked at the emotionally driven evangelist, then I looked upon yon crowd, set stock-still. And I
looked again on that crowd, and, behold, ne’er an eye was open, every lid was fast shut to its gray, dead
flesh.
Yea, but last of all was no less the worst of all else, for it was then that the Adder called for
converts. He was so clever, so innovative, so sadly mistaken that he thought to sooth the guilt of his
throng. And this was how he accomplished his means, he gave an alter call and had his minions come
forward to lead the way. And to follow in their wake, hundreds of those lifeless bodies also arose and
mechanically followed their fellow blind. It was a ghoulish sight to behold these senseless souls sent to
naught. Oh the horror of the little prayer prattled at the pulpit. This they thought to be their assurance of
salvation, when not a draught of life was in them. Oh that day, when so many came to a false faith and
left with a vain hope. There were non repentant, not a soul stirred, and no hearts were truly broken over
sin. That was indeed a black day, black as the fiery fumes which issue from hell.
Then, after these morbid proceedings, the band struck a tune, the which would wake the dead,
and among the dead there was silence. There was clamor and there was rejoicing, like unto teeth a
gnashing. In the midst of this emotional upheaval, the Adder accosted me and asked, “Can you not now
see that this must be of God? This is surely a revival; the proof is in the enormity of our numbers. I find
soul saving so affixiating.” Just at that moment, an ill set corpse fell to the ground and its decapitated
head rolled round and round.
“Sir,” said I, “I see naught but a plethora of corpses.” With that pert remark, I spun about on my
heals, turning my back to Alderman Adder, his auditorium of vipers, and their feast of carrion. Alas,
that I had ever been disillusioned by this man a Mr. Worldly-Wise-Man, a Talkative, or else a Mr.
Sooth-it-away.

Thus I sombered sadly on my way for some few minutes until, not very far from the church, I
happed upon a street evangelist. He, the evangelist, had gathered about him nigh a score of more
corpses, and I fell into a dread for I feared I should see but a repetition of the afore seen drama. And I
thought to myself, “Is there no end to this morbid practice?” But there was a stark difference in the
manner of this man then that of the other, and I lent my ear to his words.
To my surprise, he spoke of the Law of God, the guilt of sin, and the hopeless, damnable
condition of all men. Thus he spoke, “You have sinned against God by the violating of His holy Law.
Without compliance of which, you will never enter into the gates of heaven, yea you shall, rather, burn
an eternity in hell. ‘But,’ you say, ‘I have not sinned against God.’ And I say you have. ‘But I have
never murdered anyone.’ Yet, alas poor soul, as Christ said in the His Word, ‘whoever says “you fool”
will be liable to hell fire.’ ‘But,’ you say, ‘God is a just and loving god, He would never send me to
hell.’ Yet, O poor soul, it is for that very reason that you shall find no place in heaven. Yes God is just;
indeed, He is too just to have even the sight of sin before him. O wretched sinner, quake for thy soul for
thou canst do a thing to save it.”
Then, lo, to my wonder, I beheld that the seal on the eyes of one corpse, nigh my left side, was
broke open, as though by some Supernatural power without, and he beheld his foregone condition. He
then fell to his knees and lifted his moist eyes to heaven and he let cry from his cracked lips with a
broken voice, “Lord, what shall I do to be saved?”
Then the evangelist spoke again, “Yet, there is good news still. Though no one, to a man,
deserves salvation, but has rather earned damnation, the Lord God was merciful to a few, His chosen.”
At that moment, the broken man beside me lifted his down cast eyes to the speaker. “Yes,” continued
the Evangelist, “God has elected some to salvation! It is for these few that Christ died on the Cross of
Calvary. It is for these that Christ’s death atones! But we have a responsibility to fulfill! We must repent
of our sins, our sinful inclinations, and our sinful condition! Repent! Repent before the throne of God
and be ye saved! Look to the Cross and be saved! Call on the name of Jesus Christ confess to Him your
wicked and sinful condition, confess to Him that you can do naught to save yourself, and beg Him to
save you from your hopeless plight!”
I looked to the sinner at my side and then to the Evangelist and then again to the sinner only to
see him kneeling heart broken prayer, calling on God in the name of Christ. And in the next few
moments, he arose, the gray dust of death falling from his back like a burden from one’s shoulders,
jumping, singing, and praising God! “Glory to God,” said he, “I am no longer a slave to sin and death,
but a slave to Christ.” And there was no end to his glorifying God to the end of his days and beyond.

After the Evangelist’s preaching, I accosted him to discover the secret of his success. “Sir,” I
thus began, “What was it that you did to save yon young gentleman?”
“I did nothing to save the man. I am but a layman, sir, and my task is to preach the Word of
God. It is He, and He alone, to do what He wills with His word. We are merely to preach the Word, the
results are in the Hands of God.”
At this, I marveled. And it was just then that I realized the old ways were as much alive as
Christ is alive, for the old ways are Christ’s ways. Thus it is written, “In the beginning was the Word,
and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things
were made through Him, and without Him not anything was made that was made. In Him was life, and
the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.”

Finis
 Author's Note
The following was a project I began some years ago in an attempt to refine my skills as a writer
by delving into a genera of which I was not overly familiar aside from what American cinema had
showed me. I had at that time been fascinated with aliens and their demonic similarities. I thought to
publish a work to express my ideas thereon. It was originally published as an unofficial serial on my
blog for the entertainment of my friends. The work however was never finished. I believe, in that form,
it serves a beautiful work of art. You will also notice that part one is missing. This is due to the fact that
the original beginning to the story was unfit for public enjoyment. As it is, I have not rewritten it.
Please enjoy this work in its partiality. Thank you.
 Project X
By: Patrick Eklektos
 2

Captain Chris Thornton knelt on one knee, motionless and staring at the millions of sands that
covered this red shore musing on their likeness to the sands of time. And, with the remorse of
loneliness, he reflected on each individual grain, looking into his past; reminiscing the days of when.
He recalled school days spent looking unto the heavens; dawdling at his work while he was filled with
dreams and flights of fancy. He pondered on his days at the Academy when he was filled with that
poetic wish to kiss the skies. He remembered the nightmares of the last war when the celestial bodies
gave him the peace of mind that somewhere in the universe there was peace. But where was he now?
Yet his fear and loneliness gripped him like the cold talons of carrion fowl. “Why am I here?” Thought
he, “I have a family. I have two boys; one just born. I have a wife. Oh my precious wife; my dearest
love, I should not be here. I should be with you.” He longed to once again look into her fair, deep eyes
and hear her sweet melodic voice while she read to him from the Holy Word of God; her voice soothing
to his heart while the words she read were balm to his soul.
In the flash of the moment of this reminisce, he remembered her gift. It was a small thing, very
beautiful and ever more so precious to his soul. From his jacket pocket upon his heart he removed this
thing, small and beautiful, clenched in his gloved fist. And trailing from those fingers, like several
silver falling waters, were strings of delicately clasped circlets, shimmering in the dim light. He raised
his hand to his face to see this thing; its beauty seen and unseen. He unfolded his fingers, revealing a
small and fair cross of silver inlaid with seven diamonds, every one as though shining a white light.
And the contrast of this white-like-light to his black glove made it as though it shone the more and it
filled Chris with the hope and strength of Him who came and died for his sins and rose again.
He looked up from this inspiring sight to notice those foreign sands of time had darkened before
him. In the swiftness of soldier precision, he threw his hand to seize his side arm, witlessly letting fall
the silver cross to be lost on that barren shore. In another swift movement, he turned, taking a kneeling
position, and faced this invader. He then leveled his weapon on the familiar black body armor and
faceless face-mask of an Australian Aero Marine. It was the very same armor he himself wore save for
the white number imprinted on the right shoulder shield. The number on that before him was 02.
“Jim?” He asked Sergeant Kobi, through the short wave length radio imbedded in his helmet, as
he lowered his weapon.
“Kyleen has been removed to sick bay. I came to ask your orders.”
Chris returned the transmitter to its base on the portable Com station, “I have just made contact
with Omega2. All is good to go. But it will not be another three hours before we can communicate with
the ship again. I want to contact the colony and set up base before then. Gather the other men, our first
objective is to investigate the colony.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chris observed his second did not proceed for reason of hesitation. “Is there anything else?”
“Adam refuses to leave her side.”
He looked calmly at the Pod, “We are in command of this mission and he must follow our
orders. I do not care that he is a non-com. Why they gave us this kid, I don’t know.”

“You should have let me stay with her!” An outraged Adam cried, “You cannot possibly know
what could happen here!”
“The shock pod is practically an impenetrable fortress. Nothing short of a Tactical Nuke could
penetrate it.” Such calm and reserve could not but inspire trust and admiration for their Captain, even in
those who opposed him, “She is perfectly safe.” But nothing more could be added to the discussion as
the team had reached their crater ridge. Now it is a fact that Shock Pods are rather primitive in their
landing techniques and are deployed with such force as to strike the planet as a bullet would, leaving
behind a crater like would meteors. But as the original design was for fast and safe deployment of
military personal and equipment on earth, the modified version could not be begrudged its primitive but
effective method of landing men on Mars.
Upon ascending this slight obstacle, the four of Landing Party beheld the beautiful yet eerie
landscape with a silhouette of some monument set upon the great red canvas where the sky and ground
met in eternity. There, before their eyes, loomed the colony of Remus; man’s greatest monument of the
age and his second colony on Mars. They saw the two domes, one half and the other full circular, the
both of them erected on their own dozens of support “legs.” And before them, a little ways off, was the
“greenhouse” complex. Just beyond those structures were the purification plants that doubly served to
power of the colony. These were fed by a snake-like aqueduct that wound its way northward to the
planet’s ice cap. There, it was reported, was another plant, larger than this, which melted and directed
the planet’s only water source. These were perhaps the greatest feats of the Australian Space
Aeronautics Program.
“Radio the colonists, Adam. They may perhaps be able to answer us on a shorter frequency than
that of the Omega2’s. Scott, I want you to prepare to deactivate the static shield from remote control.”
“There is no need, Sir. The shield is already disengaged.”
“What’s this? Adam, anyone?”
“No, Sir.” The man reported, turning from his duties.
“We advance… with caution.” Chris was troubled in thought. He could not understand what the
meaning of this was. He looked again at the structures and reflected on the very reason for its existence.
That is, why now they colonized the Red Planet when man long had the opportunity to advance into
space, yea, even only a few generations after his first missions to the moon. But it was war that drove
them to it; The Third Great War that ended in nuclear disaster. Now, with great nations laid waist, the
world was poised for it again in cold war with Korea. An already deteriorated environment begged the
need for greenhouse colonies on Mars yet now, a world threatened with annihilation, needed a last hope
for the survival of mankind.
What was this hope now? Chris looked about him and around the colony, observing the ghostly
crashed buggies and the scattered and damaged crates of things indescribable. Chris awoke to the need
of humanity and rushed to the greenhouse, shouting an order behind him for the rest of them to
investigate the main compound. He came to the great, triangular building’s airlock entrance. The first
door was open granting access to the inner chamber. But the first door would not close and none of the
access codes given him on earth would close it. It seemed the computer was entirely dead. Conscious
of this, he tried again the codes to open the inner door until he applied all his human strength to jar the
door. His next resolve was to circumnavigate the building in hopes of finding another door. This he
found not but he came upon a small opening just large enough for a man. He crawled through to satisfy
the desire to know their humanitarian efforts were not at a loss. Sorely was he disappointed. All around
him were what looked to have once been lush plant life which was now dead. Some were frozen while
others died from lack of oxygen. It was a sad spectacle that all were dead. Chris looked around and
observed the sight, noticing here and there burns and holes as though from a fire fight. He continued
through the vast greenhouse until he came upon the entrance he had formerly so desperately tried to
open. There, before the door, lay a colonist’s skeletal remains, as though he had died clawing to escape
his dungeon.
Chris hastened to returned to the only entrance he could find and observed it. From it he
deduced that it had been made from the outside in. a fact that disturbed him greatly. He returned to his
team within the compound wherein were the same signs of chaos as reigned everywhere else.
“The compound is entirely deserted, Captain.” Scott Tompkin reported. “The odd thing though,
sir, is that the complex is entirely running on its emergency reserves.”
“How long could this base function under those reserves?”
 “Theoretically, it is designed to last three years at minimal use and without replenishment.
However, it could sustain itself for another fifty years if the solar panels were left intact. This is highly
unlikely with the static shield down and all.” Scott chuckled to himself, “any sort of storm would have
torn ‘em apart.”
“Sergeant Kobi?”
“I have searched the whole of the compound. There is no sign of life. The mess hall is empty of
its stores and I cannot find any weapons. All self-defense systems have either been deactivated or
destroyed. The colony is without protection.”
“Scott,” Chris turned to the Team’s engineer, “do you think you can repair the static shield?”
“Given some time and more than common effort.”
“Do it then. Adam,” who had been standing silently apart from the others, “I want you to restart
the computer systems. Give us communications, radar, and life support. Jim, I want you to barricade
the entrance to the compound and set up an internal defense perimeter until the shield can be restored.”
After deploying his rapid succession of orders, Chris took to setting up command within the colony
command center.

In no less than one half hour, Chris had established base and set up the mobile com station. His
first priority was to radio the Shock Pod and ensure the safety of Kyleen while linking the two
temporary bases. “This is Mobil Command to Shock Pod. 04, do you copy?” A short pause, “Kyleen,
do you read?”
There was a still longer pause before he heard the almost imperceptible crack of the other
radio’s receiver being activated, “This is Cindy. Where are you guys?”
“At the Colony.”
“And what have you found?”
No living colonists. I am forwarding you half the military and colony frequencies used on the
planet. I ask that you call each one to bring up the colonists.”
“Yes sir!” She pertly responded. He heard her begin the hails, for the two bases were to remain
in constant contact, and he himself began on the other half of the frequencies. That is, until he was
aware of the dead silence that had befallen the Shock Pod.
“Cindy?” There was no answer. “Cindy!”
“Captain,” quivered the female’s frightened voice, “Is the whole team with you?”
“Yes! Cindy?”
“I hear a taping on the hull. It seems to start at one side and it goes around and around. Help me,
Captain! No! Wait! It seems to have stopped. He heard her heavy breathing easily, she must have
frozen her hand on the transmitter so as to keep the button held so. Then it stopped.
“Cindy!”
“It’s at the door! It’s breaking through!” Then, from a heart filled with fear, she let forth the
most piercing cry that ended only in the similar tone of distress from a crying receiver, lamenting its
disconnection. Chris switched it off and, without returning his hand, sat motionless and stunned.
Adam had heard the cry and was standing over the captain, quivering in his distress, “What is
happened? Is Cindy in danger?”
Awakened from this new fear, he looked and ordered for Jim Kobi.

“I will not leave another member unaccompanied. Someone must remain with Scott while he
works on the shield.”
“Then have Sergeant Kobi stay behind and let me come with you!”
“No! Kobi is a soldier and a soldier is what is needed for this mission. You must remain with
Scott…. I will have no more from you!
“Kobi, we must be off at once!”
 The two men set out immediately with all the speed that accompanies distress. They were well
away and just descending the crater when they heard over their radios the call of Adam Chase in
pursuit. In a sudden rage uncommon to the Captain, he cried, “I told you to remain with Scott!”
To dodge this, Adam exclaimed, “Look, the Pod is open and there is a smoke rising from it!”
This new wonder cast out the former argument and all three men advanced upon the capsule with all
the speed they could muster and with perfect military discipline; that is, with the exception of Adam’s
untrained efforts. Yet, for all their G.I. superpowers, they could not but be stunned to a halt. Before
them, they beheld a sight uncanny. Two tons of solid, hardened Iron door torn was off and cast not
many paces away from the Pod. A chasm on the capsule yawned open with mangled metal to show for
what once was the entrance of a “practically impenetrable fortress.” There was, emitting from this dark
hole, like from the pits of hell, a black smoke upon which was the smell of sulfur.
Chris dashed in to aid the maiden in distress but, though looking high and low, he found her not.
His heart was rent for, although he did not much care for her personally, he was a gentleman and would
have no harm come to any woman. He emerged from the Pod with head bowed and consumed in the
sorrow of the tragedy.
“Captain!” called Sergeant Kobi, “Look at these tracks. It’s hard to say what they are, although
looks to me as though something was dragged here.”
“Are there any others?” The Captain asked almost absentmindedly.
“Negative. Do you think she’s still alive?”
With those words, Adam fell to a fit of grief and began raving, “She’s dead! I know it! She must
be!” While Chris stared at the markings, lost in thought or else lost in thoughtless grief. “It’s your
fault!” Cried Adam. “She’s dead because of you! If you would’ve just let me stay with her…”
Chris looked up from his thoughtless roamings to look Adam full in the face, and he said with
haunting calm, “Scott is in danger.”
 3

“Satellite not found. Disconnecting server,” so Scott Tompkin read on the dusty, old computer
screen. He had been trying to connect to the central static shield tower from their established base of
operations in the control center of the colony complex. Yet nothing could be done to the purpose of
reestablishing the shield. He looked at another window on the screen to observe another message, “Life
support: 70%.” This encouraged our hero but a little. After much struggling and coaxing, this only was
his accomplishment; he had finally managed to make the life conditions in the colony complex
tolerable. But nothing else could he accomplish in the complex command center. For all his effort, he
could not defend the colony, as was his charge. He weighed his options, considered what might be
done, and resolved upon a possible solution. His only viable course of action was to directly connect
his computer to that of the tower. But to do so, he must expose himself, from the safety of the complex,
to the alien elements beyond.
The short and astute Englishman, though intelligent above the common level, was no great
warrior like either Jim Kobi or Chris Thornton. He feared his inferiority as he feared the silent
loneliness that hung about him and the eerie red shore that surrounded him. He was a silent man and
kept mostly to himself. He felt as though his intelligence was his only true companion, one that would
not abandon him for adventures of chivalry like those great warriors had done nor like that love struck
boy who had deserted him. But Scott Tompkin resolved that he must keep his fortitude. His wits were
his weapon and his intelligence his defense. He was a man, and men were superior beings; they were
conquerors.

Scott with his case of equipment slung over his shoulder, made his way to the center of the
colony where was the Great Tower. There he observed the great, tan monument as a stately though
unimpressive mass of metal. This tower itself was only the center of power that sent electrical currents
to the smaller “wall” towers around the settlement. And each smaller tower in conjunction with the
greater tower created an electromagnetic canopy over the colony, thus providing the occupants a
substitute to the planet’s want of a protective atmosphere.
Tompkin’s brow clouded as he beheld the now mangled and broken tower. He looked closely at
the misshapen metal, concluding that the mess could not have been the cause of nature unbridled.
Could there have been malice in this or might it have been destroyed by planetary storms after its own
defense and purpose were disabled?
He unslung the case of tools and opened it to reveal his power; the power of man; his ingenuity.
Turning to the foundation of the monument, he removed a broken and chard faceplate. He twirled it
about taking notice of the small manufacturer’s logo upper left hand corner on the inside of the plate.
This was the famous gold menorah set in a blue field; the logo of the mega corp. Abraham Micro
Technologies. Scott pondered this and the task before him for it was no small thing to repair the most
advanced and superior technology known to mankind. What were needed now were the Jewish
technicians who had built the complex machine. But now, there was only Scott Tompkin to do the job.
Producing from within his case a small computer, Scott prepared to connect manually to this the
brain of the colony’s defense. He took out also his wireless connector the which would be plugged into
a port deep in the side of the Tower’s computer. But as he did so, he felt the cold and dead computer
shell. There was no power going into this computer. It would seem that it was not powered from the
same sources as the complex. But of course, Scott realized, the complex was running off its reserves
and the solar energy it collected each day while the power plant it self was not at all running with its
source of power frozen solid.
Scott stroked his chin, chafing against the course little hairs that had grown for want of shave.
He considered his plight and pondered whether or not he could redirect the power of the complex to the
Tower. But, then, there might not be enough power even in the “70% life-support” to support the taxing
defense system. Scott raised himself, perplexed in thought, when he beheld, almost outside the scope of
his vision, what seemed to be the obtrusive, black shape of a man against the foreign sky. He quickly
turned his head to where he had thought he had seen the figure. But nothing now stood on that sand
dune the Martian winds had blown over the perimeter fence. He frantically looked about only to find all
still and quiet. Now any normal man would have put such away as the hallucinations of stress, but
Tompkins deeply depressed mind would not let this pass so easily by. He quickly became fearful in a
cold calamity and forgot all else. He ceased his fruitless looking around and stood stalk still. And as he
stood motionless, he felt as though a hand had rest upon his shoulder. He spun about hoping for all he
was that it had only been that of Adam Chase or the Great Warriors. But he was shocked by nothing for
there was nothing there nor could there have been. His fear heightened with every scene of still calm
and his reason left him.
He saw movement to the left. Nothing. Surely there was the passing of a shadow to his right. He
heard whispering from behind. He turned around to again be deceived by his senses. Scott frantically
wondered if he had gone quite mad. And in an impulse, he ran as though for his life from a danger he
knew not. With all his speed, he thrust himself forward for the elevator entrance of the colony complex.
Upon reaching it, he earnestly clawed at the sealed airlock doors. He felt as though hunted and that
every second lost could be the difference between life and death. In all his fear he had forgotten the
pass codes and had left his entrance key at the tower. In his frantic state of mind, he earnestly looked
around the door for something to open to him the safety within. Throwing his eyes here and there,
without pattern and sensible reason, he finally caught sight of a small read button encased by a small
glass box. Without even considering his ways, Scott threw his hand with all force and smashed the
glass…
Nothing happened.
The intent of this emergency button was to instantly unlock the airlock door lest it were sealed
and colonists without or within. But, again, there was nothing. Scott, half mad with fright, removed his
hand from the pressure sensitive button, which instantly unlocked the doors. They let go, quickly
revealing but half an inch, from top to bottom, a crack out of which issued a hiss and a cool breath of
air, to be ever lost. Scott lost no time and with a strength he knew not even of himself, forced and
pushed the doors open. He then dashed into his haven and without taking the time to close the door
behind. He clambered up the elevator shaft’s ladder until he reached the first level; that of the colonial
quarters. He thought he had heard something from behind and below the whole of his way. He looked
wildly here and there for some place to hide when his eyes fell upon one open room far before him on
the opposite end of the level. Why he chose that room is beyond all reason. Perhaps it was because that
room was especially dark and he may have hoped that the darkness would there cover him. He rushed
headlong into the black yet with that same feeling of pursuit.
However, in this lightless place, Scott’s fear only heightened to a climax. And he felt as though
during the whole of the chase, it was the very shade of his shadow that had haunted him yet now he felt
that the shadow had apprehended him; indeed, that it had very well enveloped and consumed him. He
fumbled in his fear and the dark of the dark room. He tripped, falling over what felt to be a small table.
And he heard fall from its top, something thick and heavy and something he could not describe. The
noise of this dead weight striking the floor startled Scott to look toward the faint light of the entrance
from whence he came. And, like a trap-door demon, in silhouette of man shape, there arose something
all of black save for two eyes of yellow, aglow.
 4

Fear, the cold touch of which like unto the vice of death, once again filled him and spurred him
on. Yet it was not that fear of death, that is, his death that drove Chris Thornton for he knew that life
was a thing not worthy of man to cling. Rather, he feared an uncertainty that all men fear in death. It
was a doubt that seemed to consume and gnaw his mind. He felt cold and alone; a man without power.
And what is a man without power but a man who cannot do good? And if he cannot do good, in what
power has he to preserve those entrusted to him? But he had a power that drove him on, despite these
feelings, a power not of his own strength. He looked into the black face-masks of his comrades to
determine if in them this same power in uncertainty drove them onward. Though he could not see their
faces, he could perceive their hearts. In Jim Kobi, he saw the determined military discipline that drove
him to his carefully calculated end; an army’s hope in strength and force. And in Adam Chase he saw
fear and doubt beneath his mental madness. If there was any hope in him, it was a hope in the random
and chaos. In what had he hope? In what had he fear?
“Sir, I still haven’t received a response from 03.”
Chris stirred from his thoughts and turned to the distress before him. They had reached the
colony’s perimeter gate and Captain Thornton had Sergeant Kobi radio Scott lest he had activated the
Static Shield around the colony. “Scott isn’t responding?”
Adam looked up from his feet for the first time since they had stopped before the Remus Gate.
“It looks as dead as when I had left,” said he, little recognizing the inappropriateness of this impromptu
speech.
Jim looked up from his wrist computer, “Why don’t you just shut up!”
“Time does not permit us the luxury of hesitance gentlemen.” And as he mentioned this doleful
proverb, Chris threw himself upon the bolt of the barred gate, thrusting it aside without incident. “It
would seem that death is not yet my lot, men. Now let us see to Scott.”

The shadow of the central shield tower yawned forth, stretching in the light of the fading sun, as
though it were scratching at the doors of death. And as Chris looked on this eerie sight, he imagined the
long arms of time on the face of a clock, slowly turning until they should wind down to the hour when
time would stop and the bell would ring its death knell. But Chris immediately returned his thoughts to
the strange signs before him. Jim was a few paces off, observing the tower’s discarded faceplate and
Adam stood near by starring off into space. Captain Thornton knelt to observe a discarded Australian
Aeronautic Marines’ utility bag. It seemed undisturbed save for the missing computer, which lay only
just aside the tower. “Why would Scott abandon his equipment?” He advanced to the computer and
tower.
“Sir, It looks like Tompkin fled…”
“Yes, that much I have gathered.”
“…in haste.” Jim concluded in a slight tone of disrespect. “From these tracks, mingled with the
tracks leading here, it appears he fled in a southwesterly direction; towards the Complex.” Jim looked
up from his observations to observe the complex, turning to Adam who stood and still looked on,
“What are you looking at?” he demanded.
“I am looking at how the sun just seemed to catch the light of that dune over there.” And for the
first time, both Chris and Jim observed what made a natural bridge over their only feasible defense.
“He must be in the complex. Come on men!” Jim quickly followed Chris’ advance though
Adam was slow in the uptake.
“Chris, look at this!” Jim cried when they had reached the Complex’ Elevator Lift entrance.
“Someone smashed the emergency release button. Look, blood from the glass!”
 They pushed the air lock door aside slightly more. “More blood on the ladder.”
“Why did he flee? Was he wounded? Was he pursuing someone? Was he pursued?”
“Adam, get in here and close the door!” The two men then advanced up the ladder of the shaft,
following the small trail left behind. Both men had readied the rifles they carried on their backs but, for
convince, they ascended the ladder with their sidearms in hand. They activated the small lights on their
guns to make out the dark shaft.
“The trail stops at level one.” Chris nodded to Jim and they entered the level in stealth and
military precision. They holstered their sidearms, un-slung their rifles, and activating the lights thereon.
They examined the dimly light room for there was light, but from whence it came none knew. The two
soldiers examined as much of the exposed level as their positions permitted them, darting their lights
here and there. And they found nothing until they shone their lamps before the single chamber entrance
yawning before them at the far end of the room. There, something strangely reflected the light of their
arms or else absorbed the light and scattered it all over the dark room.
They turned their lights from the strange object and at an almost silent command from Chris,
both men advanced stealthily and slowly until they reached their objective. They took their positions;
Chris on the left of the doorway’s entrance and Jim on the right. Again, at an almost inaudible order,
both men raised their rifles and, in unison, surged into the dark abyss.
Nothing. There was not so much as a sound or a movement and not a thing was to be seen. The
lights on their rifles pierced the darkness like two flaming swords and they darted these white torches
all about the room only to find broken glimpses of an abandoned and dead chamber.
“Even with our light, this room is dark,” Sergeant Kobi observed after scanning the all around
the chamber.
“Jim, what sparkled outside the room?”
Jim turned his light to the threshold of the chamber and shone his light upon the object that had
before so lit this dark realm in a pale, white light to reveal a glass globe, perfectly round, lying dead
and silent. “What’s this?” he asked taking it up in one hand and holding it, smooth and cold, while he
shined a smaller flashlight upon it, illuminating its white glow once again. “It looks too perfect to be
human. Perhaps it is an ancient Alien Moon Stone?”
“Don’t let your imagination run away with you,” Chris said, casting his own light upon the
device, destroying its hypnotic effect. “It’s a crystal ball,” he said grimly and he then turned his light to
the path before his feet, “Look at this.”
“Playing cards?”
“No, they are of a darker origin. Someone’s been inquiring of familiar spirits. I wonder
whether…”
“Captain! Did you see that?” Jim cried. Turning his light with all speed to the place it had
shortly before scanned to reveal what was once hidden. Lo, the two men had discovered the familiar
embodied uniform of the A.A.M.. It was Scott Tompkin.

Chris rushed to the fallen man, “His mask is on… I can’t check his pulse! Bring your light
closer!” He had dropped his own rifle to aid this man down. Jim turned his small flashlight upon
Scott’s face and his visage was clear. “He’s dead, Jim,” Chris declared as he fell back in lament, resting
his feverish head upon his trembling hand. There, his courage seemed to leave him. “Oh, Lord. Oh,
Lord,” he cried in the despair of his heart. “Have mercy upon my soul. Oh, Lord, I know not why I am
hear, but I cling to you. You are my rock and foundation. I know now that this battle is not against flesh
and blood but against the principalities of the world. Oh Lord, in this darkness, I cling to Thee.”
“Will you stop praying! See here! You are my friend and comrade in arms but I’ve had enough
of your faith!” At this challenge from his friend, Chris only looked up with an expression of serine
calm and faith. But this look only incensed Jim the more and he declared, almost in a rage, “After
looking him over, it appears Scott died of fear,” as though this should instill in his commander the fear
that he so keenly felt himself, “He does not show any sign of foul play.” But these had no effect upon
Chris Thornton, who had so fully placed his trust in Christ Jesus, the rock of his faith and the hope of
his salvation. “I know what you are thinking,” Jim uttered coldly and almost cruelly, “that we are under
some curse from your God,” he mocked.
Chris continued to stare on until he said, “Yes, Jim, you are; under the curse of sin and death.
Look unto Christ and be ye saved.”
Jim was about to declare, still more enraged, some cutting retort when they heard an
exclamation from a familiar voice just outside the chamber entrance. Jim and Chris rushed out to see
Adam Chase in contest with some black mass. They shone the lights of their arms upon the object of
their comrade’s struggle and, lo, before them was the undefined, black form of a fiend. Jim raised his
weapon at this new nemesis. He advanced and demanded of it to halt. But it did not do as it was
commanded and acted on its own will to keep its hold of Adam Chase. Jim declared he would use lethal
force but to no avail. His rage came to a head and he leveled his rifle on the creature to kill it when he
felt the hand of Chris Thornton upon his shoulder, “Don’t shoot it. You may hit Adam.” Then thrusting
aside the hand of his friend, he seized the creature and threw it back against the wall with incredible
force and strength. He again turned his rifle on the creature and it submitted.
Chris turned his light upon it. “Why!” Exclaimed Adam, “It’s a man!”

Finis...

SOLI DEO GLORIA