Reaping the Whirlwind: Part Two
Three people. Three stories. One globe-spanning storm.
Walter Simmons had heard the announcements. He’d seen the broadcasts from emergency services and watched the news. It still didn’t make any sense. A storm, but not one composed of wind, rain, and lighting.
Instead, it carried horrors and hallucinations beyond comprehension and brought nothing but unimaginable destruction and insanity in its wake.
Walter didn’t claim to understand the concept of “strange matter” or how some underground facility in Europe could have unleashed it, but he had seen the footage, and that was enough.
Disheveled, half-drunk, and smelling like he hadn’t showered in a week, Walter was turned away from shelter after shelter, not because of his appearance but because they were already full.
And so, he went back to a place that he had sworn he would never enter again:
A church.
He sat quietly in the back corner of the cathedral. The packed wooden pews surrounding him were filled with people in various states of panic, clutching their children and their spouses in equal measure.
Tears flowed like rain, and sobs echoed across the vaulted ceilings like distant, haunting wails.
“May I sit here?” a voice asked.
Walter turned and saw an elderly priest standing beside him. He had kind, calm eyes, which was the last thing Walter expected to see under such circumstances.
“Sure,” he replied.
The priest sat down and looked out at the packed church.
“What brings you here, my son? Other than the storm, of course.”
“Trust me, father, this wasn’t my first choice. I haven’t been a believer in a long time.”
“Oh, and why is that, if I may ask?”
Walter bit his lower lip as the tears crashed against the inside of his eyelids.
“I lost everything in the accident. Everything. My wife. My daughter. My reason for living,” Walter said.
“I am so sorry, my son.” the priest said.
“If God were real, he wouldn’t let things like that happen,” Walter replied.
The priest sighed. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”
Walter turned to the priest, enraged by his response.
“Not that simple? What kind of God lets that happen? What kind of God lets a storm like this sweep the globe and kills millions or even billions of people? He doesn’t give a shit about us! It’s as simple as that.” Walter said, unable to contain the tears.
The priest laid a hand on Walter’s shoulder as he sobbed into the pew.
“I understand your anger, my son. Many people have asked me these same questions in my years at this church.”
“And? What did you tell them?”
“God’s plan is not for us to know or to understand. We simply must have faith and know that we will one day be reunited with those we have lost,” the priest said.
Walter let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Of course you’d say that.”
The priest stood to his feet and patted Walter on the shoulder one last time.
“I am glad you are here. This storm brings darkness and evil, but shadows cannot exist without light to cast them. There is a reason you are here tonight.”
Walter raised his head.
“What reason could there possibly be for all of this? Have you heard the news? We’re all going to die here! This isn’t an underground shelter, it’s a fucking church! It’s going to get wiped off the map!”
The priest looked to the nearby people who had stopped to listen and extended his hand to calm them. He looked back to Walter.
“This is the safest place you can be during a storm such as this,” the priest said.
Walter watched him walk away as his jaw hung open in shock. How could he believe any of what he had said? He sat back in the pew, trying not to make eye contact with the people still watching him like an animal at the zoo.
“Just let me die in peace, will ya?” he asked.
The onlookers went back to their own business. Walter reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a flask. The sensation of the liquid inside sloshing against the sides was comforting, like the embrace of an old friend.
He took a swig and relished the burn in the back of his throat as the priest took his place at the pulpit. The church went quiet as he adjusted the microphone.
“My friends, members of the church community, and any guests that have taken refuge here on this night of nights, I welcome you. Though this place was built by human hands and made from stone and wood, it has withstood every storm and strife over these many years. You sit upon hallowed ground, guarded by the might of God’s army of angels, and no harm shall come to you this night.”
Several people in the audience whispered an audible amen and held their hands to the sky. Walter rolled his eyes and took another swig from his flask.
“The book of Psalms, chapter ninety-one, verses one through five, reads: ‘Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the almighty. He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust. Surely, he will save you from the fowler’s snare and from the deadly pestilence. He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings, you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart,” the priest said.
Walter could feel the priest’s gaze from across the room. It was overwhelming.
“You will not fear the terror of night nor the arrow that flies by day.’ Let us pray,” The priest said, finally turning his gaze away from Walter.
The wind picked up outside the church’s thick doors. Walter could hear the ancient wood groaning. He swore he heard whispers coming from outside. The priest bowed his head, as did the congregation. Walter reluctantly lowered his head as well.
“God, we come to you now as a storm of darkness and shadow sweeps across our home. Lord, we do not claim to understand your plan or the nature of the wickedness at our doorstep, but we believe in your perfect will. We ask that you dispatch your angels to guard this sacred place until the storm has passed. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the holy spirit. Amen.”
Walter wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey or how the priest had a way with words, but he felt a temporary moment of calm and peace he hadn’t felt in a long time. He opened his eyes and shook his head.
It’s all smoke and mirrors, just stories for sad saps meant to make them feel good.
Walter gripped the edge of the pew with white knuckles as a thunderous roar swept over the church. It was unlike any thunder he had ever heard. The sound came from the right, then the left, and then the right again.
The ground trembled beneath his feet as bright light flashed through the stained glass windows that flanked the sides of the cathedral.
Brilliant shades of red, blue, and green flashed across the terrified faces of the congregation as the light filtered through the windows in fits and starts.
“Brothers and sisters, we must not let fear take hold! Everyone, stand to your feet!” the priest shouted.
Walter stood up. His head snapped towards the door in the back as something slammed against it with incredible force. The smell of sulfur and ash wafted in as the ragged breath of some monstrosity heaved just outside the door.
“Everyone, do not concern yourself with the wolves at our door! Psalms, chapter twenty-seven, verses five and six: ‘For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling! He will hide me in the shelter of his sacred tent and set me high upon a rock. Then, my head will be exalted above the enemies who surround me. Let us call upon our savior with our music!”
As music filled the space like a tidal wave, Walter snapped out of his frozen state. The elderly woman at the pipe organ let loose a melody that shook the very halls around them.
“Sing, brothers and sisters! Turn to page two hundred and seventeen in your hymnals.”
Walter was dazed and confused. The whispers he had heard on the wind had elevated to a dull roar in his ears. Incomprehensible speech, assaulted his mind like thousands of needles.
He reached for the hymnal, no longer worried about his pride or his hatred for God. He simply wanted to drown out the voices in his head.
The congregation raised their hands to the sky, and their voices became one. Walter followed along in the hymnal, softly singing the lyrics even if he didn’t believe the words. The sound was soothing to his ears. It was the only thing that seemed to help.
Surrounded by darkness, fear takes hold.
The enemy closes in; my heart becomes cold.
I cry out to my God, seeking out the light.
Death has no power in the face of his might.
Lord God, fill this place with your love.
Deliver us from this evil; take us high above.
We ask for your protec—
The congregation's song was cut short as every window in the cathedral shattered at once. A shower of colored glass splashed across the congregation as they ducked and covered their heads. Wisps of black moved through the air like ink soaking into a page.
“Don’t stop singing! Let the forces of darkness hear our battle cry and tremble before the might of our lord!” the priest shouted.
The congregation resumed their worship. Walter watched as the black tendrils, slinking through the air like snakes, retreated at the booming sound of the pipe organ. He felt something brush his hand.
Walter looked away from the book in his hands and turned to his left. A woman was suddenly standing beside him. She had vibrant auburn hair and sapphire eyes. She smiled as her fingers intertwined with his.
Walter struggled to breathe like someone had taken all the air from his lungs. He felt a tug at the sleeve of his jacket and spun to his right. A young girl, no older than six, with shoulder-length golden brown hair and matching eyes, looked up at him with an innocent smile.
“This can’t be real,” Walter whispered as tears flowed down his face.
“You have to sing, Walter,” the woman said.
“Yeah, Daddy, sing to make the monsters go away,” the young girl said.
Walter wiped the tears from his eyes and looked down at the hymnal.
This isn’t real. They said you would hallucinate, that you would see things. This isn’t real!
Real or not, Walter surrendered to the moment. He felt the warmth of his wife’s touch on his left arm. His daughter reached out and took his right hand. These were things he had forgotten. Things he had assumed were lost to time.
Together with his family, Walter sang with all his heart. He watched as the tendrils from the storm outside retreated farther and farther with every passing note.
Blinding flashes of light poured through the gaping holes where windows once stood. A foul wind blew through the church, carrying the smell of blood and sulfur, but Walter didn’t stop singing.
Inhuman screams tried to cut through the music but did little to slow the congregation’s chorus. Walter sang until his voice was hoarse, catching only glimpses of the horrors that raged outside the stone walls surrounding him.
After what felt like an eternity, the chaos began to abate. The priest laid down his hymnal, and the pipe organ’s powerful chords dissipated into mere echoes. Outside, there was only silence. The congregation held their collective breath, waiting for some sign, but nothing came.
The storm had passed.
People rejoiced, embracing their loved ones as the visibly exhausted priest made his way down the aisle. He stopped at Walter’s pew and looked at him with tired eyes.
“We did it,” he said.
Walter nodded. Just as soon as they appeared, his wife and daughter were gone again.
“I saw them. I don’t know how it’s possible, but I saw them,” Walter said.
The priest nodded. “Faith, at its core, my son, is the act of setting aside what’s possible and embracing something more. Something we cannot understand.”
Walter let out a long sigh. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“It is okay to be uncertain. Faith is a journey, not a destination. Perhaps we’ll see you here again next Sunday?” the priest asked.
Walter chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, maybe you will.”
The priest resumed his rounds. Walter stood to his feet and walked to the entrance of the church. He felt something weighing heavily in the pocket of his jacket. It was his flask. Still filled with cheap whiskey.
He took it out and threw it in the garbage can beside the door before exiting the church.
Thank you for Reading! Here’s Your Musical Pairing
Listen to this track after reading. Like pairing a glass of wine with dinner.
Walter doesn’t necessarily leave as a changed man, but he’s been affected and that’s far more compelling than a simple "faith restored" arc. It makes it more about feeling rather than telling. 👏👏👏👏
Damn Walter start praying!!