It is said in Galatians 5 that “one must merely walk by the holy spirit, and they will not gratify the desires of the flesh,” that we must show abstinence from greed, from passion, from sexuality, from all of our most human desires, and we will be granted a place in the kingdom of God. It can be safely assumed that no human could ever possibly achieve this state of heaven, where one has abstained from all desires and cast themselves into celibacy, sobriety, and a constant state of disenchantment. We will always find ourselves captured in passion, groaning and raving for some form of contact with sin. This is not wrong, nor inhumane, for it’s natural for a man to dip his feet into the springs of hell, just for the pure pleasure of it.
My interests in theology went far past my studies in college, and my ambitions roamed freely beyond the walls of my college building. I, a lively and innocent eighteen year old living in a small apartment complex in outer Manhattan, found fascination in spirituality and the many ways people attempt to fill the gaps of ideology and individualism within themselves. I consider myself a practicing agnostic now, but at the time, my idea of spirituality was aloof, and I was more interested in the psychological effects religion can have on a person, and why people decide to follow the many theologies in our world. More specifically, I found myself delving into the topic of sin.
It always perplexed me as to what men considered as sin, having been raised in a family of devout Catholics. From the most dainty things such as shellfish and alcohol, to the most serious of murder and greed, the tenets of religion have condemned such strange things. Even the very concept of sin was incredibly obscene to me, eventually feeling it nothing but a code that was meant to restrict behavioural conduct within an individual. Why Islam condemns any sexual act but those strictly heterosexual, why greed is labeled as a sure ticket to hell by the Christians, and why Hindu monastic orders take vows against the consumption of alcohol, were all so abstract from my perspective. After all, if money, sex, and intoxication are all so deeply desired in our society, why vow against our cravings?
My research outside of college theology eventually led me to researching various spiritual movements by the end of my freshman year of college. I spent hours, days, whole weekends browsing through various faiths, whether philosophical or fully mythical, I indulged myself in the strange, mystical realm of past and present religion. I’d spend days in front of my computer, tacking away at the keyboard, barely dressed outside of a t-shirt and a pair of boxers; my fresh cut, dark hair oily from a lack of showering.
Eventually, a new word had entered my vocabulary, one that had never been discussed by any of my professors. “Pantheism,” a word I have seldom spoken since the events of March 2013, had been introduced to me, and had come across as a strange, but intriguing topic. From what I can remember from the research I’d done, pantheism is the belief that the universe itself is parallel with divinity, that nature itself is, in and of itself, God. It is the idea that the universe and God are one and the same, and that when one ponders the former, they are synonymously pondering the latter. This unity of religion and naturalism was foreign, almost unnatural to me, which made it all the more intriguing. It was my research into this that lead me to the Church of the Mother.
As I recall, it was a particularly lazy, dreary, and cloudy day. I sat on my couch, my head resting on an arm, my laptop propped up on my chest. I had been browsing a board dedicated to spirituality, on a website that I shall not disclose for the safety and privacy of it’s users. Though cliched, it was on this board that I found myself doing the most of my research. Nowhere else could I find such a small yet intelligent hub of people willing to discuss spirituality and religion on an intelligent level, rather than the way people heard it from the obnoxious televangelists wasting precious airtime. Religious movements could be discussed, people could learn new and interesting interpretations of verses from all sorts of holy texts, as well as decipher findings in recently discovered ones. It felt like home to a blooming theology major.

Eventually, a thread had come up on my computer, discussing what seemed to be a new religious movement that had started in parts of Scandinavia and was now migrating to New York to spread its doctrine. It went under the name, ‘the Church of the Mother.’ Initially, the name threw me off, making the church sound more like a cult straight out of an Asimov piece than a religion that could potentially rival the likes of the Catholic church. However, my curiosity and doubt was eliminated when the original post had labeled the group as a ‘pantheistic movement.’ Once again, my mind went back to that idea that I had gained interest in, the belief that the physical realm and the corporeal realm were one.

Upon searching the website belonging to the church, I found that the ideas within it were comparable to ancient forms of paganism. I don’t recall much from what I saw, but from what little I gathered from the site, the group believe that, indeed, the universe and God were one and the same. They gave God a name, ‘Hún Jörð,’ apparently Icelandic for ‘Mother Earth,’ for they believed that the Earth itself was an embodiment of God. They connected the verses in their tombs, which they called ‘ritningarnar,’ ‘the Scriptures,’ with the works and ideas of men such as Lao Tzi, Jean-Paul Satre, and Albert Einstein. At the end, the group seemed to be with nothing but good intentions, but bored me. It sounded like the same boring, stereotypical drabble that would come out of any other “theist’s” mouth. I promptly closed the page, feeling dry and unsatisfied.

However, as I refreshed the page on the original thread to check whether someone had decided to carry out an intelligent discussion on the church’s ideology, or possibly the ideology of pantheism itself, a link had come up at the bottom of the thread, reading the following:



“Found this link while searching the html code of the page.



This church might not be as peachy as we thought.”


I don’t quite recall the exact link, but what I will never forget is how much I now regret my decision to click it.

Initially, I could hear the sounds of rain as a video began to play on the page, though slowly, the sweet, calming sound developed into something loud and abrupt. I can’t recall whether it was instantaneous or not, but I do recall that the noise was loud and rhythmless. I promptly lowered my speaker volume, so as not to get me kicked out of my apartment complex and continued watching.

The video started off showing natural scenes, pictures of a passing brook, a flower in full bloom, a misty forest. At the top of the screen, in bright yellow text, read something in a language I couldn’t understand, seeming more like jargon to me. I ignored the text, and continued to focus on the slideshow, which began to show pictures of what I presumed to be a church building. Pews lined up, filled end to end with eager listeners to someone standing atop a podium, clad in shabby black robes, a hood hanging over his hair and eyes. Multiple shots of this person were shown, as he raised his hands in the air, his mouth opened wide, most likely chanting some sort of esoteric prayer.

The poor quality of the video really added to the harrowing feeling of nervousness that was stirring within me. The booming noise emanating from my speakers, in tandem with the shabby church images and the strange text that was shifting to some other concoction of letters, made the video seem tense and sinister, almost psychotic. Nonetheless, my foolish self continued watching.

The next set of images showed what appeared to be a large, flat lodestone sitting in the middle of a field of soil. Judging by the lighting, the scene didn’t seem to be outdoors, making me question the presence of the dirt to begin with. In the stone, a large, symmetrical glyph was carved, which heightened my inquisitiveness. How I wish today that I wasn’t as curious as I was.

Images began showing men in robes standing around the stone in a circle, seeming to conduct a seance for some reason or another. Apparently, there was a huge time gap between that picture and the next, because what next I saw showed a woman, lying atop the stone with her arms and legs spread. Her hair was long and red, her skin pale and fragile looking. Her stomach distended a bit, showing that she was maybe a month or two pregnant. The hair on my arms stood up as I looked at her figure, naked and vulnerable, her hands cradling her belly protectively. The sequence of images continued, as the men in robes stood around her exposed body, but my stomach truly churned when I noticed the sheath of a blade hanging from the side of a man standing in front of her.
The image roll continued, next showing the man pressing the blade of what I presumed to be a sacrificial knife to her stomach. I could feel my eyes widen, as if I was the one having the knife driven into my stomach, my heart pounding fiercely. The pictures dimmed in quality as the cameraman apparently went further back from the scene, though I could fully understand what was going on. Her face was not in view, but I could see the knife delving into her body, and the images showed in succession, the slow evisceration of her delicate form. I cringed, feeling my tear ducts pulse, the noise growing louder and louder, throwing me into a frenzy. I yelped out loud, quickly closing my laptop and falling back, clutching myself.
I regained my breath quickly, never having truly finished the video. My face glistened with sweat, and my whole body was racing, pumping with adrenaline. I wasn’t used to what I saw, my mind was racing with confusion. I didn’t dare reopen the now shut laptop, for fear that the video would start up again.
I clutched my hands tightly, standing up and rubbing my eyes, the day nearly gone as the sky outside my window glowed orange. I fixed myself a glass of fine, thick vodka to calm myself, trying to think of a clear way to deal with what I’d seen. Though I wasn’t accustomed to telling others about the shocking things I’d found on the internet, this one spoke to me on a whole new level. One of the posts in the thread had mentioned that a new branch of the church had opened in nearby Brooklyn, meaning that I myself could get answers to the thousands of questions in my head.
I decided that I would pay a visit to the local police precinct.
Night fell, I slept, day rose, I awoke. I rose from my bed with haste, dropping from the side of the four-post structure and making my way to the shower. I washed myself off, dryed my hair, tamed and gelled it to the best of my ability, brushed my teeth, and didn’t bother eating. I dressed minimalistically, a plain white dress shirt with some navy slacks and an accompanying blazer. I quickly packed the laptop, the ominous page still open and the battery hopefully still sustaining, and headed out the door. The precinct wasn’t far, only taking a walk of about four blocks to the large, plain building.

The structure was shabby, to say the least. The paint over the masonry was fresh and smelled heavily, covering up ancient relics of vandalism, graffiti that didn’t quite flatter the NYPD. I’ll admit, my choice in neighborhoods was not the best, but it was certainly the best that my middle-class money could afford. I promptly opened up the plexiglass doors to the precinct, a rush of cold air coming over me from the day-long blasting of the air conditioner within. It smelled of medicine and perfume inside, emanating from the less than charming woman at the front desk. I approached her, her elderly, wrinkled features emphasizing themselves the closer I got, and the stench of thick, cheap perfume heightening itself.
“E-excuse me…” I spoke in my most professional voice.
“Mmm.” she grunted, giving me a light smile. “How can I help you, hun?”
“Oh, err.” I stuttered, not having planned out what to say. “I’m, err, looking for some sort of authority to report something to, maybe a private investigator or something along those lines…”
“Private investigator?” she quirked her brow, the blue eye shadow of hers sticking to her receding eyelids. “A phone call woulda been nice, dear. What’s your name?”
“Luka Dzarewic.” I responded quickly, trying to avoid using a thick Polish accent in an attempt to not sound pretentious.
“Alright, Luka. What’s troubling you?” she nodded, leaning forward, clasping her hands together and resting her wrinkled chin on them.
“Well, err… I found a video on the internet recently,” I began. “which was apparently posted by a church that started up in Brooklyn recently, and it’s contents are… well, disturbing.”
“Hmph.” she grunted again. “Well, I’ll have a friend a mine look at it. Lemme just buzz him in for ya.”
She pressed a button on the telecom under her desk, calling a certain ‘Moyer’ to the lobby. She nodded reassuringly at me, promising me that a detective would be on the way shortly. I waited for a few moments, until a young man came from the side entrance of the building.
He stood tall and intimidating, about a foot over myself, his hair short and messy. He wore an aging hand-me-down collared shirt with short sleeves, revealing the edges and tips of a few colorful tattoos lining the sides of his bulky arms. A sickly green tie hung from his neck. He didn’t look much older than I was, making me question whether or not he was truly qualified to be in the position at the firm that he was. He glowered down at me, though I maintained the most professional look I could.
“Follow me, please.” he spoke in a grizzled, smoky voice, leading me down the hall to a small office space. A furnished dark brown desk occupied the center space with a simple desktop and a few cabinets, caked in an ungodly amount of papers and documents, occupied the center of the room. He didn’t seem to care much of it though, as he shoved the mass aside from the desk and gestured for me to sit in a grey chair opposite his own large, cushioned office chair.

“Before I start, allow me t’introduce myself. Private investigator, Jake Moyer.” he extended his hand to me, which I took and shook as gracefully as I could.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Moyer.” I gave a light smile.
“Please, call me Jake. So, Mr. ‘Jareh-vech,” he began, butchering my surname. “What seems’t be the problem?”

“Oh, uhm…” I flinched, stuttering as I quickly unzipped my messenger bag, pulling out the thin, grey laptop and opening it up. “Well, yesterday, I was browsing the website of this church…”

“Mhm.” he hummed impatiently. His stare passed right through me, the spot at the top of my head where his eyes roamed flaming hot.

“A sect of it recently opened up in Brooklyn, and I was simultaneously on a board discussing it’s ideology and the like and…” I paused.

“Mind gettin’ to the point?” he groaned.

“I was about to.” I responded, chuckling nervously, making sure the board and video were still open. “A guy searched the html code of the site, and stumbled upon a hyperlink embedded into the website itself, which linked to a video…”

“And what’d this video entail?” he inquired.

“It… it’s hard to explain…” I stuttered, bringing my mouse over the tab with the video and turning the laptop around to face him. “See for yourself.”

It had come to my realization that I hadn’t quite seen my own reaction to the video as I had first watched it, but Jake’s expressions seemed to parallel mine. I lowered my volume as best I could without muting it, but the loud, screeching noise still made him jump as it came on. He promptly muted the video, his face contorting to an interrogating frown as he leaned into the computer screen. He muttered under his breath occasionally, his eyes alternating between the text and the images. His reaction went from confused to shocked in mere seconds, his frown holding and hardening, as I could tell the more graphic side of the video was coming on. Unlike me, he managed to finish the video, immediately shutting the laptop hard and pushing it back to me.

“The hell…” he muttered, clearing his throat and softening his expression, letting out a deep sigh. “Alright, I shoulda done this first, but bear with me, cause I’m new to this whole detective thing. I’m gonna ask you a couple a questions.”

“Alright.” I nodded, as ready as I could be for the unexpected interrogation.

“For starters, when did you first watch that?” he paused before addressing what the video was.

“Last night, around six, I think.” I answered calmly.

“Alright. You mentioned you were on a board on some other website, correct?” he asked, to which I nodded. “Okay, did anything else about the video come up afterwards?”

“No, sir. The thread might still be in the board’s archives, though.”

“Alright. What’s this church’s history, I don’t think you’ve said anything about the place so far?”

“From what I read on the site, it’s some pantheistic church that worships some sort of Earth-goddess. They started off in parts of Scandinavia, but just recently started spreading to America.” I responded. “There was a location listed in Brooklyn, probably a sect of the church.”

“Good, we’re within investigating distance.” he nodded, his pokerface unbreaking as he stood up from his chair, rubbing his shaven chin. “Alright, Mr. Dzarewic…”

“Oh, err, call me Luka.” I reddened a bit, embarrassed that he was still addressing me by my family name.

He glared at me for a moment, adjusting his tie. “Alright, Luka… I’m gonna ask that you send me an email,” he paused to pull out a post-it, picking up a pen from the mess on the desk and writing an email address on the slip, “containing a link to the church’s site, a link to the video if it’s still up, and a link to the thread.”

“Alright. What do you plan on doing with that info?” I asked inquisitively.

“Well…” he handed me the post it, pacing around the room, looking out the blinds of the single window. “Probably gonna head out there myself, talk to whoever’s in charge of the place, try to get a warrant to do a proper search of the place, make sure everything’s in order… you won’t need to worry about a thing.”

“Wait.” I quickly stood up from my seat. Now the man had caught my interest. The theological side of me had begun to devise a plan to learn a little more about this church, what it stood for, and possibly do my own investigation on the ideology of the Church of the Mother. It was risky, and I wasn’t sure if he’d even agree, but I was keen to ask. “Do you think you could… let me know when you plan on heading to the place?”

“Hmm?” he glanced at me, his brow quirked, his bulky arms crossed. “Think I should be askin’ you why you wanna know, shouldn’t I?”

“Well, I’m a theology major at the moment, freshman year of college,” I began. “and I’d kinda like to see if I could get to know the church a little better. Plus I’d… kinda like to see how this investigation turns out as well.”

He sighed, glowering at me with piercing brown eyes. “Can’t you do all that crap on your own, Luka?”

“Well, yes, but… this seems like a better opportunity to gain a little more knowledge on what the church is about.”

“Judging from what we saw in that video, whatever knowledge you gain could put you in some serious s***.”

“Please, sir, I’ll take responsibility for whatever trouble you or I get into.” I pleaded.

He looked at me for a few moments, finally breaking his stare and grunting. “Fine, man, I’ll respond to your email with the day and time I’m going. But if I get in trouble cause I let some guy like you tag along on a state administered investigation, you’re outta the whole thing. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” my smile widened, as I picked up my laptop, bid the man goodbye, and scurried out of the building.

Later that day, I sent the email, entailing the address of the church, a link to the thread (after some vigorous searching through forum archives), and a link to the video. I eagerly awaited a reply for two whole days, anxiously checking my phone during class, in the halls, during lunch, waiting for some sort of reply from Mr. Moyer. Finally, the response came through on a Monday afternoon, entailing the date on which he’d pay a visit to the building in Brooklyn, and what time to be at the front of the building. He warned me that if I was a second late, he wouldn’t let me tag along. I didn’t hold him against it, as I’d be quite displeased were I to be begged by some insolent teenager to let me tag along on an important investigation.

Nonetheless, the day came, and two buses and a bridge later, I had reached the packed outskirts of Borough-Park, where a fairly regular looking building stood, simply with a sign hanging from the top of the building, reading, “The Church of our Mother Earth.” The smell of smog and gas, and the fairly non-holy appearance of the masonry of the building made the scene a little less than esoteric. The building was fairly wide, but not as tall as one would expect the sacristy of a church. Perhaps that was the old Catholic within me, reminded of the harrowing churches with eloquent paintings dabbed into the walls and ceilings, and the long rows of pews lining the ends of the rooms. With minimal searching, I found a certain Jake Moyer, his back the side of the brick building, his head tipped down as he looked down at his phone. He wore the same outfit, still showing off his gruff exterior, supple arms lined with tattoos, and the same dirtied white shirt with the same green tie. He greeted me, I returned the notion, and with no hesitation, we entered the building.

In the first moment, we were immediately greeted by a man in black robes, who immediately asked us what we wished to inquire with the church. He barely gave us enough time to take in the simple scenery of the lobby, an ensemble of white walls with a few portraits of religious icons occasionally bumping out of the walls to give some life to the otherwise lifeless room. The monk’s robes were just like the ones in the video, long and flowing with a hood parting from the back to give it an elegant, shapely look. They were stylish for religious vestments, but the more I looked at them, the more my mind trailed to the image of the poor pregnant woman having her insides gutted, and I eventually took a seat in one of the foldable chairs lining the sides of the room, placing my head in my hand as I sighed in tiredness with a pinch of nausea.

I looked around as Jake continued to speak with the man, his grizzled, raspy voice eventually fading from my hearing as my eyes wandered around the room, at the walls, at the paintings. The religious idols depicted were far from my knowledge of the world, though I could recognize a few pagan symbols, as well as some homage to the Tree of Life as depicted by the Norse. After just a short wait, the man in the black robes decided to take us to the leader of the sect of the church.

Only after a short series of white-painted windowless hallways, blandly illuminated with fluorescent lighting were we lead to a room, with a large, intricate window facing the bustling activity of Brooklyn, did we find ourselves in a fairly sophisticated room, filled with bookshelves lined with old religious tomes, novellas, and other prestigious works. The hum of a soft, chiming hymn emanated through the walls and fogged our ears. At an intricate mahogany desk at the center of a room, sat a man adorned in the same black robes, just differing from the rest with a white collar. He was tall and lanky, and surprisingly skinnier than myself. His hair was long, oily and black, his facial features worn with age, the light grey stubble of an oncoming beard adorning his mouth and cheeks. He stood up as we entered, immediately gesturing to the monk who lead us to him and speaking to him in another tongue. Jake and I exchanged a few glances, though we didn’t speak with each other for fear of getting kicked out of the building.

“Ah, hello.” the tall, elderly man finally spoke, giving us both a pleasant, peaceful smile. A thick accent adorned his choppy, quick speech. “So sorry for the wait, we just wanted a little information before we let you in.”

“It’s fine.” Jake responded with a half-honest smile.

“Well, before I begin, allow me to introduce myself.” he nodded. His voice was deep and raspy, almost like Jake’s, but older and more refined. “My name is Ævan Þór Sigurðsson. I do not come from here. Please excuse my English.” He spoke as he sat down in the grand, furnished armchair before his desk, gesturing to the two seats on the opposite side. We took our seats, the white sunlight from the window outside shining onto our faces and giving the room a radiant glow.

“Alright… Ævan.” Jake responded, butchering the pronunciation of the name.

“So, if I may ask, what brings you two here?” he asked, smiling up as us through his long dark hair. I stayed silent, since Jake made it clear that he’d do the interrogating.

“We’re here on accounts of a possible homicide within the church.” Jake explained. “We found a video that depicted some… unpleasant scenes, and we followed said video to this church.”

“Video?” Ævan crooked his head, slightly puzzled. “Could you be a bit more... specific? Our website has… quite a few videos on it.”

“It depicted a pregnant woman being killed in what looked like some sorta ritual.” Jake responded bluntly, impatient with the man’s confusion. “It frightened a lotta people, and rightfully so.”

“I could imagine so… but I’m unsure if you have the right church. We do not encourage murder within our church.” Ævan assured. “Do you plan on holding an… investigation?”

“The NYPD is already working on it. I’m just here to get some insight on what’s going on in this building.” Jake responded matter-of-factly. My eyes darted between the two as they conversed, their gazes strictly on one another, though I was sure I saw Ævan’s glare reach my own at one point.

“I condone it. If such activities are going on within the church, it is only appropriate.” he nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Do you have any idea as to when this investigation will take place?”

“I haven’t heard anything yet, just expect us.” Jake answered coldly. “

“Very well.” Ævan sighed, looking around his desk. “Well, is that it, then?”

“Yeah. Just decided to drop by to let you know what’s goin’ on and what we’re gonna do about it. You look like a sensible guy, I’m sure you’ve got nothin’ to do with it.” Jake nodded, standing up, prompting me to do the same. He shook Ævan’s hand generously, then my own, though I was hesitant to do so. I had barely gotten to know the man, I didn’t even get to interview him on what the church was about.

“Uhh, Jake?” I looked over at the taller man as I shook the priest’s hand. “Is it alright if I stay a little longer?”


“Huh?” Jake looked down at me, his eyebrow quirked. He brushed his hair back, holding the hand over his forehead. “I guess it’s fine, just don’t do anything that’d spoil the investigation, alright?”

“Promise.” I smiled at Jake as he exited, then looking over to Ævan once more, who glanced at me curiously, standing up from his seat.

“I don’t think I caught your name.” he asked me. “You didn’t speak at all, I assumed you were just another investigator.”

“I’m not, believe me.” I stuttered. “My name’s Luka Dzarewic, I’m an aspiring theology major.”
He placed his hand on his chin, his interest clearly roused. “Oh? Are you taking interest in Kirkju Hún Jörð?”
I paused for a moment, tilting my head in confusion. The hymn filled the gap of the silence, until he finally corrected himself. “The Church of the Mother.”
“Oh, y-yes.” I nodded. “I’m curious as to what it’s about, mister…” I paused, his complicated name already escaping my head.
“Sigurðsson.” he chuckled lightly. “You may call meÆvan for the time being.”
“Right.” I nodded. “So, what exactly is this church about, Ævan?”
“Well, to give a brief summary,” he began. “We are based on the worship of Hún Jörð, Mother Earth. She is an embodiment of our universe and everything in it, a vessel of… nature itself. All things within the universe are bound together through her, and that includes every last living thing on our Mother’s green Earth. It was she who birthed this great universe, and it is to her this church pays homage. Our teachings are very natural, and we try our best to be aware of the human condition when we give them out. We endorse the expression of emotion, of sexuality, of wrong and of right.”
“And your morality?” I asked.
“What about it?” he responded.
“What exactly is it? Do you even have an absolute morality?”
He chuckled. “No, we do not. We have a series of scriptures that narrates the canon of our Mother, but they do not dictate morality. Ethics is something that one must decide on their own. We preach about what we think is right and wrong, but the moment a member of our church questions the doctrine, we strive to change it after some reasoning.”
His words were clear and concise, his English sounding near perfect as he spoke about his religion, as if he’d practice this a million times over. His words were absolute music to my ears, sounding like a saint, like a truly learned man. The light from outside the window shone on his person, illuminating the humble smile he held on his face and making the soft material of his robes shine.
“That sounds… truly revolutionary.” I finally spoke, my eyes glittering with passion at the man.
“I try.” he chuckled, brushing his hair to the side. “Are you interested in… joining our church?”
“Oh? Uhh…” I hesitated. My purpose here wasn’t really to become a part of a new religion, as I hardly had any idea as to how I identified spiritually. I wanted to understand the mentality of a religion, and I thought the perfect place to start would be with one that was just starting; a cult. I supposed one white lie wouldn’t be too bad. The lovely chorus of people humming a hymn of the Mother warmed me as I thought this over. “Well, I may consider it.”
“We’re having an orientation here next week.” Ævan smiled, almost frantic about the idea of me as a newcomer. He gave me the details of the orientation, where it would be, when, and what time my arrival would be the most convenient.
I consulted Jake about it just as he was getting to requesting a warrant on searching the church. I’ll admit, I was a bit braggy about it over the phone, claiming that I may solve the mystery of the video before he did. He warned me, how fervently he warned me, about the danger I could’ve been getting myself into. He feared that what he’d seen online was real, that the video was undisputably to do with the church. Moyer practically screamed over the phone, though I hung up on him, having enough of his rubbish. Little did I know at the time that what he said was hardly rubbish.

Later that week, I arrived at the church at six o’clock on the dot, night already settling over a bustling Brooklyn during rush hour. The church was left just as I remembered it, with the same pale white walls, fluorescent lighting, and the same singing ringing in the background. A monk instructed me to wait in the same waiting room as Jake and I had the week prior, and I took time to look at what the pictures on the walls depicted. They were abstract, as most modern religious art was, but they felt strangely human at the same time. Within the blotches of paintings meant to symbolize religious figures, natural settings, views of the cosmos, I felt like something within those paintings resided within me. I began to reconsider, thinking that there could be something in the church of the mother that I could identify with, that could fill the gaps of my spirituality. The monk returned, leading me down another hallway to the door to a room, in front of which Ævan stood.
“Ahh, Mr. Dzarewic, was it?” he looked at me, grinning ear to ear. “I am glad to see you could make it.”
I chuckled, flattered. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Ævan. I’m not late for the orientation, am I?”
“Not at all.” he nodded. “Right this way.”
He opened the door, which lead to a dimly lit room. The light was so faint, so soft, that I still couldn’t see a thing in the room. The draft was unmistakable, the cold seeming to intensify the strange smell of Earth consuming the dimly lit room. The world went dark as I heard the door close, and all my senses faded.
When I woke up from what felt like an an eternal daze, I opened my eyes, only to be returned to the darkness. The cold had returned to my skin, though it was much more intense now, and I felt my bare body lying against something even colder. At the realization that I was naked, I felt myself frown, lifting myself from the cold, harsh stone beneath me, only to be restrained down by my arms. I bit down onto something soft, that consumed the words I uttered. I struggled in place, confused by what was going on around me, absolutely unaware of what was happening outside of my senses. My body struggled against the harsh restraints, my ankles and arms chafing and scratching on the tough ropes that bound it. I struggled and screeched into the thing over my mouth, until I felt a rugged, grizzled hand trace over my chest.
“Calm down, Luka.” the raspy voice of Ævan murmured. “You will be with the mother very soon.”
My stomach sank as he spoke, as I felt my body weaken at what he implied. The world hazed and my ears were abuzz, but I could do nothing to stop it. I felt my body aching for movement, striving to be free, to not let the truth of what was happening around me be. My vision focused on the man in front of me, my focus on him deepening until I could see his whole figure, though I wish I hadn’t. In his hand, the lanky, tall old man held the same knife that was brandished in the original video, and my greatest horrors had been realized. I was overcome with sadness, with hatred towards myself that I hadn’t heeded Jake’s warning, and was about to literally put more blood onto his hands. I shut my eyes tight, soft, cold tears beginning to graze down my face.
“Fé ok fjörvi rænti fyrða kind sá hinn grimmi greppr; yfir þá vegu, er hann varðaði, náði engi kvikr komask..” he began to chant in a language I didn’t know, as I felt the blade cold on my skin. I cringed and curled my toes, as the sharp metal dug into my hip, slowly drawing blood as he dragged the deep cut over my stomach. I didn’t open, but I could feel my skin tighten, ready to burst and let everything out. I screeched in pain, my mind flaring with activity. “Komi ríki þitt.”
“Einn hann át oft harðla, aldri bauð hann manni til matar,” he continued, dragging the blade over to my shoulder and letting it trace sloppily over my arm and dig a long wound into the muscles. I bit the cloth in my mouth tightly, feeling my blood go cold as it flowed into the etchings and crevices of the stone below it, coating my side gruesomely. “áðr enn móðr ok meginlítill gestr Gestr af götu kom.”
My mind blacked out and cringed, as I felt a sudden surge of pain travel from my shoulder to the rest of my body, the ringing in my ears heightening, deafening me from the rest of my senses. His chanting replaced the noise as it dumbed down, my arm sore and numb.
“Drykks of þurfi lézk inn dæsti maðr ok vanmettr vera!” he cried almost psychotically, digging the knife into my side, blood blossoming from my thin, pallid skin and rising into the air, filling it with a pungent, decomposing smell. Pandaemonium rose around me, as I felt my sanity and senses fade. My body persisted, not yet willing to let my conscience nor my life wither completely. “hræddu hjarta hann lézk trúa, þeim, er áðr hafði vályndr verit!”

“MAT OK DRYKK VEITTI HAN ÞEIM, ER MÓÐR VAR!” Ævan moaned, his voice filled my ears and surrounded me, sending me into deep psychosis. He cackled madly as he dug his knife into my shoulder repeatedly, reciting it at a torturously slow pace of one word at a time.
“ALT AF HEILUM HUG!” he yelled again, jabbing into my shoulder again. I could feel the socket loosening from my body, the feeling in my arm fading, and my conscience fading with it.
“GUÐS HAN GÁÐI GÓFU HÁNUM BEINÐI, ÞVÍ HANN HUGÐISK VÁLIGR VERA!” he shouted at last, his demented screaming filling my senses as I blacked out, the world around me fading, and all feeling going with it. I felt myself getting closer to the universe, inching my way to unity with death. Stars beamed around me, each reflecting Ævan’s sweaty, screaming face as he shouted the verses of his prayers into silence. His screaming distorted in my mind, the sounds twisting and turning, surrounding me like some sort of twisted preview of the ambience of hell.
But then, I woke up.
My delicate eyes fluttered open, filled with a warm, white light. It was not an image of heaven nor hell, but one of the real world. My eyes adjusted to the light, and my senses returned to me, namely my sense of pain. But the pain dulled, as the image of a hospital bed slowly emerged from the deep white light. The window was open, letting in a soft, warm air, and the smell of medicine coated the whole room. I sat up as best as I could without causing myself more pain, glancing around the hospital room for another human, who just happened to be sitting upright in a chair, his arms crossed.
“Mornin’.” Jake’s voice reached my ears, as I glanced over at him. “Feelin’ alright?”
“Ye…” I sighed, my voice raspy and my mouth dry. “... yes, I think so…”
“Don’t push yourself too much, you won’t be leavin’ that bed for a while.” he placed a hand on one of the plastic rims of my hospital beds. “You’re a lucky guy, you know that? Survived several lacerations to the abdomen, and a few dozen stab wounds to the lower chest and shoulders.”
“Really…?” I snickered softly, my laugh breathy and heavy in my lungs. “I don’t know what they did to me… I mean, to make me get so blacked out that they could tie me to whatever they had me tied to…”
“I’d think chloroform, but I wasn’t there to see them do it.” Jake placed a rough hand on my arm, shaking it. “You’re a real fighter, you know that? Kicked death right in his big fat ass.”
“I suppose I did…” I sighed, ready to speak the biggest question on my mind. “What happened to… Ævan…?”
“I caught him in the middle of the act of killing you. You were already knocked far out, but he was still hackin’ away at you…” he sighed. “You weren’t at your prettiest on that slab, I’ll tell you that much. Ævan managed to slip through the hundreds of officers that we worked so hard to surround the building with. I worked my ass off to get that warrant, and we weren’t even able to capture the guy behind it all… I guess it’s nice that you lived, though…”
I chuckled breathily, my eyes lulling to the side a bit as I breathed heavily. I was still numb and sore, though Jake’s praise comforted me and eased my suffering just a bit. My eyes began to wander around the room, trailing from one corner to the other, until it reached the underside of a blue curtain separating my bed from the next, though the hairs on my arms stood as I glanced at it, the bottom of a set of black robes draped just behind where Jake sat.