The Big Book of Blasphemy by David G. Barnett

Author:David G. Barnett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: religious, irreverent, religious book, sacreligious, extreme horror anthology, splatter punk stories
Publisher: Necro Publications

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R.I.B.–REST IN BLOOD

Paolo Di Orazio

Translated from Italian by Daniele Bonfanti

It had been God who had made Pastor Frank appear in the middle of his living room. Yes, God. He who commands space and time, whose silent Word is the chemical engine of the Universe. It had been God—materializing as Frank, mute and unreal like a nightmare, at 1:00 p.m. sharp on that scorching August Wednesday, inside his Odessa house. And if not for God, the planks of the porch steps and of the floor would have creaked loud under two hundred and sixty pounds of muscle and bone in dark dress and crocodile boots. God had lent Frank’s steps the light weight of a shadow.

Frank, motionless in the middle of the room.

Motionless between his overheated Dodge Coronet, parked in the driveway under the searing sun, and the squawking TV switched on a show of faces, lights and laughter.

A few flies danced in the air close to him, appreciating the blood soaking his black clothes. Until then, they had been busy with Violet’s vomit, which had flooded the sofa while she fell unconscious, drunk to the bone in front of the screen.

Pastor Frank allowed himself a few seconds to take in the immobility of his house. Furniture and all inanimate items were each a chapter in one of the most squalid lives of the world. Through his aviator Ray-Bans, oil-blue like his Coronet, Frank looked at the tousled promontory of his wife’s head against the sofa backseat. Alcoholic sinner he could never redeem. Not by prayer, not by fists or belt. Sinner and source of all evils.

He brought his fingers to Violet’s hair—filthy, as always. A heartless caress. Frank was completely numb. The Lord’s puppet. He could sense nothing with his fingertips.

“You took a son from me, you unworthy wife. Now, we’re tidying things up once and for all,” Frank said.

His caress faded; his hand withdrew. Then he swung God’s hammer one, three, six times, shattering who-knows-which sinful dream inside the grey meat that mixed with blood, hair, some flies. No effort, for it was God’s wrath that vibrated through Frank’s muscles. God helped.

Always.

Violet’s body shook with spasms, jerking on the sofa. Pastor Frank held the weapon firmly in his hand at his side, waiting for the woman to pass away as blood gurgled in her last breaths. From behind, he could not see her face. God had told him that by attacking her from behind he would be sheltered from her accusatory gaze, that her disappointed spirit would not haunt him. Violet died at 1:07 p.m., without knowing by whose hand nor why.

Frank put the hammer, soiled with warm detritus, back in his cross-body bag. He walked around the sofa. Violet’s face: a red mask.

Still silent and weightless, accompanied by the voices of the TV show, he slipped a black plastic bag on the woman’s head; he sealed it around her neck with duct tape to contain the blood. Listening to God’s further instructions spelled out in his mind, he shifted the lifeless body on the floor.

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