Nu

Thou canst not see my face: for there shall no man see me and live.

A dark and stormy night still filled with hope.

"We won't have long before they send cleaners."

In preparation for worship the building is tidied the night before at 9:30 p.m. They reach the spot by 8:49, the soil like playdough under their feet.

"Tiff, hurry up!"

"Hold on! I can't muddy my socks!"

He drags her by the hand, the rest of the group already ahead.

"We're gonna meet God. You could move a bit quicker!"

Their wishes will be answered. Just a leap of faith is needed.

St. Satariel's is to damp grey stone what marble is to architects. A small humble establishment with a chapped tiled roof, sitting like some regal rooster at the edge of the town, hugging the forest line. The church has been around for sixty years, seeing generations come and go.

"Father Abernathy would be so pissed if he found us."

"No turning back now."

The tattered wooden door, swollen with the rain, seems to invite them in. The eight enter.

Jack grabs a lamp and illuminates it with his father's lighter.

"It was your job to bring flashlights, Jimmy."

"I had schoolwork due and forgot. Get off my case."

"Guys, relax. This is a house of worship. Also, take your shoes off."

Anthony, despite being the youngest, is the most serene. His family comes from a line of clergy, so reverence for the building has possessed him at this moment.

"Elder Evrett wouldn't lie 'bout this, right?"

"He's a deacon, Rach. Whaddya think."

According to the Elder, they just need to find the door.

"See anything, Annie?"

She's got the best eyesight of the bunch, but even she can't find the entrance. Adjusting her glasses, Becky takes in the layout. The inside is shaped like a plus sign, four passageways of equal length meeting at the centre where the tabernacle is set up. In one passage a line of oak pews, at the end of another a bookcase with thick volumes kept under the seal of spiderwebs.

Her best guess is the door is somewhere around the fourth passage, next to the third where the instruments are kept.

"There's only the loo in this direction, though."

"Maybe the door's hidden?"

It wouldn't make sense to conceal the door to the basement in normal circumstances. But if God's in the basement, some measures would need to be taken lest the unscrupulous find it.

He considers for a few seconds.

"Maybe it's by the tabernacle?"

"Makes sense. Although I wouldn't want to disturb anything there in that case."

"Don't be a chicken, Jack. Help me look."

The two boys reach the altar, searching around its base and lifting the velvet carpeting.

"Bingo."

A trapdoor secured with a rusty lock.

"Well, looks like we're not getting in. Father probably has the key."

Anthony, to their surprise, comes over with an empty brass candlestick in hand.

"Let's smash it."

There's a consuming fire in his eyes, a desire to see the face of his maker.

"You sure?"

"Minor property damage. Besides, I feel like my life has led to this moment. Something...something tells me we need to do this."

They trust his judgment. He breaks the lock with four hits and they gently lift the hatch, creaking open with a mousy groan.

He takes a deep breath.

"Let's do it."

According to the deacon, Melchisedec Ramsay, brother of the town's founder Bram, met God in the forest when the settlement was being established. A covenant was made for them to dwell among their devotees physically while still permeating the rest of the world with their spiritual presence.

This physical form is currently abiding under the church, but only a select few know. Every day twelve measures of fine flour, forty cooked sheep and six vessels of wine are sent to the basement as an offering, said publicly to be rations for the priests, and recently James, whose family breeds sheep for this purpose, was told the truth by Evrett.

"We can see mum and dad again," Tiffany thinks aloud with excitement and fear.

"Make sure your offerings aren't wet."

Olive branches, a good substitute according to the deacon.

The stairs are slippery and steep, hard to descend, which seems fitting as they are about to meet their creator.

They reach the bottom, the lamp casting a faint glow across the room.

"Smells like lamb and grapes."

The floor is powdered with flour, ancient signs carved on the walls.

The others give him a look. They want him to do the talking.

He steadies his breathing, the sweat pooling over his nose bridge.

"Um...God? Hello. You probably know why we're here, but I think I should introduce us just the same. This is Tony, Rebecca, Tiff, Rachel, Annabelle, James and Jacob. I'm..."

A rumbling growl answers him. Pure divine power.

"Lord, we each come with a wish. Some of us want to see our parents again, some of us want to be healed."

The outbreak ruined a once-glorious town, but still they are confident they have not been forsaken.

"The plague took so many of us. And those left are suffering in silence. But we know you have heard us, and we trust that you can and will redeem us."

He pauses.

"Place the offerings," he whispers. They set their branches on the ground like they're holding golden swords while he searches the room. His eyes catch it.

"Is that...?"

At first he thinks it's a couple of wine barrels covered with a tarp, but then the shape stands up.

God has soft black fur more beautiful than the night sky. Their body is large and round like that of a mighty bear, their neck long like a cedar tree. Their head is an orb of pure white light, and under their feet is something like a paved work of sapphire stone, brighter than daytime.

They have five fingers on each foot, each finger with a smooth shiny claw. Mighty, awe-inspiring, terrifying.

They stand at six feet and two inches, but their length in full is about twenty. At the moment they are on all fours since the ceiling is quite low.

The light. So lovely and primaeval. So warm and welcoming. So full of life and hope.

He can see his parents in this light, standing happily in the white asphodel fields of the Eternal Meadow. Tiffany tears up.

"Mama...papa..."

She has reverted to the age she was when they lost them. He tries to look over at his sister but finds he can't.

"You're...so...wonderful..."

The light calls them closer. They can finally have what they wanted.

Annie takes the first step. She lost her brother and grandfather to the plague, and is currently suffering from its symptoms. There is a rare chance of immunity, but those that survive must bear the pain for life.

"Max...I'm sorry...so much...I wanted to say to you...Pops...grandma misses..."

She approaches God, being enveloped in their aura. At this point they turn around.

The light is part of God's tail. God's true front is shown, a long slender neck tipped with a lumpy bulbous head, the eyes shrunken from lack of sunlight.

A slit vertical mouth, their only facial feature apart from their closed eyes, extends from their head to chest, lined with crystalline teeth that shimmer like diamonds in a riverbed.

"So...beautiful..."

God leans forward and swallows her whole, the teeth crushing her like an orange in a juice squeezer. A bloody pulp drenches the ground, but she feels no pain.

I will see you soon.

Her head is crushed and she stops moving. Next Jack steps forward.

"Little sis...it's been so long..."

One by one they are granted their wish. For some their pain is ended, for others they see their loved ones once again.

Finally he is left standing. Tiffany is being eaten in front of him, but he can't move.

Voices in his head chant in some language he can't understand, singing praises:

Bhegin bhaoztoxr khaiognelb, gadrratl ghrombroxr ucnojhast: Yacxaathl'krilbh Ad'uroxz, az'ild'gnelb yothaombra. Comede, comede, Yacxaathl'krilbh! Comede, comede, Yacxaathl'krilbh!

He steps forward, the light luring him towards the gaping maw.

"Are...you...really...God?"

Those are his last words.

The next day, Jesse Evrett sits in his rocking chair, the verandah overlooking his luscious garden. A cup of tea in hand, clothed with sunlight, he reads the local paper. Eight Children Missing Since Last Night.

"Hmm...seems they found the basement."

Father Abernathy is with him, sharing in some crumpets and cucumber sandwiches.

"Did the Lord take them home?"

"I assume so. A true blessing."

"Why, if I may ask, did you feel the need to lead them there?"

He thinks for a bit.

"I considered their suffering, what they and their families were enduring, and concluded that God will take their children back if approached directly about it. It is part of their transcendent plan that some prosper and some suffer, for reasons we cannot know."

"But we trust that their ways are best."

"Precisely."

He feels for the parents who will never find out where their children went. But time is a healer.

"The pestilence was punishment for neglecting our duties. We shall not make the same mistake again."

"Abraham Ramsay would nevertheless be proud of our work."

An offering need not be sent in today. For now, God is satisfied.