Prophet [Chai & Naz]

[Nazgul]

<placeholder>​

 

[Nazgul]

Coldwater Ridge - population, 473. A sleepy town with not much going on, except for its rich history of cults and folk horror. After the Church Universal and Triumphant became known throughout America, Montana became a hotbed for cult activities, or at the very least inspired creators and writers to pretend it was. Coldwater Ridge was far too small for anyone to fantasize about cults there, and yet it happened anyway — stories about mysterious disappearances in the night began making the rounds and soon, Coldwater Ridge became a tourist attraction for those seeking for cheap thrills and a fun week in a lodge in the forest, with accommodations close enough that your 'camping trip' for Instagram was more like glamping. But besides a spooky atmosphere, a general distrust of outsiders, and a community of strange Christian people, there was very little to be afraid of in Coldwater Ridge.

Eventually the tourist activity fell harshly as cult stories fell out of favor and people preferred to find their thrills in True Crime podcasts.

But, was there ever a more perfect cover? Since 1967, a man called Travis Braddock had been at the head of these strange Christian people. Growing dissatisfied with the common Americanized churches, Braddock founded the The Apostolic Church of the Final Covenant in 1966, describing it as a way to break from perceived overreach from the church, and a return to the classical form of Christianity he practiced in his culture, as did his parents and their parents, all the way back to frontier times, while also adapting to the new world. His flock started small — with just 12 members of the congregation — but grew remarkably quickly and within some time, his church was the dominant church for families in the region. Other churches closed their doors, pressured by the fact that they were coming under financial hardships, until the Apostolic Church of the Final Covenant was the only church left in Coldwater Ridge and the surrounding towns in 1967, and the church was officially established as an actual church rather than a gathering of religious followers. With no place left to go, his following grew decisively. Soon, everyone was in the trance of father Braddock.

The town is a ghost town now. Well, a town filled with 473 souls per the last census. But life here is sleepy again, now that the tourists have disappeared. It was probably for the best that way. Outsiders did not understand the ways of the church. There would be no understanding for the fact that Braddock was a man chosen by God. There would be none for the fact that it was his God-given duty to spread not just the word of God but also the body of God. And they would certainly not understand that, as the man chosen by God, his body was God's.

Father Braddock married seven women out of his congregation with the full consent and approval of their husbands, who consigned themselves to the Priory, a camp in the hills, tucked away in the thick forests in a compound. The community called them monks, accepting a life of celibacy and giving up their place to the most esteemed father Braddock. This compound grew slowly, from a small cabin where the men would toil in the name of the church while father Braddock fucked their wives, to a walled vestige of the church, with a large personal cabin for father Braddock and his family, and of course his preferred wife of that moment, built on a rocky outcropping that overlooked the compound and offered a dominating view over Coldwater Ridge.

Beneath that cabin was the barracks for the wives that were currently on rotation, fallen out of favor perhaps. Or father Braddock had grown tired of them. And next to the womens barracks were the mens barracks. The men appeared disheveled, labored to the bone, monks who labored for God they said. Rituals formed quickly, devout followers of God and Braddock they were. The men would shave their heads, their beards, their entire bodies, as father Braddock commanded it so, and he was the word of God, and the body of God. Then they were commanded to never look upon Braddock's wives, for they were unfit to even gaze upon a woman, let alone women whose fields had been sown by the body of God himself. The women were made to cover themselves, in veils, and cloaks, to hide any and all skin from the maggot-men that lived in the compound with them. They had to prove themselves worthy. Toiling in this life, as every man that passed on to heaven and was judged worthy and exalted would became a Father in his own right, and would be given his own flock to shepherd, and indeed could have multiple wives as well to take care for.

Their numbers swelled, more women joined the compound, more husbands surrendered themselves to the commands of God, toiling so they too could reap the bounty in the afterlife. Every sunday, father Braddock made the journey down to Coldwater Ridge, where faithful brothers and sisters of the covenant gathered in his church to hear the gospel of the word of God. What appeared strange and unusual to outsiders was normalcy for those in Coldwater Ridge. Several times reporters came and investigated the town when it became nationally known that father Braddock practiced polygamy with his followers, and there was even an official federal investigation, but they found no evidence of illegal activivities, even if everyone seemed to be in agreement that the congregation was positively insane.

Father Braddock became a father proper soon only in 1999, despite the fact that he had fifteen wives at that time. He proclaimed himself God incarnate, and his son the Second Come Son of God: Elijah Nathaniel Braddock. The church shifted after this, and some of the wives were made to become caretakers instead, fully charged with taking care of the second coming of the son of God himself. Father Braddock became reclusive, no longer spending any time in Coldwater Ridge except for his sermons, which became more cold and distant over time, and the rules for his flock grew increasingly restrictive.

Without exception, all sheep complied. A small, white chapel was built in the compound next to the main house, to offer prayer and contemplation to those who lived there, and small scale sermons for those who had given their lives to God on earth.

Eventually, in 2017, specialist medical experts were flown in from abroad, and brought to the compound to administer medical care to father Braddock, who was ailing from a large cancerous growth and a variety of other illnesses.

"Father Braddock is dead."

Elijah remembered when the women told him, a year ago today. His father had lasted 7 more years, further proof of the miracles of God, as God had allowed his chosen apostle, his saint, to live another 7 years despite prognosis being bad. His father lived a good life. He taught him well. Taught him that he was the child of God. Not in the sense that the others were, everyone a child of God, but in the literal sense. Taught him that he would be owed things in life, from the sheep in the flock, in exchange for his guidance, support, and his help.

Most of the wives were dismissed. Too old now. They had served their purpose as wives, and would pass onto heaven when their time came and God called them to his side, and indeed they would serve men again in the afterlife, as was their lot. But for now, they could retire, and live out the rest of their lives in peace, their service complete. Their wombs had dried up and they were without purpose. The men.. the men were gone — mostly — and had passed on as well, between their arrival and his fathers passing. Just a few remained, much like the women, to toil in search of exaltation and a chance to be redeemed by God, to earn their flock in the afterlife and the sweet salvation of many wives.

It was a cold day when father died too, he thought, putting down a small picture frame with a picture of his father and him in it. The house was empty. But that wasn't any different. His father had taught him well, but he had not been a father. He looked up into the mirror hanging above the wooden sidetable, and fixed his collars. He looked like a true priest, cleanly shaven, his hair slicked back, cool, blank eyes staring back at him. Something human was missing from him — the love of a father perhaps.

He turned and opened the door outside, where two women and a man, whose eyes were averted to the ground, were waiting for him. "Get the car ready, please." Words like honey, silky smooth, and yet a voice so cold and venomous.

The man shuffled away with a strange gait, as if his leg had been broken and not healed in the past.

A few seconds later, as if he had waited only to put some distance between himself and the maggot-man, Elijah extended both his arms to his sides, and the two women grabbed a hold of him. They averted their eyes to the floor as well, unworthy of looking at him, as they proceeded down the rocky stairs, hewed by the 'monks' long ago, towards the car. They passed the womens barracks first, where a lone woman stared out the window at Elijah and the two women, tears in her eyes for some reason. She closed the curtains soon after, which fluttered up from the pull of air as she hurried away.

As they came closer to the car — a black SUV, perfectly suited for driving in the rough terrain to get to Coldwater Ridge and back — the man pulled his arms back to himself, and ushered the women along. "Go ahead," he said, his eyes fixated on the cross atop the small white chapel nearby. The women did not reply, only hurried their steps as they moved to the car. Slowly, Elijah raised his hand towards his forehead. "In the name of the father..." he softly spoke to himself, before letting his hand slowly glide across his face to the center of his chest, "the second come son of God," and then he moved his hand rapidly to his left shoulder and then his right, "and the holy spirit. Amen."

He opened his eyes again, and turned to the car, and proceeded on his way. He got into the passenger seat and looked at the man next to him. "You can drive. Thank you." First gear, then gas. Shaky. Because of the broken leg.

Maybe that's what love from a Father feels like?