The Johnsons

"There was only one rule: don’t open the door. I don’t know how many times I told you that. But nooo, you just had to have a look. Just had to sneak a little peek. And, now, here we are,” Phil ranted at Joaquin.

“I told you it barely held them back,” Phil continued. “And now we have to hunt down the Johnsons before they destroy the whole town.”

“I'm sorry. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have opened the door. But I heard them, and I couldn’t help myself. The screams. The crying of the baby. I told you this was my first time. I, I, I…” Joaquin pleaded with tear-soaked eyes.

“Just remember what I told you before. They are no longer people. Joseph Smith only read from the golden plates. The Johnsons and their congregation read from the black plate. And thus, are damned to roam the earth until they are healed. But to heal, they must take from the living. You see because Smith did not find the faith of the Abrahamic gods. No, he found the incantation of the Aten. The same text that caused the Egyptian priests to hunt down Akhenaten.” Philip reminded Joaquin of why they were there.

“But like our forebears at Nauvoo, we must prevent the spread of this plague of the chaotic unliving. We must secure the world from the agents of Apep.” Philip exhaled the final line as he turned the car on.

Joaquin looked down at his hands, the brand of the snake god now etched across his hands stung in the crisp, cold, midwestern winter air. What have I done, he thought. Joaquin drifted off into silent contemplation as Philip drove down the road from the house. 

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