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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A man has as a daunting thought.

Submitted: October 31, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 31, 2016




Silence echoed as glass touched crystal.  The faces of men turned to smiles.  The word, ‘Cheers!’ rang out and echoed throughout the chamber room.  The seven stood and saluted the newest member of the club. His new home had been chosen.  The City of Angels awaited the youngest man.  The apartment was ready.  Chive Wade was to control the famous place.  It was another link of a chain, placed around the world.  Nothing would go wrong.  The plans had been made and secured.


An old man was found dead.  Drifting in the sea just off Malibu Beach.  The LA Police Department had nothing to go on.  John Doe was a dead duck.  The only clue was the number seven tattoo removed from his skin.  Nothing more was known.  The case was dropped.  Then reopened by new detective, Josh Jones.  The newcomer gathered the slim folder to his desk.  Then left it there.  Locked inside his desk draw.  Then went out with his colleagues for lunch.


The unwary officer did not realise how much danger he was in.  It would reveal a deadly secret.  A world not ready for something totally different.  An invasion from another culture.  A society called the 700 Club.


Josh Jones Googled the number seven.  As it was on the filename.  Many things came up.  The number between 6 and 8.  Several numerical facts.  And the Lucky number 7.  As he sipped his Coors light beer, his unknown friends departed.  Glasses and bottles chinked.  The people lined out of the bar.  Back to the precinct.  Josh noticed that there were seven detectives working in his sector, including him.  He raised his bottle to the barman and emptied the last dregs.  Leaving the place, thinking of the number seven.


The day had become afternoon.  Back at his desk, Jones opened the file.  It showed interesting marks on the body of the dead man.  On the arm was the scar mark of 700.  It was difficult to find, as it was on the right armpit.  Weird, mused Josh.  Who would tattoo there?  Idiots or junkies.  The fingerprints were not in the records.  The case seemed impossible to take further. 


The number 700 was Googled.  On the screen was a Christian club.  And some other sensible groups.  Josh pondered about the religion matter.  He decided to go to the nearest place for The 700 Club.  Josh Jones closed the file and went home.  He waved to his colleagues.  Little did he know, his first case, could well be his last.


At home in his flat, our hero phoned his parents.  So they did not have to worry.  He had passed all his exams.  Including Police Academy and Investigating.  His elderly dad calmed down with pride.  During the chat he asked them what the number 700 meant to them.  His mother spoke up from behind her husband.  It is a Christian group on TV.  They raise money for good causes.  Mostly for themselves, but they do good as well.


Josh thanked them for the input.  He would have to investigate the club.  The next day, Josh informed his Chief where he was going.  He took a cop with him.  Mostly for confidence.  They left the LAPD in a cop car.  The officer driving.  It was some way to the 700 Club.  It allowed Josh some time to think.  And what to be looking for.  Why would they kill an old man?  Christians do not kill, surely. 


When the car stopped outside a small office, in Downtown LA, Josh thought it was the wrong place.  This was not the headquarters of the 700 Club for Christians.  The young man left the patrol car drive on.  And to come back in ten minutes.  Just to know a cop was nearby was enough.  Josh did not want to scare off any clues.  The stiff door was pushed open.  It was the unofficial 700 Club.  And very dangerous.


Chive Wade stood in his black robe.  Together with six other tall men.  They soon surrounded the stranger.  The fool had fallen down a slide.  It was activated as soon as the front door was closed.  No light shone into the place.  Every room was blacked out.  Normally visitors would not be welcomed.  But the new member needed a sacrifice for his new life.  The day was turning afternoon.  The small office for the 700 Club was passed by.  The cop car had lost his young detective.  He drove on and around the block.


Blue eyes stared at the fallen man.  The cop tried to show is ID card.  It was ignored by the damned men.  A sound of deep voices hummed.  The small chamber was black as sin.  It was clear what it was.  When Josh Jones saw the black altar.  A dim red light came to life slowly.  Chants and wails came from the seven cloaked people.  If hell was on Earth then this place was it.  A blunt weapon knocked out the nosy detective. 


The cop car pulled up outside the office.  When checked, the black door was sealed, tightly shut.  The windows were black and shuttered.  The cop called it in.  Josh Jones was missing.  His case was still left open.  His Chief gave him 48 hours.  Then would act, appropriately.


If the North Pole was a freezing Hell, then that was where the victims lay.  A dark red figure stood at an equally crimson altar.  Among the icebergs of a lost realm.  Seven cloaked beings surrounded the seven human sacrifices.  Josh Jones touched the ankle of another man.  The pale face of a black man, stared with bloodshot eyes.  Bulging with immense fear.  ‘How long have you been here?’


The stranger shook with terror.  ‘Days I think.’

‘What the Hell is going on?’

‘What do you think, man.  Have a good look at the fiend in red.’


Josh looked at the shifty looking tall man.  It moved along the ground without feet.  It seemed to glide or slither.  The cop could not tell.  The nearest monk like person, had the face of a young man.  The demon sighed, ‘Welcome Mister Jones.  To my first inauguration.  And your last alive.’


The youthful detective thought about his parents.  He would be late home.  They would worry.  He had to do something.  He could imagine them missing him.  Josh Jones had to end the 700 Club.



Every detective in LAPD were given a handgun.  It was black and smooth, like coal wrapped in silk.  The click of the barrel felt like an infuse of poppy seeds in the brain.  With one finger death could be wrought.  The handle was an easy fit in most adult palms.  The weight was not too much a burden.  With an arm stretched and the tip aimed.  All could be done in a moment.  The gun was the hope for any lawman.


Seven men or women, danced and frolicked around the flaming alter.  The cold coal furnace did not melt the ice.  This fire emitted cold heat.  By its side stood the crimson demon.  Jiving and howling silent evil.  The time was coming for Hell to open up.  The youngest priest of bad taste turned to the closest human.  A shaking man of down under, writhed when a cutlass touched his throat.  Jets of red liquid ejected in rainbows of pain.  The six other doomed souls became sick inside. 


Before death found the Aussie, a white fist found the head of Chive Wade.  The other holy men of Satan, stared with disbelief.  This was not meant to happen.  The Master was greater than death, surely.  The 700 Club accepted their own fate, when the Devil was not present. 

The ceremony was hosted by the King of Hades.  The 699 worshipers around the world, knew what had happened.  They allowed accidents, incidents, human error.  It could all be blamed on themselves, when the Lord of spite was not around.  How could Wade be lying there dead? 


The six began to doubt his might.  Then when they turned to the killer.  Five more pellets found five more of them.  The last cloaked man, pulled down his hood.  Then bent lowly, and bled pink tears, at the sight of his fallen fools.  The demon chortled with a gargling affect.  Scaled face with snake eyes found the arm of Josh Jones.  Fear surged in the young cops mind.  But the Devil saw his heart was strong.


All seven devil worshipers were gone in a wave of the demon’s arm.  Even the living seventh.  Replaced with another seven.  This time armed with spears.  As this moment occurred, the five other victims checked the bloody human sacrifice.  At the last breath of the man, Josh Jones stood before his fellow men.  Tall and full of Police training, in his mind.


The devil looked at his reflection, in a mirror above the fireplace.  He turned his head and spat at the bold cop.  ‘You cannot kill me.  I live and walk this Earth.  You can give up now.’

The detective remembered his faithful parents.  Then explained, ‘I do not want to kill you.  Demon.  But I shall end what you reflect onto others.’


At that point, a bullet smashed into the glossy mirror.  A cry sounded like piglets being chased by a butcher.  The whole area began to blacken.  All things then turned pale.  The five humans stood with Josh.  The snow fell on the North Pole.  A wave of innocence was wiping away the mess.  Every snow flake was the last evil souls of the 700 Club. 


Josh Jones placed his revolver back into its holder.  As he looked at the less afraid five, they faded along with everything else.  Everything was gone.  Even the detective, himself.  The devil was merely a dark afterthought.  A nightmare washed away.


Chive Wade returned from his bathroom.  Wiping away all the dampness.  He returned to his desk.  And to the faces of his six friends.  He had just had the longest, pause for thought, ever.  The youngest Christian signed his name on the deed.  It documented him as the Head member of the LA office for the 700 Club.  He thanked all for coming and helping him into a great position.  Everyone left the chamber.  The lawyer left last and closed the big chamber door.  Marked - The 700 Club.


Chive looked at his reflection in a mirror above the fake fireplace.  Then wondered if there was a Josh Jones in LA.  The young man stood at the window, watching a jet fly over the city.  Soaring away into the red sunset.  The colour made him stop staring and look away.  He then said to himself, ‘No! Tomorrow is going to be a lovely day.’


Chive Wade sat down at his desk.  Wiping away any grime from his new desk plate, that was next to the brass crucifix.  For, The 700 Club.









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