Dwellers of the Night: The Complete Collection by Anthony Barnhart Page A
Authors: Anthony Barnhart
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car in PARK and leaps out. He jogs back to his car, his bruised and broken body shrieking at him. He falls to his knees and throws himself inside the overturned Prizm. He searches frantically among the glass, slicing his fingers and cutting his palm. His heart feels like it’s going to explode. Then relief. He draws a deep breath and picks it up, flips it open—it’s still there. He thanks any god in heaven and crawls back out of the Prizm, sliding the satin box into his pocket. When he gets back to the truck, it’s dead: the gas has run dry. He slams his fist into the steering wheel. When he pulls it away, he sees a bloody smear. His hands, his face… He needs bandages. Fuck the truck.
He sees what looks like a business park on top of the hill next to where he’d wrecked the Prizm, across the highway to the east. He begins climbing the hill, pushing through the knee-high grass. The mid-morning sun beats down on him, refreshingly warm. A cool August breeze sweeps up from the river and ruffles his hair. He thinks back to the crash as his knees ache with each step uphill. What had flashed before him? He can’t remember. Think, damn it, think! Had it been a person? No. I know it wasn’t a person . What, then? He tries to think harder, but all he can remember is the car spinning and flipping. And then something flashes in his mind. He pauses with the thought. Antlers ? It had been a deer. So animals were survivors? Did whatever caused this skip over the animals? And if so, why attack humans and not animals? He doesn’t know. But there are no birds singing in the dawn’s light, and the silence makes his heart bleed.
He reaches the parking lot of the business park. An arched sign reads GARDEN OF HOPE: AMERICA’S
ONLY REPLICA OF JESUS CHRIST’S TOMB. “Fuck,” he murmurs. There’s nothing here. He moves forward. The parking lot is empty. He walks around the side of a wooden building and sees the replica: a life-size tomb, complete even with a roll-away stone and replica Roman soldiers. He stands next to a plaque engraved with a scripture passage:
In the end of the Sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to see the sepulcher. And, behold, there was a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat upon it. His countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow. And for fear of him the keepers did shake, and became as dead men. And the angel answered and said unto the women, Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified. He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay.
-
Matthew
28:1-6
His eyes dance over the passage. It means nothing to him.
He tastes blood in his mouth. He needs medicine.
His head throbs. Aspirin would be good, too.
He walks over to a single building sitting in the shadows. He tries the door. Locked. He turns around, spies a wooden bench. He walks over, hefts it in his arms, and walks back to the window. With a grunt and with all the effort he can muster, he slams the front of the bench into the glass window. It shatters under the impact. He pulls the bench away, drops it to the cobblestone ground, and crawls in through the broken window. He finds himself staring at a museum rendition of the crucifixion of Jesus. His eyes spot a scripture verse as he crawls back out:
Anthony Barnhart
Dwellers of the Night
36
And, behold, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom; and the earth did quake, and the rocks rent; and the graves were opened; and many bodies of the saints which slept arose, and came out of the graves after Jesus’ resurrection and went into the holy city, and appeared unto many.
-
Matthew
27:51-53
Religion . The thought makes him sick.
What kind of a God would do this to people?
What kind of a God would allow this to happen?
What kind of a
He sees what looks like a business park on top of the hill next to where he’d wrecked the Prizm, across the highway to the east. He begins climbing the hill, pushing through the knee-high grass. The mid-morning sun beats down on him, refreshingly warm. A cool August breeze sweeps up from the river and ruffles his hair. He thinks back to the crash as his knees ache with each step uphill. What had flashed before him? He can’t remember. Think, damn it, think! Had it been a person? No. I know it wasn’t a person . What, then? He tries to think harder, but all he can remember is the car spinning and flipping. And then something flashes in his mind. He pauses with the thought. Antlers ? It had been a deer. So animals were survivors? Did whatever caused this skip over the animals? And if so, why attack humans and not animals? He doesn’t know. But there are no birds singing in the dawn’s light, and the silence makes his heart bleed.
He reaches the parking lot of the business park. An arched sign reads GARDEN OF HOPE: AMERICA’S
ONLY REPLICA OF JESUS CHRIST’S TOMB. “Fuck,” he murmurs. There’s nothing here. He moves forward. The parking lot is empty. He walks around the side of a wooden building and sees the replica: a life-size tomb, complete even with a roll-away stone and replica Roman soldiers. He stands next to a plaque engraved with a scripture passage:
In the end of the Sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to see the sepulcher. And, behold, there was a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat upon it. His countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow. And for fear of him the keepers did shake, and became as dead men. And the angel answered and said unto the women, Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified. He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay.
-
Matthew
28:1-6
His eyes dance over the passage. It means nothing to him.
He tastes blood in his mouth. He needs medicine.
His head throbs. Aspirin would be good, too.
He walks over to a single building sitting in the shadows. He tries the door. Locked. He turns around, spies a wooden bench. He walks over, hefts it in his arms, and walks back to the window. With a grunt and with all the effort he can muster, he slams the front of the bench into the glass window. It shatters under the impact. He pulls the bench away, drops it to the cobblestone ground, and crawls in through the broken window. He finds himself staring at a museum rendition of the crucifixion of Jesus. His eyes spot a scripture verse as he crawls back out:
Anthony Barnhart
Dwellers of the Night
36
And, behold, the veil of the temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom; and the earth did quake, and the rocks rent; and the graves were opened; and many bodies of the saints which slept arose, and came out of the graves after Jesus’ resurrection and went into the holy city, and appeared unto many.
-
Matthew
27:51-53
Religion . The thought makes him sick.
What kind of a God would do this to people?
What kind of a God would allow this to happen?
What kind of a
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