I am a mass murderer. As was my father, and his father before him.
Although I may be exaggerating when I say we are mass murderers. We’ve never killed more than thirty people a year – cultural heroes such as Stalin and Pol Pot managed far more than that. And the Aztecs butchered twenty thousand in a day.
On the other hand, my people have been doing it somewhat longer – offering up our neighbours since before our species came down from the trees. But I suspect you’re not overly interested in the details of our faith – it’s really very ordinary, in most respects. I suppose an anthropologist would describe it as an ‘apocalyptic mystery-slave religion’, if we gave him the chance. We have our secret texts, our hidden rituals, our belief in the coming of an ancient and alien messiah, to overthrow the overlords and give us our paradise on Earth. New ways to shout and kill and revel indeed. That sort of thing has a powerful appeal to certain disenfranchised types. Outcasts and hybrids one and all.
Ah, Jasp… oh, do stop screaming, please. He’s not going to touch you, yet. Yes. Kindly tell the others we’ll be out in a very few minutes. Where were we… ah. Belief. You saw our visitor, of course. Some of those that truly believe are... changed. But it doesn’t mean anything. Did the people of Chernobyl worship the reactor? Perhaps they did.
A strange sort of thing, belief. Jasper can barely answer to his own name, but my flock consider him blessed. Touched, as it were. Do you begin to see my point? No. Perhaps... did you ever hear that the Archbishop of Canterbury doesn’t believe in God? I must have laughed for a good few hours when I heard that.
Or perhaps you’re more familiar with the “Proof Denies Faith” argument. I believe it’s from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians. “The foolishness of faith in God is wiser than the wisdom of men” or words to that effect. And that’s the crux of the matter, you see. I had my epiphany. I had my proof. And I lost my faith.
The twenty-second of March 1925. I’m hardly likely to forget that date. I was twelve years old. HE stirred in his sleep, and I saw the green fog of His flesh, felt His thoughts wash over mine. And that’s why I have to kill you, and your wife, and your children.
Not because I believe. Because I know. I know that He does not even notice our existence. I know what will happen to all life on this world when the Great Old Ones truly wake. And whatever we do to you, when we take you out to the fire, I want you to know this –
Ending you now is a mercy