~ Death Of The Apocalypse ~

by

Joel Goulet

A loud pounding sound began to come from the walls. The noise drove Bender to cover his ears. There was a creaking nose, reminding him of wood being stressed to its limit without breaking. The ceiling began to stretch inward, stretching into the shape of horse legs. It resembled a horse walking across a stretched piece of rubber.

Sword and ax blades began to jut from the walls in numerous places. From many of them blood dripped and ran down the walls. Green lightning-like charges of electrical energy jumped from wall to wall, seemingly passing through the two panicked men in the room without any effect on them, other than adding greatly to their fear.

Bender dove to the floor, attempting to keep from being struck by the bolts of energy. He lay still in a fetal position. Olmsted remained standing, defiantly, so it seemed. A savage wind began to howl around the room, making a sound similar to a jet engine, and causing the men to cover their ears with their hands. The swirling air instantly turned ice cold. Frost formed on the men’s hair. Neither man had ever felt such intense cold. Their flesh numbed.

Bender fought to stand. He struggled against the unforgiving hurricane-force wind until he reached the locked door.

“Give me the key,” he shouted at the top of his lungs, as he virtually tried to pull the door knob from the door.

“It’s too late,” Olmsted replied.

Bender leaned back against the door. He found himself held there by the wind’s force. “What the hell is happening?” he cried.

“The Horsemen are here,” Olmsted said, almost sounding calm.

“Screw you,” Bender cussed. Even with what he was witnessing he wasn’t going to believe in something he felt was tabloid-created.

A sword blade poked through the door, mere inches from Bender’s neck. The blade screeched through the wood. He turned his head to look at the bloodstained blade. His muscles tensed as he tried again with all his might to move away from the door. Before he could budge, a skeletal arm and hand came through the door on the other side of Bender’s head. The wood of the door seemed to part fluidly. The hand slapped against Bender’s forehead and pulled his head against the door with a stunning jolt that dazed him for a moment. The blade flowed through the wood. Through the flesh and bones of Bender’s neck the blade sliced unimpeded. The hapless man’s torso fell to the floor, as his head remained held in place by the skeletal hand. Blood spurted from severed arteries, as Bender’s heart still had not caught up with its own impending death.

Suddenly, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and their horses materialized. The four spectral forms consumed nearly every foot of space within the room. The horses were each a different color: red, white, black, and a pale color. Their riders were War, Civil Strife, Famine, and Death. By far the most ominous appearing, Death wielded a sword, the blade of which was wet with Bender’s blood.

Olmsted found himself hemmed in by the spiritual entities.

Death’s pale horse knocked over the lamp, breaking the bulb and putting the room into total darkness.