Prologue
Afterward, no one was really quite sure what happened, but they were certain that something had.
The Catholics and Christians and good little souls all described it as a chill, like an icy whisper of fingers down their spines. They reached for their bibles, as believers are wont to do, and prayed. Reported sightings of Jesus and the Virgin Mary rose dramatically, and the number of churchgoers that Sunday was the highest it had been since Y2k, which was the last time everyone seemed to believe that the world was going to come to an end.
The atheists and agnostics shrugged off their own discomfort, and continued in their daily lives. They were rather unconcerned with the entire religious upset that their God-fearing counterparts had started.
The Pagans and Wiccans and other earth spiritualists whispered about some psychic disturbance, and resorted to throwing salt, feeding the fairies, and burning a lot of candles in the hopes of appeasing Mother Earth.
The Satanists, despite their so vehemently exclaimed allegiance to the Dark Lord, didn't notice a thing.
Someone told me that the Pope sneezed violently the moment it happened.
In Houston, Texas, a tropical storm knocked over a few powerlines, taking out electricity for an hour.
That was just about it.
There were no earthquakes or tsunamis. The world's volcanos did not simultaneously erupt. Other than that weak storm over Texas, there were no reported natural disasters. Lightning stayed where it belonged, and no sinners were smote. Babies were born and the sun still shone. For all apparent purposes, it was a normal day, on a normal planet, in the middle of a normal universe.
It still happened, though, believe it or not. Maybe you won't trust me, but the morning edition of the Purgatory Times spelled it out, right on the front page. The date was May 8th, 2004.
In large, inky letters, like a cheap sensational grocery store tabloid, it read: "Satan's Dead!"
Hell's honest truth, I swear. I was there. And I'll tell you all about it.
The Catholics and Christians and good little souls all described it as a chill, like an icy whisper of fingers down their spines. They reached for their bibles, as believers are wont to do, and prayed. Reported sightings of Jesus and the Virgin Mary rose dramatically, and the number of churchgoers that Sunday was the highest it had been since Y2k, which was the last time everyone seemed to believe that the world was going to come to an end.
The atheists and agnostics shrugged off their own discomfort, and continued in their daily lives. They were rather unconcerned with the entire religious upset that their God-fearing counterparts had started.
The Pagans and Wiccans and other earth spiritualists whispered about some psychic disturbance, and resorted to throwing salt, feeding the fairies, and burning a lot of candles in the hopes of appeasing Mother Earth.
The Satanists, despite their so vehemently exclaimed allegiance to the Dark Lord, didn't notice a thing.
Someone told me that the Pope sneezed violently the moment it happened.
In Houston, Texas, a tropical storm knocked over a few powerlines, taking out electricity for an hour.
That was just about it.
There were no earthquakes or tsunamis. The world's volcanos did not simultaneously erupt. Other than that weak storm over Texas, there were no reported natural disasters. Lightning stayed where it belonged, and no sinners were smote. Babies were born and the sun still shone. For all apparent purposes, it was a normal day, on a normal planet, in the middle of a normal universe.
It still happened, though, believe it or not. Maybe you won't trust me, but the morning edition of the Purgatory Times spelled it out, right on the front page. The date was May 8th, 2004.
In large, inky letters, like a cheap sensational grocery store tabloid, it read: "Satan's Dead!"
Hell's honest truth, I swear. I was there. And I'll tell you all about it.