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STUDENT BARTHOLOMEW MORTIMAN

PRESUMED DEAD, FIRE UNEXPLAINED.

COMPLIED FROM AP, UPI WIRE REPORTS. . .

Today, fire fighters recovered the remains of a journal from the destroyed apartment of Bartholomew Mortiman. Mr. Mortiman, Undergraduate at City College is believed to have perished in the intense fire, even though his body has not been recovered. While known for his odd behavior in a neighborhood famous for eccentricity, in recent weeks his personal torment had apparently grown. Fellow students said that the troubled Mr. Mortiman had caused several outbursts recently in classes. While he had always questioned the usefulness of the college experience and his course work, recently he had become more agitated and prone to wild accusations. According to classmates, his quality of work declined at the same time his comments about "something evil coming for him" grew.

Reporters were shown some of the recent artwork that Mr. Mortiman had created in the last weeks before his apparent death. The dark images seem to make use of a considerable amount of blood, gore, and a figure in various paintings that may be a representation of Satan. Neighbors and friends dispute the suggestion by Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms’ agents that Mr. Mortiman was a collector of firearms and possibly a known drug dealer and user.

However, a portion of his personal journal, released by ATF agents, seems to confirm the ATF position. ATF agents say that part of the journal was covered by a large cross and accompanying rosary, which may have protected it from burning. Despite the intensity of the fire, these few pages are almost perfectly intact and do not show any signs of singeing or water damage. The following is, according to the ATF, the complete portion of the journal that survived the fire.

Friday, April 9^th

Sarah had asked me to attend her church tonight. Despite my long-standing personal misgivings about religion, I said yes. I never should have gone with her. Many questions have been answered, but the burden of such knowledge is almost more than I can bear. Now, I have a responsibility to try to stop something that I may not survive. Since I have been led to this confrontation all my life, it is my hope that I will survive. Hopefully, the ancient legends and stories are true. If not, I leave this record as witness to my plans in the hope that others will follow in the battle.

As those who know me are aware, I never have been keen on religion. Raised as a Roman Catholic, I learned early on that the Catholic way was the only way and to question anything in the Church was wrong. To suggest that the Bible was a collection of stories such as the Aenid or the Odyssey was not allowed. To question why a just and loving God would allow people to die in natural disasters, wars, and as victims of random violence was unspeakable. When I questioned why, I was told by church leaders that I had to accept things on faith. The simple fact that an omnipresent God would have to allow an atrocity or personal pain to happen was ignored. Blind faith was the only answer; anything else was blasphemy. If I could not accept it then I needed to go elsewhere. I drifted, searching for meaning, a truth to the universe and my existence.

That search for meaning led me to psychology, art, literature, history, and even religion classes in college. I wanted to have some sort of concrete explanation of life, the universe, and why I was here. When a person has always felt like he never "belonged" in any sense of the word, living is incredibly painful. I gravitated towards the other "lost souls" in classes and spent hours in dark corners of the library. Slowly, I began to come to peace with myself.

As I took more classes, everything begun to collapse again. A little knowledge is truly a dangerous thing. I had found some answers, but unfortunately many more questions. I was still haunted by the question of why a compassionate God (almost a universal theme among different religions) would allow the rampant suffering and evil that existed in the world.

I slowly realized that anything could be read into a given manuscript. If someone wanted to deconstruct the work, it would mean one thing. If a feminist reading were needed, then it would mean something else. Nothing was any more real or concrete than anything else, everything led to more confusion and questions. Every discipline or group had their answer or spin, but no the real answer. No one really knew what anything meant.

Then, I met Sarah. Sarah was special, like no woman I had ever met before. When we met at an evening fantasy literature class, she had an almost instantaneous hold over me. In the past, women had been like some sort of alien species that I did not understand and could not communicate with. I had expected to live my life, as long as it lasted, by myself. But Sarah has changed everything forever.

It was almost as if she literally pulled me to her as she drained my will to resist. Sarah had some sort of hypnotic hold over me. When we would go out, her orange hair would seen to glow in the moonlight. I should have questioned why I never saw her except at night, but I simply didn’t care. I don’t know what it was with her, but when I was with her, I felt centered, at peace in the universe. It was not a sexual experience but a spiritual one. My mind was quiet, all of the questions held at bay. The voices were stilled, replaced by a feeling of serenity and acceptance. The pressures and loneliness were gone and it was just us, communicating on a higher level.

Simply put, we were soul mates. I should have known what that really meant.

Out of her presences, my personal demons would be back, stronger than ever. Self-loathing, regrets, and my life long battle with depression literally overwhelmed me. At times, the voices in my head fought for control and threatened to destroy me. The grief that gripped my soul was so overwhelming at times that all I could do was lie huddled on the floor in the corner of my bedroom. Gradually, I began to lose track of time and place more and more.

Sometimes, it was more than I could bear to drive back home to my dingy apartment. Making the effort to do the simplest task was overwhelming. At other times I would suddenly realize I was at home, drained and exhausted, with no memory of how I got there. I would call Sarah to make sure I had taken her home, and she always was awake. I don’t know when she slept; maybe it was during the daytime. When I called late at night, she always sounded great on the phone, with a voice that purred like a cat. Maybe I imagined it, I’m no longer sure of what is real.

When Sarah invited me to attend church with her this evening I was filled with a sense of impending evil. I wish to God, I had not gone with her. God does not have anything to do with it. I should have seen the signs. I had a bad feeling about her church from the beginning. The services were always at night, never during the day. There were other signs too, but I don’t have time to mention them. I have to hurry as the clock approaches midnight and there is much to be done. Time is of the essence. Ha, I can’t even count on time anymore if "they" are to believed. I am so tired and I don’t know what is real anymore.

I went with her to church. Though I had been there before months ago once or twice, the darkness and the rain made it difficult to find. Even inside, everything seemed different. I tried to remember what it looked like before and couldn’t. I had even asked Sarah about it as we crossed an aisle and she had glared at me with such fury, I felt my insides grow cold. I closed my mouth and followed her lead as she selected our seats.

We sat in our pew and the choir strode in and settled into place. Their red hoods stood out eerily against the black of their robes. They rose in mass like some creature of the night and commenced singing a new hymn, one that I had never heard before. The hymn went on for a few moments and then stopped. There was a pause and I felt as if each and everyone in the choir were staring at me. The moment passed as they all sat again as one. The silence was intense as the minister stalked to the podium. For some reason, I began to think of a vulture above a plateau circling his kill.

"Brothers and sisters" he said in a deep booming voice, "I bring to you a message of hope, salvation, and redemption. For this is Good Friday . . ." and that was the last I heard of his sermon. Instead, a roaring began in my ears and the minister seemed to be staring at me. It seemed like he was looking right through me as my head rocked from the pain. Then I felt a presence inside of me, violating my mind, body, and soul. I wanted to scream, shout, move from my seat, run for my life, but I could do nothing. Instead, the gloating malevolence just seemed to grow stronger. A voice from within my body somewhere, spoke to me.

"It is ridiculous to resist us, Bartholomew, we are in control. We have understood your questions, your anguish, and your desires and we are here to help you. As your President states, we feel your pain!" He began to snicker as he spoke. "Of course he does, because he is one of us. Do not fight us Bartholomew, join us and be at peace."

I tried to move and still could not. "Let go of me", I screamed, a silent scream into the void.

"Bartholomew, Bartholomew, just relax", the voice soothed. "All of your questions will be answered and it is pointless to resist. We have controlled your life and your world and will continue to do so till the end of time."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Precisely, Bartholomew, we are talking about Heaven, Hell, Angels and Demons. All of it is us and we are all of it. The circle is whole and complete."

"This is not making sense, let go of ME! I can’t stand this pain in my head!"

"We are sorry, Bartholomew. The pain in your small brain is a part of the price you pay for contact between our species. However, we can relieve you of all of your pain, both physical and spiritual, forever, if you so choose."

"I do . . . not . . .understand." It was getting harder and harder to think. I felt disconnected from my body and cloaked in gauze. Simultaneously my head hurt and my mind was numb. I could not seem to think. I felt much like a fly dropped in amber, a science specimen.

"Oh, but you are Bartholomew. You are such a quick little boy. Because you were chosen for tonight, we stand revealed."

With that, I could see again and slowly my eyes took it all in. The vision was a nightmare and yet I could not pull my eyes away from the apparition. The minister still stood at the podium, but now in addition to his black robe, blood seemed to flow and pulsate through every vein that I could see. His eyes were now red with a bright, glowing light and he seemed to have fangs in his mouth as it opened unnaturally wide. His ears rose to a point and his hair . . .his hair was orange and glowed in the light . . . strangely like Sarah’s . . .

I thought I would pass out, but the presence took over, shielding my eyes and forcing me to remain conscious. I was glad for the steadying of the presence, but I still felt deeply violated. The voice spoke to me with what seemed to be controlled anger.

"You do not wish to see the truth, Bartholomew. We are disappointed. After all of Sarah’s work and you have let us down. Such a waste."

"Sarah? What does Sarah have to do with you?"

"Come now, Bartholomew, let us not play games. Sarah is one of us. Surely, you had realized that by now?"

I had on some level; but I needed confirmation.

"But what are you?"

"In your primitive language, we would be called `Seekers’, or `the Gods’."

"You, you things, call yourselves . . . Gods?"

"Well, of course we are, to you. What do you think the Greeks prayed to all those years ago? We have always controlled your planet and its destiny."

"I don’t believe this, I really don’t."

"It’s true, Bartholomew. I’ll give you the quick sound bite version because, while we control many things, time is not one of them, and time is running out for you to choose your destiny. Of course, we will control how that destiny comes out; you are just picking the beginning of the path. Since the end is a beginning we control the beginning as well. In that sense, we can control time. It all gets very confusing after a while. Just remember we are in charge and don’t sweat the small stuff."

I thought I heard a strange snicker for a second and then it passed.

"This really does not make sense."

There was all encompassing silence. Then, laughter seemed to reverberate in my mind. It was an unearthly sound that seemed to be in me, and at the same time, all round me. The laughter was like thunder as it came from everywhere all at once. I shivered and it was not due to the cool of the evening or my wet clothes.

"Bartholomew, eons ago, we came from the stars and created the planet you mistakenly call Earth. We created your sun, your moon, and what you believe to be, your galaxy. We colonized this dust speck for things to grow and flourish."

"You mean, this planet was a colony for you?"

"Oh, much more than that. I’d say a small farm project. You see, we planted and grew humans."

"What?"

"We planted and grew humans, or at least, humans is what you call yourselves. It is as good a name as any. The name is totally wrong, but why correct that particular delusion? After all your species is so wrong about so many fundamental questions."

"No, you can’t have been responsible, we evolved."

"Bartholomew, listen and the truth shall set you free. Man, as you would say, we were rolling when we came up with that line." The laughing started again and then stopped as quickly as it started. It seemed to echo on in my mind.

"We colonized this planet with what we wanted. There were some unforeseen failures, such as what you call the Dinosaurs (lousy genetics and a volatile, changing environment, a bad combination) but your species survived and prospered. We occasionally thinned the herd with events such as the fall of Rome, the Crusades, the Black Plagues, and still your species survived. In your time, Vietnam was great for us, but Desert Storm was a real bust. All that planning and might, then you just stop? Unbelievable. However, it was fun while it lasted. With every thinning, there was more for us and more for you, so we both prospered."

"Prosperity? Hundreds died during those events and you say we prospered?"

"Yes, it was and still is a symbiotic relationship. We fed off of you and helped your species survive by orchestrating and directing your history and development. Haven’t you wondered why no one has used atomic weaponry since WWII, despite the fact that virtually everyone on your little world, everyone has the bomb?"

The voice stopped, but I was overwhelmed. After a moment, it went on.

"We did not allow it because to do so, even a small controlled nuclear exchange, would end life on this planet. However, a little poison gas or biologicals among friends is fun. That is also why NASA and virtually every other scientific endeavor your nation has tried in recent years has ultimately, slowly, failed. Remember the promise of the SuperCollider? Now your government spent millions to bury the entire project literally in the ground. You can’t let the cattle roam free on the range, you have to keep them penned in and quiet."

"What cattle? I don’t understand."

The pain in my head was increasing, I felt like I would pass out. My eyes were on fire. Nausea and bile rose in my throat as I began to slowly understand everything.

"Get with it, Bartholomew, you are a `Texan’ after all, you should understand the analogy. Okay, very simply, we are what legends are made of. We created the Bible, Catholicism, Mohammed, Buddha, and everything else. Communism and Democracy were our ideas. We were, and still are, farmers trying to raise the best fat, dumb, cattle we can."

"But, that’s not possible-----."

"Bartholomew, Shut Up!" Thundered through my brain. "We planted you, raised you, and harvested you, we created you and we can destroy you, it makes very little difference to us! As many parents have said—Son, I brought you into his world and I can take you out. Get it, Human?"

I tried to speak, but could not. The hatred in the presence was incredible. When it resumed, the voice was back under control and the sarcasm was gone.

"Bartholomew, you and your species are here to serve as food for us and for no other reason. Evolution, creationism, it all means nothing. We gave your species multiple religions with all sorts of different belief systems to distract you from the truth. If you waste your time with false gods, you don’t have time to search for real answers. The big bang, what a joke. This planet was created by a whimper. You are not even a mote in God’s eye."

That stupid laugh started again. "By the way, read the book, it’s not bad for someone from your little world. We kind of liked it."

"You mean we are here for you----."

"To eat your species, Bartholomew. Your blood contains a life force that we have to survive."

"So you’re nothing more than some kind of stupid Vampire?"

The silence was deafening in its menace. Then the voice resumed and the fury was evident.

"We were just vampires long ago when we first came here. Then, we evolved into a higher state of being. While the old legends still apply, we don’t wander around at night as bats out to suck your blood. We save the blood sacrifices for the Holy Days. We usually change the color so that it is not obvious to you unbelievers. Bet you never look at communion wines quite the same way, Bartholomew."

It laughed again. I swallowed my bile and tried to calm down.

"But you can’t go around biting people. With TV and all, everyone would see the dead with strange bite marks on their bodies."

"That is assuming we would allow such things to be covered by your media. We don’t, which is why the reports of strange lights in the sky ALWAYS turn out to be weather balloons. We have evolved to the point that only one of us has to touch the dead, and we all are nourished. That is why so many of us make up the staffs of your hospitals, ambulances, military, police, etc., etc. Haven’t you ever wondered why an orderly at a hospital will take so much blood even if it is for a relatively easy routine test? What better access to the dead and dying to sustain our life?"

The pressure in my head weakened for a moment, and then resumed in intensity.

"Occasionally, we allow one of your artists to join us but it usually doesn’t work for long. Painters tend to paint disturbing images and then cut off body parts. Writers just usually drink way too much and commit suicide with or without bottle in hand. Your species does not seem to appreciate having words of wisdom whispered in the head. For most of your people, they do not recognize the gift they carry. The real psychics do, because the life force allows them to reach out across time and space and `see’ the future or the past. However, psychics barely scratch the surface of possibility. For us, it is the essence of who we are and allows us to pass through time, unaging, indestructible."

"Then, you are immortal, you never die."

"Yes, we are what your legend of Dracula was based on. We are immortal, for the most part, and use your species and others across the stars as food and our pets. If we make a mistake, and we rarely do, it is of little consequence, because we have so many colonies across the stars."

I tried to speak again, but I could not.

"No, Bartholomew, no more questions, it is time for your decision. Put simply, you can be God, or another soul for us to feed upon. Sarah believes that you would want to be one of us, so we are allowing you to see a small glimpse of what we truly are. We offer you a chance to rise above your lowly beginnings and to be as close to one of us as your species can come. As to why, it is not your concern to understand our purpose. You can become an almost immortal God or die as an insignificant human. It would be a waste, but so be it. In a sense you could see it as selling your soul to us for an unknown price, which is a favorite theme of your literature. However, that is assuming the soul is yours in the fist place. We would argue that point. Regardless, you have a simple choice to make and time is of the essence. The choice is yours and you must choose by the time your puny sun rises."

There was a pause that stretched out. That stupid laugh started again and drifted away.

"God go with you."

Suddenly, the presence was gone. Sarah was gone and the church was empty, completely quiet. The only illumination came from a single large black candle on the alter. I stood to go, shivering despite the sweat of fear all over me. I touched the handle of the door and the flame went out, plunging the church and myself into darkness. I opened the door into the night and my dark future.

I don’t know how I got home. As I write this, dawn is minutes away. I have to go back, not to join them, but to destroy them. The Seekers are evil and want our souls. As Dracula and Medusa were destroyed, so they shall. If the legends are right, I have to find a cross, stake, garlic. . . Sarah, one of them, I can’t believe it! There is no point in telling anyone, no one would believe me. Everything sounds like one of those grocery store rag sheets. Everything, the legends are right and these things can be destroyed as Dracula was. If not, we are all doomed and. . .

Unfortunately, the rest of the journal was destroyed in the fire that consumed Mr. Bartholomew Mortiman’s apartment. Suspicious in origin, the fire suddenly erupted around dawn Saturday morning. The multi alarm fire burned strongly with an intense heat for twenty-four hours. The fire burned despite thousands of gallons of water poured directly onto it.

For some reason, the fire suddenly went completely out at dawn Sunday morning leaving a part of the journal not scorched. Police and fire officials agree that the small apartment building and contents were a total loss. Fortunately, despite the lack of firewalls, adjoining attached buildings did not receive any damage from the fire or the efforts to put it out.

It is assumed that the heat of the fire consumed Mr. Mortiman totally and no body will be found. Firefighters are at a loss to explain how so intense a fire allowed anything to survive in the apartment and failed to spread to adjoining buildings.

Battalion Commander William Murphy stated, "There isn’t any water or smoke damage next door on either side of the building. That apartment in the building where Mr. Mortiman lived alone is gone, but fortunately, the other two apartments in the building were empty. The neighbors should thank a higher power or God himself that they didn’t get burned out."

He turned back to the building and stared for a moment. In this reporter’s opinion, it seemed as if he was awestruck by the fire. Battalion Commander Murphy shook his head slowly.

"If that fire had wanted to break out, it could have gone anywhere it wanted to. We couldn’t have stopped it from taking the block, if it had wanted to spread. It’s kind of weird, it just sat there in one place, burning like crazy. When you look at it, you wouldn’t think there was enough stuff in there for it to burn like that. Really, really weird, but we will have the Arson squad out to look at it."

It was left to Mrs. Eddie Sycamore, an 84-year-old mother of three and several grandchildren, to summarize what many of the neighbors felt. "Bartholomew, was such a nice boy," she said. "He was so tall and always combed his hair real nice. I knew he drank a bit but he always said that the drinking was the poor man’s version of psychoanalysis." Added Mrs. Sycamore, "And I think, Bartholomew, was right. You know, I have a gin and tonic every night, go to church every Sunday, and here I am. As long as I keep doing both, I can deal with anything and live forever."

Turning away, she laughed, saying, "Or at least till my grandson thanks me for his Easter present. I got the boy a brand new bible with a nice red and black leather cover. It has his name and everything. You can just feel the presence of the Lord in that bible."

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