Bonfires Burning Bright by Jeremy Bishop, Kane Gilmour
Authors: Jeremy Bishop, Kane Gilmour
Tags: Horror
Ads: Link
Herman?”
“You have your secrets,” Frost said. “I have mine.”
Dodge returned from the back room with the first aid kit. Barnes tore it from his hand and went to work on her own leg.
“It won’t work,” Dodge said, looking back at Ellison. “There’s only one way to reach Heaven, and this isn’t it.”
“Oh yes?” Ellison raised an arch eyebrow. “Do tell us, Pastor.” In a sing-song voice, the old man crooned lyrics from Jesus Loves Me , “For the Bible tells me so.” After a brief laugh, he continued. “I have sat in on a few of your services. I noted you used the New King James Version of the Bible. Are you prepared, as a God-fearing Baptist, to fully put your faith in the works of a drunk Frenchman, who as a former Roman Catholic, decided to print his Greek version of the Bible in Paris on a shoddy press? Because that version was used to translate to the original King James Version, among others. Are you prepared to believe that one hundred and thirty Christian pastors and scholars gathered in an auditorium in the 1970s, were able to agree on absolutely everything , and spend seven years recrafting that text into what you use on Sundays? Really? Can you find me a hundred Christians today who can come to an agreement on a single sentence?”
Dodge looked at the man with his mouth open, unable to form a reply.
Ellison reversed his wheelchair back and arced it in a semi-circle so he was facing the pastor. “You read the NKJV. I have read all the versions of the Bible in English. I have read it in Aramaic and Hebrew and Greek, too. Have you? Your argument is invalid. You know as well as I do, even from your flawed translation of the Good Book, there are many references to Heaven as a material place.”
Finally Dodge found his voice. “You’re forgetting that Grace is always conferred by God upon man—not the other way around. You can’t just barge your way into Heaven, even if you could find its correct dimension. And I’m led to believe you’re playing cosmic Russian Roulette just to find it!”
Ellison smiled slowly. “Ephesians 2:8 says you might be wrong about that.”
Dodge paraphrased. “By Grace you’ve been saved through faith—not of yourself, but by God.”
Ellison nodded.
“2:9, the very next line, reminds you it’s impossible through your own works, and not to be a smug prick.”
Ellison laughed. “Hah! Well phrased. I bet that drunk Estienne wished he had translated it that way. But you misunderstand me, Pastor. I do have faith. I am humble about my scientific achievement, and the works are not mine at all. I am following the very instructions of God.”
21
Griffin raced the ATV along the wide lanes of the labyrinth, keeping the quad close to the left wall, and making turns to the right when he saw a dead end ahead. If there was the chance to go left, he took it. Radar’s unusual advice was the secret to how to navigate a maze—follow one of the walls, and not the paths between the walls. Eventually, you’ll find the exit. Griffin was grateful and would remember the advice when it was time to try to find his way out of here.
The lanes stretched ten feet wide between the soaring high walls of skulls on either side. Occasionally the walls would be interrupted by a door shaped opening, but these were never flush with the ground, and they were always covered by a sheet of hanging skin, each one punctuated in the middle by a dark tattoo of a skull, sitting on a wooden table, a candle burning behind it. In the skull’s eye sockets were smaller human skulls. Inside the eye sockets of those skulls were yet more.
It was the same tattoo Griffin had seen on his savage twin. The same one he had drawn and had done on his right delts. It had been a year before Jess had died, when he had had the dream of this place. He had been wandering—on foot, not an ATV—through the labyrinth and eventually faced the massive creature with the skull helmet and the smaller
“You have your secrets,” Frost said. “I have mine.”
Dodge returned from the back room with the first aid kit. Barnes tore it from his hand and went to work on her own leg.
“It won’t work,” Dodge said, looking back at Ellison. “There’s only one way to reach Heaven, and this isn’t it.”
“Oh yes?” Ellison raised an arch eyebrow. “Do tell us, Pastor.” In a sing-song voice, the old man crooned lyrics from Jesus Loves Me , “For the Bible tells me so.” After a brief laugh, he continued. “I have sat in on a few of your services. I noted you used the New King James Version of the Bible. Are you prepared, as a God-fearing Baptist, to fully put your faith in the works of a drunk Frenchman, who as a former Roman Catholic, decided to print his Greek version of the Bible in Paris on a shoddy press? Because that version was used to translate to the original King James Version, among others. Are you prepared to believe that one hundred and thirty Christian pastors and scholars gathered in an auditorium in the 1970s, were able to agree on absolutely everything , and spend seven years recrafting that text into what you use on Sundays? Really? Can you find me a hundred Christians today who can come to an agreement on a single sentence?”
Dodge looked at the man with his mouth open, unable to form a reply.
Ellison reversed his wheelchair back and arced it in a semi-circle so he was facing the pastor. “You read the NKJV. I have read all the versions of the Bible in English. I have read it in Aramaic and Hebrew and Greek, too. Have you? Your argument is invalid. You know as well as I do, even from your flawed translation of the Good Book, there are many references to Heaven as a material place.”
Finally Dodge found his voice. “You’re forgetting that Grace is always conferred by God upon man—not the other way around. You can’t just barge your way into Heaven, even if you could find its correct dimension. And I’m led to believe you’re playing cosmic Russian Roulette just to find it!”
Ellison smiled slowly. “Ephesians 2:8 says you might be wrong about that.”
Dodge paraphrased. “By Grace you’ve been saved through faith—not of yourself, but by God.”
Ellison nodded.
“2:9, the very next line, reminds you it’s impossible through your own works, and not to be a smug prick.”
Ellison laughed. “Hah! Well phrased. I bet that drunk Estienne wished he had translated it that way. But you misunderstand me, Pastor. I do have faith. I am humble about my scientific achievement, and the works are not mine at all. I am following the very instructions of God.”
21
Griffin raced the ATV along the wide lanes of the labyrinth, keeping the quad close to the left wall, and making turns to the right when he saw a dead end ahead. If there was the chance to go left, he took it. Radar’s unusual advice was the secret to how to navigate a maze—follow one of the walls, and not the paths between the walls. Eventually, you’ll find the exit. Griffin was grateful and would remember the advice when it was time to try to find his way out of here.
The lanes stretched ten feet wide between the soaring high walls of skulls on either side. Occasionally the walls would be interrupted by a door shaped opening, but these were never flush with the ground, and they were always covered by a sheet of hanging skin, each one punctuated in the middle by a dark tattoo of a skull, sitting on a wooden table, a candle burning behind it. In the skull’s eye sockets were smaller human skulls. Inside the eye sockets of those skulls were yet more.
It was the same tattoo Griffin had seen on his savage twin. The same one he had drawn and had done on his right delts. It had been a year before Jess had died, when he had had the dream of this place. He had been wandering—on foot, not an ATV—through the labyrinth and eventually faced the massive creature with the skull helmet and the smaller
Similar Books
