- From: aShepherd_GrufF@anonymous.org
- cc: peTeyGoatGrufF@anonymous.org
- To: MattyB4@gmail.com
- Sent: Mon 8/03/2015 11:26 PM
- Dear Matthew,
- Let me first say how proud I am to see the man you have become, but prouder of the fact that I can still see such innocence in your eyes. It is such a rare and special attribute that my line of work often prevents me from fully appreciating. As a man of faith, I must say I have never encountered one with such tenacity, let alone the ability to maintain its intensity into adulthood.
- My children, my deacons have all been special to me. They were my messengers to the world; embodiments of the holy symbols of our Lord: the Lion, the Ox, and the Goat. They were beacons with good tidings that transcended into realities far beyond the primitive senses of mere sight and touch. However, you hold a very special place in my heart. You are unique among a sea of automatons and far exceed their ability to acknowledge the limitless possibilities that exist beyond their simple and mundane lives. That is what brought you to me so many years ago. I see great things in you. Oh, the wonders I could show you.
- Perhaps that is why I lost you for a while; you needed time to ripen and mature. But sadly, in the end, the simple truth is that all who come to my congregation eventually return to my congregation. You of all people know that to be the truth. It is inevitable. It is where you belong. You have run and you have hidden, but that only delayed the inevitable conclusion of the fate I thrusted upon you, for which I have the distinct privilege of executing to completion. I only needed to wait. But like they say, all good things come to those who wait. And I have waited. Oh, have I waited for so very long! I have waited with perpetual patience that held at bay an insatiable craving to see those eyes once again; those eyes that sparkle with such life. I wonder, will they still sparkle when I pluck them from your skull and hold them in my hands. I certainly hope so.
- Your friend in spirit and in mind,
- - The Father
The email I received seven days ago was the message I knew would eventually come. I read and re-read the email over and over again. It has been thirteen years since the Father and his congregation entered my life; and eight years since their last confirmed activity. Now after all this time, I receive this email from him. I was beginning to believe that he was gone for good. I considered the possibility that he was dead and his followers went their own ways or they all met a painful death from following his wicked ways. But deep down I knew he was too smart for that. I looked into those eyes. There was no insanity in there, at least none that would impair judgment or reason. There was only cold calculating intelligence fueled by the beliefs of his self-perceived godhood that called for the tribute of the young and innocent.
In the summer of 1984, in a small town located in the northwestern part of the country, the community was in a panic due to a group that later came to be known as the Eyes of the Horn. The panic had escalated to sheer terror when the sixth child was abducted within a 10 day period. The kidnappings occurred with both boys and girls from the ages of 6 to 14. They were abducted from their homes, from playgrounds, or simply right off of the streets. The kidnappings were done with such perfectly executed stealth that not one person witnessed any of the crimes. No stone was left unturned as the people scoured the land searching for those kids. Nothing was found. After three months, the bodies of the children were discovered. The conditions of corpses were withheld from the public, and for good reason. In 2000, the children started disappearing again, six abductions; each one taken with ease. Every precaution was taken to protect the children. Playgrounds normally full of laughter stood empty. Any child in public view was always kept close to their parents as their normal day to day errands became as fearful as life-threatening quests into dark and dangerous lands. Despite all the extra security and precautions, the first child was taken, then the second, then the third, fourth, and fifth. I was the sixth.
It was like any other night. I had school the next morning so I went to bed at my normal time. My mom and dad were separated so it was just me and her. We had a normal sized house but still quite large for only two people. My mom’s room was downstairs and I was on the second floor. I came into my bedroom from brushing my teeth with all my attention on the Gameboy in my hands. I entered my room, flipping the light switch on without even looking up from the small screen. I remember walking to my desk where I would charge my Gameboy and thinking something was off. I distinctly remembered leaving the lights on after I came in to change into my pajamas not too long ago. At that moment, the door closed shut and the lights went out. From behind the door, I heard heavy booted steps quickly cover the distance between it and me- Thunk, thunk, and thunk. I turned only to be shoved hard against my desk by a large dark shape of a man. He covered my mouth and effortlessly lifted me off of the ground and slammed my body into my bed. With one hand still covering my mouth and pressing down with such force that he was capable of restraining my entire body, he reached around his back with his free hand. I heard the rip of Velcro as he removed something from his belt. At that moment, the door to my bedroom slowly began to open. My mom poked her head into my room. She had that warm smile she always has when she looks at me and thinks I can’t see her. She says, “What on Earth is going on in…” Her eyes widened in terror as she took in the scene. I am in bed staring back at her with a large man pinning me down and holding a syringe. With almost inhuman speed, he charged my mom and with one hand grabbed her by the back of the head and smashed her face into the wall. He did this over and over and over again. I screamed “Stop!” I ran at the man and pounded my small fist against his rock hard backside. He grabbed me by the collar of the shirt and I reached down and pushed up the sleeve of his jacket to reveal his bare skin. I bit down as hard as I could, and for a moment I saw something. I saw a tattoo underneath his forearm under the wrist. He slapped me off with a sharp backhand that sent me flying across the room. The man then peered over his shoulder and the light from the hallway was enough for me to see him for the first time. He was wearing a mask. It was a grotesque white mask of a goat. Dark hateful human eyes peered from the eye holes. Above those eyes was a circle of six black marble eyes placed on the forehead. He lets go of my mom’s limp body, opening the palm of his hand in a mocking and exaggerated way. The goat faced man then leapt from where he stood and landed on top of me, straddling my small body. The force of his body weight landing on my chest expelled all the air from my lungs. Loud heavy gasps came out of my mouth as I tried to catch my breath, but all the man did was press down harder. Once again he lowered the syringe and roughly jabbed it into my neck. The drug quickly took affect and the world came in and out of focus. My mind was fuzzy and filled with surreal shadows and shapes. The man then got off of me and headed to my window. A rope was tossed up to him from someone outside. He began pulling the rope that was tied to a bag of his supplies. I made an attempt to stand but fell hard against the floor from disorientation. With my face pressed against the floor, my eyes made out the shape of black marker laying next me. I must have knocked it off of the desk when I hit it. I clumsily grabbed for the marker out of the spinning world it sat in. I heard the bag hit the window frame and the man was struggling to fit it through the window opening. I finally grabbed the marker and with all my concentration I drew on the floor. I drew the tattoo I saw on the man’s arm. It was three sixes in a circle, each with a horizon dash on the top of the number making it look like both the number six and seven. With only seconds to spare, I used that last bit of control I had over my hands and grabbed a shirt I had left on the floor and covered my drawing from view. When the man returned, he was only a blurry shape standing over me. I barely felt the scissors cutting off my pajama tops and bottoms leaving only my underwear intact. For a brief moment, the haze cleared and I saw my mom slumped on the floor staring into nothing before I was stuffed into a thick duffle bag.It was the vibration of the moving vehicle that aroused me into consciousness. I was still in the duffle bag but he must have pulled my head out while I slept so I wouldn’t suffocate. My body seemed to remain paralyzed from the injected drug. It took great effort to even move my head slightly. I lifted my head up and saw a pair of frightened eyes looking back at me. A young girl, about my age was lying next to me. Her head was protruding from a duffle bag similar to mine. It appeared I wasn’t the only one who was visited by the man with the multi-eyed goat mask. I tried to move my non-functional body. My screams of terror only came out as low grunts. The fear gradually started to overpower the effects of the drug coursing through my veins and my movements became more pronounced and the grunts transformed into words. Then the vehicle slowed and came to a stop. The rear doors suddenly opened and the face of the goat with many eyes appeared with another man standing behind him. The needle was once again in his hands.
What happened next are only small and broken fragments of memory. I was kept in a wooden crate and sedated the entire time. The brief flashes of awareness were filled with constant crying in the background, crying from children. After an undetermined amount of time, they pulled the six of us out of our crates and presented us to the Father. The bright lights from behind him and my dizziness made it impossible to see him clearly, but I could tell he was and elderly man. Although older, there was obvious strength and intimidation in his tall and large body. In the room, there were two other pairs of men, each with two children held before them. There was a man with the mask of a lion with six eyes on its forehead. He stood with a younger and smaller companion and presented their two children to the Father. He nodded and told them to go prepare for tonight’s ritual to honor and pay tribute to the Lion. Next was a man with an ox mask. It too had six eyes on its forehead and stood with a smaller and younger companion. They presented their two small children to the Father. He nodded and told them to prepare for the ritual the night after next in honor and tribute to the Ox. With the girl from the van, I was presented to the Father by the Goat and his young companion. The father nodded and told our abductors to prepare us for our ritual, which will occur in two night’s time. The Father concluded that once the tributes had been made and the altar complete, before his congregation “the passing of the masks” would be performed and celebrated. The day where the father witnesses the son become a man, and the son takes his place as deacon and honors their patrons to guarantee their kin another generation of prosperity.
The night of the lion and ox came and went. The silence within my prison was the results of those nights; no more crying. By this point, I was shutting down. Any movement caused massive waves of nausea and painful dry heaves from lack of food and only having chemicals forced into my body. My first clear memory is hearing a barrage of gun fire in the distance that became louder and louder. Then the loud crash of a door being kicked in and yells of “Clear! Clear!” “Clear!” They found me in my crate, emaciated, dehydrated, and malnourished. The top of the wooden box was pulled apart and a woman’s face peered in and looked at me. The woman had a natural beauty and a voice that spoke with both authority and soft femininity. In my delusional state, I thought I was being rescued by that woman from those old alien movies I enjoyed so much. She lifted me out of my cage and carried me towards the light saying, “Your safe now, honey. You’re safe now.” She rushed me out of the area through a crowd of armed men, all wearing jackets with the words FBI on their backs. As we reached the doorway that exited the room, I caught a brief glimpse of three small shapes suspended within the shadows. It was a hellish diorama of chains, hooks, and barbed wire. It was the altar. Seconds before exiting the room, one of the agents flipped on the lights and the horrific structure was revealed. For one split second I saw it. I saw the wood. I saw the nails. I saw the incisions on the burnt and branded flesh held in position with spools of large and rusty barbed wire. I saw how innocence is paid to primitive and barbaric deities. I saw two empty spots among the entanglement of skin and razors.
The raid was partially successful. In the fire fight, eight of the cultists were killed. Three of which were the teenage sons from a wealthy family from the Midwest. The family of three brothers and their father were the legacy of a family name that had generations of power and prosperity in its history. Their fathers and grandfather disappeared and were never caught, but not before their assets were frozen and seized. The family’s dynasty had ended and its future killed with those three young men. With the incriminating evidence found, there would be no way for any of the family members to escape the consequences. It was just blind luck that the FBI found their location, a remote compound about 250 miles from where I was taken. The image of the tattoo I drew was enough to build a fragile trail that led to here. Only the little girl and I were pulled out from that hell hole. Our survival only attributed to the simple fact that our night of tribute was the last of them all. We were taken to the hospital and reunited with our families. I learned what I already knew in my heart, my mom was dead. My dad tried his hardest to rebuild our lives again, but the experience had scarred me too deeply to truly recover and regain any ability to trust or establish any emotional ties. I lived in constant fear. My dad lived in another kind of fear; the fear of losing his child again. My protection consumed him to such extremes; the stress began to take him a little at a time.
I tried to stay in contact with Jaime, the little girl who was also rescued, but I think she felt the same as I did. We were both reminders to one another of that man with a goat mask with many eyes. We eventually stopped messaging each other and went about our lives as best as we could. It was seven years later until I heard anything about her. When I was fourteen, my dad received a call from Agent Barrett, the agent and lead investigator who rescued me. Jaime was missing. She had been taken again. They suspected it was the same man as before. They never found a body. They never knew what became of her other than a note from a man claiming to be the Goat. He said she was dead. It was around this time when strange things began happening here. Motion sensors from outdoor lighting were triggered at night and strange men were reported outside the gates of my private school. One night, I awoke to gunshots and my dad swearing at someone and daring them to come back. That’s when dad brought home Artemis, a beautiful mixed German shepherd puppy to be my protector and companion, but she was so much more than that. In actuality, she was the only thing that could get past all the damage and reach the small part of me that remained. She was the only one who could nurture the bonds between me and my father in order for us to grow closer once again. When the news of Jamie had reached my father, he came to me and explained the situation. He said it was time to go. We were going to place he had been preparing for a long time; a place where I would be safe. With the help of Agent Barrett, we left to start our new lives, under a new identity, in a new town, in a remote area of Alaska.
When I reminisce, it is still so vivid in my mind. I read the email message again and again. I mouth the words silently as I read the words. Suddenly my phone chimes softly to alert me of a new message. This time it is a text message. It’s from him, the Father. He found my phone number. The message is more bullshit about my uniqueness and sparkly eyes. A minute later, a second text is delivered.
- Caller: Unknown
- Message: I say unto thee, my disciples of the Horn, blessed are those who keep our commandments, for their faith will be rewarded with the blood of thy enemies. Honor thy covenant with the gods of air, land, and soil with tribute. Heed our commands and we will strike down all who oppose thee.
- - The Book of the Hoof 5:16
- These are the same words I spoke to the girl before I repaid my tribute with her screams. You will also hear those words just before my debt is absolved with your blood.
- - The Goat
I stare at the message and smile to myself.
When I turned seventeen, my dad suffered a heart attack and died leaving me alone. Stress and worry eventually overcame him. I loved my dad very much, but it was difficult to reciprocate any affection or emotion after my abduction, but those last years were good. He passed away knowing he was loved and had done everything possible to make me safe, but the fear was still there. I couldn’t imagine going through life living this way. With three months left of high school, I made my decision on what to do and used that time to get my affairs in order. Come graduation day, I had sold everything I owned including the house. Shortly thereafter, I was standing at the door step of Agent Barrett’s home with Artemis. I explained the plan and asked if she could keep Artemis for me, for which she happily agreed, but strongly protested my reason. Knowing her system was broken and corrupt, her arguments eventually became speculative planning. I sealed the deal when I pulled out the stack of paper with years records and articles of disappearances and murders I was capable of finding that could be connected with the Horn. Not one suspect for any case was ever found and all were riddled with political and legal interference. In the end, she knew this was the only way. I knelt down and put my forehead against Artemis’ and wept as I said goodbye. She put her paw on my shoulder and licked my face. I turned to leave, the whimpering and frantic barks tore into me as walked towards the unknown, but I did not turn and look back. Six months later, I enlisted in the United States Army. For the next four years, the desert and war consumed my life. I was now a soldier. I was a killer. I was a warrior. I found my honor in perspective of the greater good. I still had fear, but now I had the courage to act in spite of the fear. At the end of my enlistment, I came back home and made a public Facebook account under my former name. Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter; anything that could be used to give me visibility; I had joined. It was my announcement to anyone who might be listening that I was here. I had spent the past four years constructing an imaginary life in secret based upon who I might have been if I had succumbed to the fear. If they were still out there, it would only be a matter of time before they took the bait.
I read the email once again and zipped up my jacket a little higher to protect my face against the cold bitter breeze that had increased in the night time air. From the thick brush of woods that concealed me, I see the headlights of a van drive up to the house I have been watching for the past 3 hours. I lift the night vision binoculars to my eyes to get a better look. A large man emerges from the vehicle and goes to the rear door and then walks into the house carrying a large duffle bag. The front door slams shut and lights turn on from inside the house. I pull out another piece of paper that contains my list. With an old marker I have kept safe for a very long time, I cross out the first line of the list that reads:
- 1. The Goat
- 2. The Lion
- 3. The Ox
- 4. The Father
I put the papers away with care and check to make sure I have all my equipment before I move out. As I stand, Artemis snaps to attention and takes her place at my side. I give her a loving pet and scratch her ears. I am not sure if what I am doing is right, but there is one thing I am sure of. It begins tonight. I have seen more horror than one person ever should. They have caused more horror than is imaginable. I have done terrible things for the greater good. I know firsthand the kinds of atrocities one person is capable of inflicting on another. From my time in the desert, I found the answer to ending this evil and maybe a way to take back the parts of my soul they stole. When evil becomes so great, goodness may not be enough to stop it. Sometimes, the only way to defeat this kind of evil is with another kind of evil.
From the grave, the blood of five children cries out for revenge. I have become that kind of evil so that I can answer those cries. Tonight, I send a message to a false prophet and his three false gods; a message made from their servant’s screams. A message that proclaims, “I am the bringer of destruction to both you and your congregation, Father! I am the destroyer of the Goat, of the Lion, and of the Ox! I am coming for each and every one of you!”