Oblation: A Spine-Tingling Crime Thriller set in Small-Town California, page 27
“Okay, let me tell you what happened. I don’t expect you to understand, but at least you will have your answer. Then I’m going to leave, and I will not be back. You two will have to decide what you are going to do with what I tell you. But I will never see either one of you again. But don’t try and stop me, or I will shoot you. Do you understand?”
They both looked at me and nodded slightly.
“So, here it is in a nutshell: Michelle and the other children have been sacrificed to the one true God, Moloch.” I stopped allowing the statement to sink in, but neither one of them reacted. I had never told this to anyone, so I was not exactly sure what I expected. What I wasn’t expecting was nothing, and that is exactly what I received from both of them—nothing.
Finally, Chip spoke up. “So, they’ve been sacrificed to this god that I have never heard of before. This Moloch. What type of god is he? Aztec, Hindu, Egyptian? I’ve never heard of this god.”
“He is the true God of the Bible,” I said.
“So, he’s a false god?”
“No. He’s the real God of the Israelites. The God who saved them from Egypt. The God that they abandoned and replaced with Jehovah.”
Silence, again. Nothing. Then Meredith whispered ever so softly through clenched teeth. “You sacrificed our daughter to an abandoned god.” Anger seethed through her.
Chip looked at me, and I could see the rage rising in his face. This is not going as I had hoped. “You don’t understand. Moloch was…”
But I was cut off. Chip leaned forward and placed one hand on the floor like a defensive lineman preparing to charge across the neutral zone. His movement was so quick that I don’t know how I reacted quicker. Looking back, I know that Moloch must have been guiding my hand. The gun fired, and the bullet passed through the back of his head. He slumped back on both knees, and his body tilted slightly to the left. Meredith looked back in horror and tried to get up. I rushed around and looked directly into her face, pointing the gun between her eyes. She stopped, not knowing what to do. “Just stop,” I yelled. “I wanted to tell you. Now look what you’ve made me do. I was going to leave, but now look at Chip. He’s dead.”
I glanced behind her at my brother. The one who had always been there for me. I had thought about the whole murder-suicide scenario but hadn’t planned it out. Now it was being played out on its own. It was real. Pulling the trigger had been so easy. I hadn’t hesitated, and now he was there. Kneeling before the fire. Kneeling in worship. I went around Meredith’s right, got down on one knee, and pointed the gun at her, speaking in a perfectly calm voice. “Lie down flat on the ground.” She was crying, and the sound of her sobs was the only thing I could hear. “Spread your arms out wide, like you’re hugging the floor.” I don’t know why I said this, but she extended her arms, and the image was perfect. The heat from the fire stung my face, and I felt the power of Moloch passing into me.
I stood up and walked behind my brother, never taking the gun off Meredith. “This is not how I wanted this to end. Moloch is the true God. You were right when you said he was abandoned. He had almost been forgotten, but when I was little, he appeared to me. He called me from the fire. Just like Moses.” Somewhere close by, I heard a fox bark. Here in the shop, my voice was mixed with the sound of Meredith’s sobs. “I am bringing Moloch back.” I reached around my brother’s body, taking hold of his right hand. “Moloch is the God of the future, not Jehovah.” Setting the gun in his right hand, I placed his finger inside the trigger guard. “You, Chip, Michelle, and all the other children are offerings to Moloch, helping to bring him back into the world.” With all my weight, I pushed Chip’s body forward as the smell of brain matter and blood from the open hole at the back of his skull filled my nostrils. It was the smell of power, of life, and of death. “Moloch will rise again.” I placed the gun in Chip’s hand just behind her head and pulled his finger across the trigger. The gun sounded like an explosion inside the small shop. The back of Meredith’s head went from being a mass of soft curly brown hair that I used to run my fingers through to nothing but blood and gore.
I pulled Chip’s body back into a kneeling position and allowed the gun to fall naturally next to his body. I stepped back and examined the scene. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but everything appeared to be perfect. When they discover the bodies, hopefully, it will look enough like a murder-suicide, and no one will ask any further questions. I must have faith and trust in Moloch. Now, I needed to gather my things together and make sure there was nothing that pointed to my being here.
Then I heard it. Vehicles racing down the path. I didn’t stop to wonder who it might be. I only knew that I couldn’t be caught here. Not now. I was too close to accomplishing Moloch’s work. I ran to the table, grabbed the tarp, and rolled it up with the handles inside. I dashed to the front of the shed, hoping that whoever was coming down the path had not reached the straight section where their headlights would illuminate the entire side of the workshop. It doesn’t matter. I needed to get out of here.
Clearing the corner of the shop, I saw blue lights flashing further up the trail. The police. Where did they come from, and why are they here so late? No time to ponder the questions. Just have to get away. I made a quick dash, clearing the parking area just as the first set of headlights rounded the bend with its beams chasing me across the clearing. I dove into the woods. I can’t stop running. I didn’t know if they saw me, but I knew that the woods were thick enough that if I could make it a hundred feet or so, they would not be able to see me.
Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw a second set of blue lights enter the area next to the shed. I couldn’t make out who it was, but if there was more than one sheriff’s vehicle, most likely one of them would be that bulldog, Sheriff Pullen. I kept moving, snapping a branch as I cut too close to a tree. A spotlight. I thought about stopping, but instinct kicked in. No, keep moving. You’re a deer. Don’t run like a person. Run like a deer. Jump, step, jump, step. I only hoped I was deep enough into the woods. I kept running, not hearing any sound of pursuit.
I ran for another ten minutes before I stopped to catch my breath and check more carefully for anyone following. I didn’t see any flashlights making their way through the trees. I squatted down to quiet my breathing and closed my eyes, concentrating on slowing the beat of my heart, which felt like it was about to explode out of my chest. My tension eased. My heart slowed, and my breathing took on a normal rhythm. With my eyes closed, I could better focus on the sound of the woods around me. I heard a raccoon in a tree close by, but behind me. A night bird, probably an owl, brushed past a leaf still clinging to a tree in early November. The wind rustling across the tops of the trees provided a soothing whispering backdrop to the dark night. No sound of other people. I didn’t even hear traffic on the road.
I opened my eyes, making a quick calculation as to where I was and how far I needed to go. My house was about a mile from the shop, but I hadn’t run down that path because I did not want to be followed too easily. I figured I was probably about a half-mile south of the path and my house. Okay, that’s ten minutes at a good pace, not running. I’m going to need a shower before heading back to Chip’s house, so a minimum of thirty minutes total. Wait, no, forty-five. I will need to burn these clothes. I’m sure there’s blood splatter. I can’t have any evidence.
I got up and slowly jogged in the direction that I hoped would lead me to my house. In the sunlight, I could have found my way without any problem. At night, there were shadows, and the world changed. Luckily, I got to the house sooner than I thought. I took it as a good omen, and a quick scan of the area from the tree line revealed that all was clear. No one had driven over from Chip’s house yet. I thought it would be too soon, but I had started to have panicked thoughts the closer I got to my house. What if the police were more efficient than I gave them credit for, and they sent someone over to inform me of Chip and Meredith’s death?
But I also realized another problem. I couldn’t burn the clothes. At least not tonight. If they did send someone, I didn’t want them to see a fire going. It would not be especially suspicious to have a fire, but I didn’t want anything that might raise even a hint of suspicion. I decided to strip down to my underwear just inside the tree line and leave the clothes there. I covered the clothes as best I could with leaves and branches and examined the area in the darkness. I was about to make a dash for the house when I noticed in the moonlight a pile of deer pellets next to my feet. Reaching down, I scooped the small pellets up and piled them on top of the hidden clothes. Hopefully, if they used dogs, the dung would throw the dogs off, and they wouldn’t find the clothes.
Not worrying about my hands covered with the remnants of the dung, I ran for the house, dropped the bag of knife handles on the table next to the back porch door, and entered. I made my way up to the second floor, where I knew a hot shower waited. I just wanted to stand under the water and let the warmth wash away the memory of this night, but I knew this night was not over, not yet. There was still a lot for me to do. I must play the role of the shocked and sorrowful brother. I ran through in my head the various reactions I should have when I would be told. So much death in one family in such a short amount of time. Why did God allow this to happen? What am I supposed to do now?
I stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, ready for my next scene.
THIRTY-NINE
I felt as if I was trapped inside a tornado during the weeks following the death of Chip, Meredith, and the other five children. Law enforcement agencies came out of the woodwork, and the investigation and the questioning dragged on and on. Everyone wanted to be a part of the show. I speak with the local sheriff’s office, and Sheriff Pullen actually puts his arm around me, giving me some great advice and recommending that I get a lawyer to help me through everything coming down the pipe. I direct all inquiries to the lawyer who sets up the interviews and is present with me the entire time. It cost me quite a bit of money, but I am sure he saved me from making some mistakes or saying the wrong thing. In addition to local law enforcement, I talk with the criminal investigators from the West Virginia State Police, the FBI, Homeland Security, the California Bureau of Investigation, and of course, the female sheriff from Alturas.
Reporters from all over the country want to interview me. Most I tell my lawyer to ignore, but I do consent to an interview with one of the local newspapers and a local television celebrity. I think it might help the newspaper, which is struggling, and I request a particular reporter from the local television station because I think she’s cute. She ends up being a bitch, working hard to make my brother and Meredith out as crazy cult people worshiping Moloch. I answer her questions as politely as possible while trying not to insert details that I am not supposed to know. After a while, I get tired of her putting down Moloch and get upset with her questioning. My lawyer cuts the interview short, and she leaves in a huff.
But the national networks are looking for sensationalism and pick up the interview, allowing the message of Moloch to spread even if it is inaccurate. I try to be careful and not give too much information about Moloch to keep suspicion from coming my way, but the news media keeps chewing on the juicy morsels of gore and tragedy surrounding the sacrifice of the children and the murder-suicide of the people behind such an atrocity rather than the power of Moloch.
As the weeks wear on and I play my part in the circus that is the investigation, I develop a plan for how I can further spread the Gospel of Moloch. I have to be careful, but I also realize that this is an opportunity. I see the hand of Moloch guiding me. I just need to trust him and continue to let him guide me.
I decide to sell the property, and this proves easier than I expected. Mr. Pritchett is willing to buy the land. We do have to wait for it to go through probate, but given the circumstances and the fact that now I am somewhat of a celebrity within the county, probate gets rushed through. Eight weeks after murdering my brother and his wife, I clear just over $500,000 for the land, all the buildings, and the workshop. I don’t care what Mr. Pritchett’s plans are for the property. I’m leaving and have no intention of returning to Sophia anytime soon, if ever.
I want to spread the message of Moloch, but I cannot just start preaching about sacrificing children. I’m not delusional. People would definitely not accept that. But if I can get the message to the youth, I believe I can grow a following slowly but steadily. Moloch inspires me while I am watching a movie about a haunted circus. Why not join the circus, or more precisely, the county fair circuit? What better way to spread the message of Moloch to youths than by setting up a funhouse around the theme of Moloch? I can scare the children while hopefully developing some interest in who Moloch is. I even envision a computer game around Moloch and his insatiable appetite for fire and death. I know that if I can just give young people a little nudge, they will take the ball and run with it. After all, young people have access to so much information right at their fingertips.
If I set up my plan properly, I can continue to offer sacrifices to Moloch without being caught. I now know that sacrificing groups of children is too risky, both logistically and socially. When a group of children disappears, it creates too much news, drawing the wrong type of attention. I decide to sacrifice one child at a time to Moloch. This will be less disruptive to the local communities and will be less likely to attract law enforcement’s attention. Also, I will be on a circuit, so I will be taking children from different towns and cities. It will be harder for people to connect the dots and, hopefully, not direct unwanted attention in my direction.
Additionally, I decide to change my name. I want to honor Moloch and make it more difficult for nosey reporters and law enforcement to find me. I come up with the perfect name: Levi Melich. What is better than the name of the Israelite tribe that made up the priestly class? I can’t be so obvious as to use Moloch, so I simply change the vowels. It was so easy, and almost overnight, I became Levi Melich, priest of Moloch.
I initially made some mistakes. I learned very quickly not to hunt in my own backyard when it came to the fair. You’d think I would have learned this from my experience in California and Sophia, but I guess sometimes lessons are not so easily learned. When I started, my first intended victim was a three-year-old boy. The fair had a weekend stop in a small town called Bland, Missouri, at the northern edge of the Ozarks. It seemed like the perfect place. The town was so small and appeared so backward. It only had three police officers in the entire town. I even avoided taking a kid from the town itself and slipped over into the next one over and found a boy playing by himself in the backyard of a rusted-out trailer. I looked at the kid and knew I’d be saving him from an unhappy life of poverty and probably prison. But when the child disappeared, suspicion immediately fell upon the outsiders in the carnival. They searched the whole place, including my trailers. Luckily, I got wind of the search and was able to get the boy out of my show trailer. The child was already drugged, so I drove him down the road about fifteen miles and let him out into a deserted area. I last saw the kid stumbling into the woods in the opposite direction from the road. As far as I know, the child was never located. Which was fine with me. After that, I learned to take my small car and drive one or two hours before taking a child and limit my sacrifices to only once a month. I believe this satisfied Moloch because everything ran smoothly for the next couple of years.
When I decided on the idea of creating a funhouse, I contacted carnival operators and told them about my idea. No one really seemed interested. It was just one more funhouse on a midway that already had one. Finally, I found a carnival willing to take me on. I promised to completely fund my own operation and give the owner 50% of my take. I figured that would compensate the owner for any loss of revenue at his existing funhouse. After being with the carnival for about a month, the manager cut his funhouse loose and sent it south to join another group. He figured he did not need two funhouses, and why put out his own money for a funhouse when he had this sucker who was willing to put up the full cost of his own and give him a 50% share? It was a win-win for him, but little did he know that it was a win for me as well.
The trickiest part of the whole plan was designing a funhouse that would fit into a regular semi-truck. The funhouse had a dual purpose. Not only did it need to be a place where people came through and were entertained, but it also had to serve as a temple for sacrifices to Moloch. I went to lots of fairs and examined various setups. I saw lots of cardboard facades that unfolded to reveal pictures of giant apes, snakes, or monsters that had nothing to do with what was inside. The interiors were filled with cheap plastic monsters that did not move and recorded sounds blaring from cracked speakers in the ceilings. The air always smelled stale, with a hint of mold and vomit. The tour through the overheated tractor-trailers inevitably ended in a hall of mirrors made of tin foil. Everything was done on the cheap and looked it.
My temple needed to be a place worthy of Moloch. Worthy of the God who was coming back into the world. Its primary purpose was to be a place of worship for Moloch, and I designed the layout with that in mind. I created a space where people were frightened yet still awed by the power of Moloch in the world. As Moloch’s emergence into the world became more and more apparent around the world, I would work these into my design. The funhouse was in a constant state of flux and always changing. The look one week, may change the next.
In order to do this, I needed a workshop. I bought an RV and retrofitted it. I used it as a workshop where I could twist metal, work on set designs, and carve small wooden figurines of Moloch, which I sold to people for $10 each. Now that I had two vehicles, I needed another driver. I drove the RV and contracted with a trucking company to supply me with a driver whenever it was time to move on to the next location. I paid the driver well to keep them happy. I’d fly him in first class; he would help me tear down the funhouse and prepare it for the road. Then he would drive the semi to the next destination, help me set it up, and I’d fly him home. I avoided using the same driver more than twice. I did not want anyone getting too familiar with the setup or seeing something that I did not want them to see.
