Wearily our retinue made its way back from the mines to Melody. There are places where the Lord’s presence is felt only faintly and the Godlessness of this place is unmistakable. The stench of greed and desperation is dilluted only by that of the undead miners who stumble around this wretched community.
We purchase rail tickets for the passage to Denver, but the train will not come for three days. Forced to whittle away our precious days in idleness, we should not have been surprised by the calamity that befell us. Idleness is the devil’s workshop.
In one encounter already at the local church in town, we encountered a young false prophet, who stands by and allows darkness and the works of Lucifer to enthrall his town. Well, soon we encountered his senior at the church. He chastised our group for leaving a nugget of ghost rock in the offering box to help feed the poor of this cursed town.
After gathering a crowd with his public rebuke, he threw the nugget at the feet of the Widow Zimmerman, whose wrath got the best of her. The witch’s hands burst into blames and she caused the hurled cunk of ore to fly back into the face of the old preacher, nearly killing the man.
This spectacle terrified the townsfolk, who ran for the town’s marshal. I sought to heal the preacher’s wounds, but in his wisdom the Lord chose not to grant the man a blessing. This was a telling sign from above about the nature of this so-called preacher.
The widow and the drunkard seemed rattled by the crowd’s reaction and the coming of the marshal, and got jumpy and to scampering about. Herr Doctor used one of his contraptions to heal the preacher. What can be said of a man who cannot be healed by righteous prayer, but readily mends when a demonic device is affixed to his ears?
In short order, we took the raving preacher to his office where we detected the foul stench of death coming from the floorboards. I followed the false prophet outside suspecting he had murdered his younger fellow and left the german there in the room to verify with occular proof.
While outside speaking with the preacher, the marshal arrived and the doctor nodded confirmation of our suspicions. I sought the guidance of the Lord, and kneeled in prayer and invited the preacher to do so, too.
The Lord spoke to me and told me of this man’s guilt and his need to die. When we stood I asked the reverend, who claimed to be a righteous man of good, if he knew me. He called me a soldier of Christ. All men who are saints and followers of our dear Lord are his Christian soldiers. What this false prophet’s words showed was that he did not see with God’s eyes. He did not recognize that I, Willard Keaton, am the Angel of Death himself.
With that I rose and slew this servant of the whore of Babylon, and pried away the whip that had been used to lash the other young, false prophet inside.
The marshal rushed to me, but in all Christian modesty, I would not accept his thanks or praise for having done God’s work.
That evening I said prayers of thanks to Our Savior and he blessed me with understanding. While Widow Zimmerman’s actions and those of the Doctor seem infernal, they helped uncover the horrific sins of a false prophet and helped God’s justice to be done. Perhaps God has a plan, even for these wretched sinners and they are tools of his that I should not be so quick to dismiss. He moves in mysterious ways and His will is beyond my comprehension. I will pray for wisdom.