His Coming Shall Be Foretold
Beware His Little Messengers
If doves are the messengers of the Lord, then the Satanic Leaf Tailed Gecko is probably Old Scratch’s preferred postal carrier. Though you should know that these guys are utterly harmless. They’re tiny — usually two to five inches long — and are endemic to the little island of Madagascar. So you’re not likely to stumble across one in the first place, and it certainly won’t hurt you if you do.
It won’t hurt you at all. It needs you.
It might ask you to hurt others, though. Oh, softly enough at first, in half-heard whispers borne on the wind, but they will grow louder, more frequent and more insistent — until one day you wake up to find yourself in a bathtub filled with liquid that used to be your family. And what will the Satanic Leaf Tailed Gecko do? Why, just take a gander at that picture again: It will smile, friends. It will smile.
On a Fiery Steed He Rides
This is either a picture of the exact moment that Satan busted out his hot rod and started tearing ass into the apocalypse, or else poor Marty’s stuck right at 87 MPH again. This photo was taken at Serra da Leba, a landmark road in Angola, and while it hasn’t been digitally altered, it is a long exposure taken over 60 seconds. You could cry foul that a manipulated image shouldn’t make the list, hypothetical reader, or you could choose to contemplate the implications of that fact instead. Perhaps evil moves at a different speed than man; perhaps it is a slow and creeping thing. And maybe, if you weren’t so rash, so impulsive — if you could just stop and consider it for one little minute — maybe you could finally trace back its fiery path.
Or hey, maybe it just looks bitchin’ and I’m trying to show you a neat picture. Either way — shut up, hypothetical reader. God, you are being such an ass right now!
In His Unholy House
The entrance to hell is a labyrinth. A vast, snaking maze of caverns bathed in fire, where the lost and the damned wander, uncertain and afraid, for untold eons. The fires burn so hot and for so long in those twisted, screaming caves that the rock itself melts and drips down like water. The burning liquid passes through skin like air; it fuses to bone.
His Servants Are Among Us
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