Marcus

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. It was one of those nights when the humidity was at its most suffocating, and the nauseating heat further magnified the tense atmosphere inside the cabin. As the night deepened, the shadows offered no solace from the heat and the depravity while three kindred souls awaited their fate.

In a corner near the window, a man awoke from his brief slumber. He felt something heavy on his chest. He immediately clutched the double-barrelled rifle that was already resting there. A slight ache made him probe the deep gash on his right temple. He groaned at the thought of how he might have ended up with such a wound.

Flies were already hovering near his face. Perhaps, they, too, thought he was dead. The stench of the caked-up blood was attracting all kinds of insects. The man doesn't quite remember how or why he was there. All he knew was that he had a gun, and self-preservation instincts told him he had to protect himself with it.

Fred. A name just popped into his head. That must be his name.

A strange voice inside his head seemed to tell him to get up and focus his attention to his surroundings. However, a sudden onset of a migraine made his head throb, affecting his balance temporarily. He felt queasy.

As his vision adjusted, Fred stood up and surveyed the rest of the dimly-lit shieling. He trudged towards the other side of the cabin, where he found a woman slumped on the floor. She lay in a pool of blood and amniotic fluid. She looked spent, struggling with each breath.

The woman was keenly aware of the man standing in front of her, but she was too weak to move. She muttered, "Please don't kill us, Freddie."

"I won't as long as you don't move…." Fred said, tightening his grip on the gun. "Who are you?"

The woman turned slightly, revealing her bruised face. "I'm your wife, you idiot!"

Fred could only respond with a groan. His short-term memories were relatively slow in trickling into his consciousness, but when they did, horrific images of him shooting her in the stomach filled his head. Recollections of the incident finally made it to his brain, making him even more nauseous.

"Edralyn, I'm sorry…." Fred said, realizing the gravity of what he had done. He wanted to reach out to her, but fear and embarrassment rooted him on his feet. "I don't remember why I shot you..."

"You wanted to kill us!"

"I swear...I don't know why...."

"Please, Fred…" she said, clutching her stomach; blood was oozing out of the gunshot wound. "Don't kill him… he's our son."

Confused, Fred looked around to see who Edralyn alluded to. He sensed a movement near the fireplace. It was hard to determine what was there because the fire from the hearth was almost dead. There was crackling, mainly from the struggling embers failing to maintain their stead. A newborn boy, nestled in a makeshift nest of old towels, came to light. Despite the horrific situation that transpired earlier, the baby was unusually calm and quiet.

"Our son?" Freddie asked with some incredulity. Something inside tells him not to trust her. He suddenly found himself saying, "Liar! He's not my son. I don't have a son."

"Yes, you do. Marcus is your son. Please believe me, Freddie."

"Marcus? That's his name?"

Edralyn nodded. She dragged her limp body closer to the baby with every mustered energy she had left. The weight of her intentions was too much for her. From giving birth a few hours ago, then getting shot by her deranged husband, Edralyn was exhausted. However, her motherly instinct was to protect her child.

"Urrggghh… stay where you are," Fred grumbled as he saw his wife making her way to the child. "I know what you are up to. Move again, and I'll shoot you, I swear!"

"Please, Fred…" she begged. "He's just a baby… your baby…look at him. He's beautiful. He has your eyes." Master had warned her that this would happen. She should have listened. Master knew her husband would turn.

Fred moved over to where the infant lay. He used the tip of his rifle to nudge the blanket aside, exposing the baby's torso. The baby looked at him with fierce determination. Call it crazy, but Fred felt something about the way the baby stared at him that really unsettled him. There seemed like a primal force was behind that gaze. Something unworldly, an ancient malevolent force that is older than time itself.

Baby Marcus had piercing blue eyes, the same as Fred. His wispy blond hair matched his as well. From the outside, everything about that baby seems to suggest that he was Fred's baby. However, as Fred's eyes darted to the baby's thigh, a birthmark sent chills down Fred's entire body.

"He's marked…." Fred said, shivering. "By the devil! He's a monster!"

Out of sheer fear, Fred immediately pointed the barrel of his rifle onto the baby's forehead. The baby kept looking at him as if he were jeering Fred on. There was no hint of fear in that baby's luminescent blue eyes.

"Noooo!!! Don't kill him, Freddie!" shouted Edralyn. "He's not a monster. You are! You are murdering your own son."

"He's not my son!" Fred insisted. He was so confused and disoriented. He still could not understand what to feel. Nothing seemed to make sense.

Edralyn pulled herself up and limped her way toward the baby. She immediately saw the coffee stain mark on the baby's thigh. It was the shape of a goat's head with horns. She pulled a blood-stained sheet to cover the baby's lower body as if covering the mark would negate its existence. "He's perfect. Just like Master promised us…."

"Master?!!" Fred was immediately puzzled, his eyes never leaving the infant. Instead, he kept the gun aimed at the baby's forehead.

"He is the son Master promised will save us all. Master said that the Savior would come tonight in the humblest of ways. He will be born to poor but deserving parents. That's us, Fred. The Master has chosen us to raise him. Marcus will save the world."

"You're crazy. Who the hell is Master?" Fred quipped.

"Master...is God."

Edralyn sensed her husband's momentary distraction. So, she took the opportunity to pick up baby Marcus. Edralyn hummed a familiar song, an old lullaby for the baby. She was slowly rocking him to sleep. She can't quite fathom how Fred could not remember who she was or even who Master was. Unfortunately, these memory lapses by her husband had slowly been increasing these last couple of days.

For Edralyn, Master is the omnipresent voice that told them what to do. He was the voice of reason—her one true God.

Meanwhile, memories flood Fred's mind once more. As his head throbbed further, the events of the last nine months came rushing in. There were images of Edralyn and him receiving the news of their pregnancy… of them picking out the bassinet for the baby… holding a baby shower in their apartment...

Moreover, there were also the insidious images of men in black robes and leather masks performing rituals around him and his wife. Disconcertingly, there was also the memory of this familiar dark smoke. Edralyn lay on a marble altar as the smoke slowly enveloped her. She writhed as the Master consumed her. Fred tried to shut his eyes to block these images from coming in, but he couldn't. They all came back all at once. The thoughts. The feeling. The guilt.

"Marcus is not mine or ours," Fred said, somewhat resignedly. "He is the Master's son."

"Yes, he is. But, we are the chosen parents, Freddie, don't you understand? He will know you as the father. So, we must protect him."

"Protect him? From who?"

"From people that think he is evil," replied Edralyn. She doesn't seem bothered by the wound on her stomach anymore. She slowly lifted her blouse and proceeded to breastfeed Marcus. "He is ours…our perfect son."

Edralyn resumed her humming and began twirling the baby around, immense joy seen on her face. She smiled at Freddie, somewhat signaling him to come and join them in their strange little dance.

Fred could not look at them. Instead, he directed his sight towards the floor. Then, out of nowhere, bugs of various kinds began to come out and gather at his wife's feet. Millipedes, cockroaches, and snakes slithered from in between the wooden floor planks. The critters circled his wife's feet, seemingly in worship of the infant.

A niggling thought began to enter Fred's mind. Deep inside, he can feel something sinister happening with that child. His instinct is telling him that if he doesn't do something drastic, this will be the end of him.

"Master said our baby is the redemption everyone had been waiting for," Edralyn regaled despite Fred being quite engaged in deep thought.

Suddenly, a recent memory surfaced in Fred's mind; a conversation he had with Master a few weeks ago. He could distinctly hear His voice and their conversation in his head.

"Damn! How could I forget?" Fred exclaimed. "Master told me something about tonight..."

Surprised, Edralyn turned to him, "Master told you what?"

Marcus' mind was becoming more lucid by the second, his purpose becoming more explicit. "Master told me that this night will come. He told me that by the morning, only one of us will survive."

"Survive?!" Edralyn sneered back at him. She had far better things to worry about than his imaginary musings.

Edralyn continued to twirl the baby around, the tear in her abdomen looking much worse, some of her intestines slightly coming out of her gaping wound. Yet, she doesn't seem to mind that at all. The baby, meanwhile, continued its happy suckling.

"Oh, babe, you must be starving," she said, clutching the baby closer to her chest.

Freddie, meanwhile, continued pacing the room, his stance becoming more assured with every step. "Master said tonight is a battle for survival. Each of us is given a weapon that we can use to further our existence. I have this gun."

"What do I get?" Edralyn sniggered, ignoring the sense of determination coming from Fred on the other side of the argument. She didn't notice how Fred had slowly aimed the gun at them again.

"I haven't shot you yet, have I?"

It immediately dawned on Edralyn what weapon she had. Maternal instinct -- a protective force that made her use everything she could to convince him not to kill her and the baby. It's one of the most potent weapons in the world. Edralyn understood her power now. For the last few hours, she had manipulated Fred to keep her and the baby alive. She had used her wits to her advantage.

"What about the baby?" she asked. "What does he have?"

A sinking feeling immediately came to Fred. What about the baby? The fact that he didn't know what was it about this baby that he needed a gun for really bothered him. There is something about this baby that he needed to figure out soon. Really soon.

All of a sudden, Edralyn's humming stopped.

Fred turned the shotgun towards the pair. As he was about to pull the trigger, Edralyn released a loud gasp and fell to the floor. Dead. Her chest fully gouged out, heart and all. Fred could see the other side of the shed through the cavity on her torso. Only the sharp teeth of a depraved animal could do such mutilation.

The fallen baby stirred and scuttled across the floor.

Startled, Fred fell on his back and wiggled himself to a corner. He momentarily dropped his rifle but immediately recovered it, clutching the gun with all his might. He needed to protect himself from this thing that killed his wife.

"M-marcus?" Freddie called out, all the while his eyes transfixed at the malevolent heap of flesh across the room. "What did you do?"

The tiny figure quivered and began to seize. It had fed on its first victim and now seemed to take a more prominent form. Marcus was growing. His blood-soaked blond hair began to lengthen; limbs and torso were also building heft. Within minutes, Marcus had taken the form of a small child.

Astonishment filled Fred's face. He could not quite fathom what happened just now. It took him a full minute to grasp his wits.

Marcus, now almost a teenager in stature, slowly stood up and faced Fred.

Fred pointed his rifle at him. Seeing Marcus in that way unnerved Fred to his core.

Marcus, meanwhile, looked at him with much longing.

"Papa…" the boy said, putting his hand out, coaxing Fred to take it. His long, sharp fingernails were darting out of his claw-like fingers like a weapon. Fred was sure that one blow of his hand could gut him to pieces.

Fred slowly curled his finger on the trigger. "You're not my son…"

Several shots reverberated inside the small cottage. Smoke emanated from the rifle barrels, but the bullets that escaped them failed to hit their target.

Marcus was too fast. Too evasive.

Fred immediately realized that the cabin no longer offered any protection for him. He was not the captor. Instead, tonight, he was the prey. This place is a trap, the same way the Roman Colosseum is a death trap for the unskilled gladiator. Master had tricked them. He used them for His own entertainment.

"Shoot him, Fred." The voice in his head commanded him. Master took delight in his plight.

Fred pulled the trigger one more time. Nothing happened. He had run out of bullets. And luck.

The last thing Fred saw was the vision of a stark naked boy running towards him, with the Lord's mark on the boy's thigh forever imprinted in his mind. Then, without mercy, Marcus lunged and severed his jugular.

---

The other voices are gone now.

The defendant did not shift in his seat at all. Not even once. He can be heard humming a familiar tune. An old lullaby.

Meanwhile, the judge's gavel tried to quell the growing discontent among the people inside the courthouse. This case had the whole nation at a standstill.

"Order in the court," the judge commanded. The bailiff was about to call the defendant to the stand.

The collective hush of the audience was so loud that the judge had to bang his gavel several times more.

The accused slowly stood up and made his way to the stand. He was tall and neatly dressed. His blond hair was pristinely combed, not a strand out of place. He had a certain assuredness in the way he walked. As he took the seat, his serpentine-like frame and piercing blue eyes were fully displayed. He was mesmerizing to look at.

The crowd in the room, especially the young women, felt uneasy. Seated in front of them was the man, the elusive serial killer of Southern county, who stirred both their libidos and their imaginations in equal measure.

The young man was calm. Although he stared at the frenzied crowd with much contempt, he still looked like an angel to many. He had the charisma of a cult leader. Many people inside that courthouse that day thought he was innocent and many did not believe he was a crazy sociopath.

"Mr. Fred Edralyn Marcus Kruger, you are accused of 32 counts of first-degree murder. How do you plead?"

The accused murderer turned his chiseled face towards the bailiff and replied, "Just call me Marcus."

The bailiff could swear there was something primordial in how the defendant looked at him. Confused, the bailiff rebutted, "What did you say?"

The other voices in his head are gone now. Only one prevailed.

"I said…my name is Marcus."