THE PRICK OF A ROSE
By V. A. Jackson
Detective Asher Rose stood up from the brown leather kneeler. Crossing himself he stared at the beautiful wooden crucified Christ hung behind the alter. It was one of the hottest August days ever recorded and the small unconditioned church made it worse. Asher began to perspire profusely The thick air made it hard to take a deep breath. He tried to move but felt glued to the floor His heart pounded erratically in his chest. A nauseating dizziness gnawed at his stomach. He lifted his head looking at the cross again. All the blood seemed to drain from his face. A scream rose in his throat. The cross was gone. In its place a black inverted pentagram took its place. Across the symbol in bright blood red letters were the words WELCOME TO HELL. Asher collapsed onto the bench behind him shaking then sobbing uncontrollably. My God in heaven ! It had begun.