Read Online Hellboy: The God Machine by Thomas E. Sniegoski - Free Book Online
Authors: Thomas E. Sniegoski
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Science-Fiction, Fantasy fiction, Fantasy, Media Tie-In - General, Media Tie-In, Mystery, Science Fiction - General, Fiction - Science Fiction, American Science Fiction And Fantasy, Horror Tales, Horror Fiction, Hellboy (Fictitious character), Hellboy (Fictitious character: Mignola)
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Absolom Spearz slid limply from the stool in front of a cluttered workstation and slumped to the floor of the farmhouse subbasement. He twitched and shuddered, and his head snapped back.
Hundreds of snaking, multicolored wires clipped to the skin of his face and arms connected him to a device of his own construction. A strange hum came from the device, which was composed mainly of exposed circuit boards and glowing vacuum tubes. The soldering iron he had been using to attach the last of the wire connections to the machine slipped from the table and struck the back of his hand, searing the delicate skin with its red-hot tip and filling the vast subterranean room with the stench of burning flesh.
Absolom felt nothing.
He lay in the dirt, curled into a tight, trembling ball, exhausted by his attempts to communicate with Qemu'el. Since his return to the physical world, he had been desperate to reestablish contact with his almighty, but his importunings remained unanswered.
Where are you, lord? he thought, trying not to panic. He and his followers had been restored--given another chance to complete their sacred chore--but without their god, they had no purpose. Have we offended you? Did our failure taint your love?
"Absolom?"
He opened his eyes to find his congregation standing around him, their eyes glistening expectantly. It was still odd for him to look upon these unfamiliar faces, for his mind held on to the memory of how they had appeared long ago, before their bodies were destroyed by the deeds of the ignorant.
Geoffrey Wickham was first to speak. In his mind's eye, Absolom pictured a white-haired gentleman, spine twisted from scoliosis, not the attractive features of a middle-aged woman.
"What did he say?" Geoffrey asked in a soft, female voice that Absolom doubted he would ever grow entirely used to. "What message did he have for us?"
They all moved closer. The children, Annabel and Tyler, reached down with their small hands to help him up from the floor.
"Tell us, Absolom, please," Tyler demanded.
"Is the god well? Has he heard our prayers?" Annabel asked breathlessly.
"Our god is still silent," Absolom replied gravely. With a burst of anger and frustration, he tore at the wires still connected to his body, pulling away swatches of his skin with the clips.
The band gasped in unison. They clasped their hands together and bowed their heads, as if their sudden attempts at prayer would somehow reach the absent deity.
"But why?" Tyler pleaded. He fell to his knees, the others quickly following suit. "Tell us, Absolom, what has happened to our savior?"
They all raised their new faces to him, pleading, and even though they did not appear as he remembered, Absolom could still gaze deeply into their eyes and see the men and woman who had become his beloved flock. He could see their souls.
A thought occurred to him. A realization.
"Perhaps it is a test," Absolom replied, drifting toward his newest creation, the machine that had enabled him to project himself even deeper into the beyond. He reached out and cut off the power to the humming device, the subbasement falling eerily quiet.
Quiet as a church.
"It must be a test. We failed in our initial attempt to bring his blessing to the world, and he has not forgotten."
Silas Udell whined, his ears flattening against his head, tail tucked fearfully between his legs.
"What can we do?" Wickham asked, his hands nervously drifting over his female form. "Certainly he knows that was beyond our control--that the attack upon us was..."
Absolom silenced his friend with a look. "Of course he knows," he scolded, rubbing at the angry burn left by the kiss of the soldering iron on the back of his hand. "He is god--but it does not change the fact that we disappointed him. Look at the time that has been wasted--time that could have been used to bring about change, time in which each and every one of god's creatures could have been lifted up to a new level of greatness.
Absolom Spearz slid limply from the stool in front of a cluttered workstation and slumped to the floor of the farmhouse subbasement. He twitched and shuddered, and his head snapped back.
Hundreds of snaking, multicolored wires clipped to the skin of his face and arms connected him to a device of his own construction. A strange hum came from the device, which was composed mainly of exposed circuit boards and glowing vacuum tubes. The soldering iron he had been using to attach the last of the wire connections to the machine slipped from the table and struck the back of his hand, searing the delicate skin with its red-hot tip and filling the vast subterranean room with the stench of burning flesh.
Absolom felt nothing.
He lay in the dirt, curled into a tight, trembling ball, exhausted by his attempts to communicate with Qemu'el. Since his return to the physical world, he had been desperate to reestablish contact with his almighty, but his importunings remained unanswered.
Where are you, lord? he thought, trying not to panic. He and his followers had been restored--given another chance to complete their sacred chore--but without their god, they had no purpose. Have we offended you? Did our failure taint your love?
"Absolom?"
He opened his eyes to find his congregation standing around him, their eyes glistening expectantly. It was still odd for him to look upon these unfamiliar faces, for his mind held on to the memory of how they had appeared long ago, before their bodies were destroyed by the deeds of the ignorant.
Geoffrey Wickham was first to speak. In his mind's eye, Absolom pictured a white-haired gentleman, spine twisted from scoliosis, not the attractive features of a middle-aged woman.
"What did he say?" Geoffrey asked in a soft, female voice that Absolom doubted he would ever grow entirely used to. "What message did he have for us?"
They all moved closer. The children, Annabel and Tyler, reached down with their small hands to help him up from the floor.
"Tell us, Absolom, please," Tyler demanded.
"Is the god well? Has he heard our prayers?" Annabel asked breathlessly.
"Our god is still silent," Absolom replied gravely. With a burst of anger and frustration, he tore at the wires still connected to his body, pulling away swatches of his skin with the clips.
The band gasped in unison. They clasped their hands together and bowed their heads, as if their sudden attempts at prayer would somehow reach the absent deity.
"But why?" Tyler pleaded. He fell to his knees, the others quickly following suit. "Tell us, Absolom, what has happened to our savior?"
They all raised their new faces to him, pleading, and even though they did not appear as he remembered, Absolom could still gaze deeply into their eyes and see the men and woman who had become his beloved flock. He could see their souls.
A thought occurred to him. A realization.
"Perhaps it is a test," Absolom replied, drifting toward his newest creation, the machine that had enabled him to project himself even deeper into the beyond. He reached out and cut off the power to the humming device, the subbasement falling eerily quiet.
Quiet as a church.
"It must be a test. We failed in our initial attempt to bring his blessing to the world, and he has not forgotten."
Silas Udell whined, his ears flattening against his head, tail tucked fearfully between his legs.
"What can we do?" Wickham asked, his hands nervously drifting over his female form. "Certainly he knows that was beyond our control--that the attack upon us was..."
Absolom silenced his friend with a look. "Of course he knows," he scolded, rubbing at the angry burn left by the kiss of the soldering iron on the back of his hand. "He is god--but it does not change the fact that we disappointed him. Look at the time that has been wasted--time that could have been used to bring about change, time in which each and every one of god's creatures could have been lifted up to a new level of greatness.
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