When Matthew was eight years old, his parents rushed him to church in the dead of night. He wasn’t allowed to take anything but his shoes, coat, bible, and the pajamas he was wearing.

As Matthew and his family arrived at the church, he saw that they weren’t the only ones. In fact, it looked as if all of the church goers were stuffed inside somewhere. It was odd- normally Matthew and his father were the first ones there for every church event. Matthew’s father was the priest, after all. It was necessary for him to get to the church before everyone else.

Everyone’s heads turned to stare at them as Matthew’s mother lead him to a pew and his father went to the pulpit to give a sermon. Matthew was used to the stares. The kids in Sunday school were always too scared to talk to him after he announced that his father would make sure they’d all burn in hell for making fun of him. Kids who Matthew passed on the street stared and laughed at him for the crosses he wore and bible he carried. They’d call him creepy, would even throw stones at him! But Matthew knew that he’d have to put up with it, and that it really wasn’t a bad thing. His father always assured him that God would make sure that sinners were punished, and those kids on the street were most definitively sinners.

“Faithful members!” Matthew’s father calls out, though everyone’s paying attention to him already. “I am glad to see you here this night!”

Everyone in the church started talking. Matthew furrowed his brow glared at everyone. It was a known rule that no one ever interrupted the priest.

“With the End coming, it is important that we take this next step into the afterlife together!” Matthew’s father thunders, not seeming bothered that everyone’s talking over him. “I understand that you may be scared! So if you have decided that you are not ready to join the Lord, leave now! If you are not ready to join our savior in Heaven, leave now! But if you are truly a faithful follower, you will stay! And the Lord will praise you!”

Everyone’s voices quiet, but as Matthew looks around, he sees that some faces look upset. Not everyone, but a large amount of people. Matthew waits for them to get up and leave, but no one does. He smiles- as skeptical Matthew was of his peers and their parents, he didn’t want them to turn out to not be Christian.

Matthew’s father smiles as well. His eyes reach Matthews and he winks at the boy. “Ladies! Will you lead us in a hymn while the men and I begin spreading the gasoline?”

Their voices shaking, the women start singing. The hymn is Matthew’s favorite. He sings along with the women as he gets up to join his father and the men.

“Would you like to join us, son?” Matthew’s father asks. Matthew nods, and the other boys get up to join, not wanting to seem scared.

The youth pastor takes all of the children helping with the gasoline a few feet away from the men. He kneels down so that he’s at eye level for most of the boys. “I’m very proud of you boys. You will leave this world as men.”

Matthew stands up straighter, his chest puffing out proudly. The youth pastor hands each of the boys small containers of gasoline and instructs them to pour it on the perimeter and middle of the church.

Matthew does it alone, which he doesn’t mind. The other boys all work in pairs or trios, boasting slightly to their favorite girls in the church. They’re not doing it well, which annoys Matthew. The youth pastor gave them specific instructions, and they’re just dumping it wherever they please.

Matthew trails his carefully, but runs out after just doing a quarter of one of the church’s walls. Not wanting to bother anyone with more gasoline, he sits back down with his mother, who holds him to her closely. Matthew’s confused; his mom stopped hugging him when he started homeschool. This sort of affection is uncommon from her.

She leans down and whispers in his ear, so quiet Matthew can barely hear her. “They’re going to start the fire on the opposite side of us. I want you to run away when it starts. Run far and run fast. Do you understand me?”

Matthew turns to her, brow furrowed. “No. Father said that faithful members stayed. I’m a faithful member.”

“Your father is a very wise man, but he forgets thing sometimes, just like the rest of us do,” his mother murmurs. “He forgot that we’ll need a modern disciple. People will listen to you, Matty. You have that quality about you. We’ll need new members of the church to join when we leave.”

“But Mama,” Matthew says, reverting back to a name he called her when he was little. “The End is coming. There will be no one left for me to spread the message to.”

“The Lord will forgive you,” his mother says. “The End is not as soon as we think it is. It will come in your lifetime, but the Lord will not be pleased if all of us leave this world without more followers. You will be carrying our message. The Lord’s message.”

“Okay,” Matthew whispers. “Okay. I’ll leave.”

His mother wraps an arm around him again. Matthew rests his head on her shoulder as the two of them sing. When they finish their third hymn, Matthew’s father has everyone’s attention as he stands in the middle of the church.

“Light the match,” Matthew’s father orders. His mother puts a hand on Matthew’s back, ready to push him forward so he can get out.

A man at the front door of the church lights a match, then drops it onto where the gasoline was poured. Flames ignite immediately, and Matthew’s mother shoves him forward. He stumbles from the pew and sprints to the back door, 100 feet from where he was sitting.

The flames chase him. They lit much quicker than Matthew had expected, and nearly half of the church’s perimeter is on fire.

“NO!” Matthew’s father screams when Matthew reaches the back door. Matthew fumbles for a second, then unlocks the door and swings it outward.

The air is cool, biting at his bare skin. Matthew slams the door behind him, clinging to the bible tightly. He can’t see even five feet ahead of him, and as Matthew runs, he hits a rock in the road. Matthew trips forward, his face slamming into the sidewalk in front of him. He hears a loud crack and blood pours over his lips.

Matthew screams in pain, his eyes burning with tears. He scrambles for his bible, somewhere on the road where he fell. When he finds it, Matthew hugs his bible to him, sitting on the sidewalk, his tears and blood pouring all over it.

He can hear the fire, hear the desperate attempts to continue the hymns, hear the screams, the cries for help, the distant sirens coming all too late. Matthew just keeps sitting, his face down so he doesn’t have to look at the fire, doesn’t have to look at his church, doesn’t have to see his only friends and family burning.

Soon, the voices stop. The only sound is the crackling of flames as they spread, and the sirens approaching. Matthew hums the starting hymn to himself, tears still rolling down his face, despite his desperate attempts to stop them. Men don’t cry, he reminded himself. He was a man now. He was the last of the church, the modern disciple.

A bright light shines down at him and Matthew looks up. A fire truck is parked at the start of the street, it’s headlights lighting the whole street. In front of Matthew is a fireman, in the outfit and everything.

The man kneels down so he can look Matthew in the eye from where he sits. “What’re you doing out here, son?” The fireman asks.

Matthew sniffs, trying to stop the tears, then starts coughing because of the blood still flooding out his nose. “I’m the m-m-modern di-disciple,” Matthew says, tripping over his words.

“Were you in that fire?” The fireman asks, trying to make his gravelly voice more gentle.

“M-mother got me o-out,” Matthew explains. “S-said I was th-the m-modern disciple.”
“We’ll get you to the hospital,” the fireman tells him. “Then we can figure out what exactly happened. Does that sound alright?”

Matthew nods, and the fireman helps him to his feet. Together, they walk to the ambulance, where the man leaves Matthew. A kind looking EMT helps get him inside and wearing his seatbelt. As they speed to the hospital, everyone is completely silent as they glance at him pitifully.

At the hospital, Matthew’s nose bandaged. They checked him for a concussion, then they gently explained what the foster care system was, what had happened to his parents. He stayed with the doctors for just two days before a foster parent was found and Matthew’s world shattered.

10 years later

Matthew smiles as he signs the lease on his first apartment. It’s a creepy smile, perfect for his creepy living place. The landlord feels goosebumps anytime he looks at the kid. The smile has been plastered on his face since Matthew entered the building, exposing his perfectly white, straight teeth. The smile isn’t in his eyes, a dull, dead looking blue. In fact, Matthew’s eyes look almost angry anytime he glances at the landlord.

“Have fun with the place, kid,” the landlord says, pulling the paperwork away so he can get home as soon as possible, so he can get away from Matthew as soon as possible.

Matthew’s smile widens. For a second, the landlord thinks his teeth are sharp fangs, but when the landlord blinks, they’re normal teeth again. “Thank you, sir,” Matthew growls.

The landlord gives him the room number, then rushes away. Matthew lets his smile drop as the landlord’s back turns. This will be the first, Matthew decides. He knows that this man is the type who doesn’t believe in God’s word, who wouldn’t even listen to Matthew if he tried to inform him. Matthew’s had plenty of experiences with these people before. Kids at school, foster parents, even some people who went to churches Matthew was brought to. It was ridiculous, how ignorant people could be.

Matthew goes up to his apartment. Only a few boxes are scattered throughout, plus some furniture. Matthew begins setting up, putting clothes in the closet, mattress on the bed frame, and dishes in the cupboard. He sits and reads for a few hours, until it’s dark.

Matthew makes himself dinner, then sets up for tonight. He’ll bring his bible with him, of course, tucked inside his jacket. He tucks his hair into a cap, then pulls his hoodie over it. Matthew pulls on his gloves, shoes that are too big for him, and covers up his face completely. After making sure that no skin or hair is showing, Matthew grabs his knife and makes his way to the landlord’s apartment.

The man lives in the same complex as Matthew, for free. Matthew finds his room number on the first floor, with all the lights shut off. The man’s door is locked, but when Matthew goes outside, he sees none of the windows are. Matthew smiles, then slowly lifts one of the windows, making sure it doesn’t creek, giving him away. He slices the screen open with his knife and crawls into the living room.

Matthew stalks soundlessly to a bedroom door. He swings it open, expecting to see the landlord sleeping, but instead sees two young girls, sleeping in beds across the room. Matthew stands in the doorway, staring at the younger of the two. His smile widens as he makes his way to the first girl’s bed, humming his favorite hymn.

The landlord can’t seem to shake a feeling that something’s wrong. He keeps tossing and turning, annoying his wife greatly. He keeps hearing what sounds like footsteps, but dismisses them as the wind. He even hears what sounds like someone singing a song he doesn’t know, but the landlord knows he’s being ridiculous.

“Would you stop that?” his wife hisses, voice still sounding sleepy.

“Of course, dear,” the landlord whispers back, trying to stay still. “Well, I’m just going to ah, check on the girls. Make sure they’re not staying up past their bedtime.”

His wife mumbles something he can’t hear as the landlord moves to their bedroom door. He steps into the hallway and is hit by a burst of cold wind. Spooked, the landlord flinches back, then approaches the window, eyes squinted.

He knows he didn’t leave that window open. The landlord never leaves his windows open- it’d be far too easy for someone to climb in. He sees that the screen is cut away, discarded on the ground outside.

Hand shaking, the landlord reaches for the phone next to the window, ready to call 911. His fingers close around the phone when he feels a sharp, immense pain in the back of his head. The landlord’s fingers go numb, his knees collapsing as his vision fades.

When he’s finished, Matthew has only three specs of blood on him. None of the four in the apartment had suffered. A slit throat for the two children, and a stab wound in the head for the landlord and his wife.

Now, Matthew scrubs his knife clean of the blood. He knows that the police will check what type of knife was used to create the wound, and he isn’t stupid enough to keep it. Matthew changes his clothes, then walks from his apartment to the river. He takes the gloves and knife out of his pocket and tosses them both into the river.

Back at the apartment, Matthew crawls into bed and sleeps soundly.

The journalist is exhausted, as always. It seems as if she’s always exhausted- she’s the only intern who does any work, up till 2 am nearly every night. And she doesn’t even get acknowledged for her work. She’s pretty much the only one holding up the local news department, yet all the experienced workers are the ones who get the recognition.

She’s on her fifth cup of coffee, even though it’s only seven in the morning. The journalist types furiously, a sob story just last night of a murdered family. Nearly everything will be completely edited out, but that doesn’t stop her hard work.

Another intern leans down onto her desk. “You know that the story’s gonna be in the news tonight, right? Then the newspaper. No one’s gonna care.”

“I care,” the journalist snaps, taking another big gulp out of her coffee.

She works on her story until lunch, when her boss demands that she takes a break and goes out to eat. Begrudgingly, the journalist packs her purse and goes to the Subway down the street.

She orders her sandwich, getting out her wallet to pay, when the man in front of her says, “I’d like to pay for this lovely young woman’s meal as well.”

The journalist feels her cheeks redden. She tries to refuse the man’s offer, but he’s persistent. He’s good looking, and seems kind, but something about him just seems off… something about his eyes, the journalist decides, freaks her out.  

The man waits for her while she gets her sandwich, then sits at the table with her as she devours it. He barely seems to touch his own food, watching her the entire time.

“I’m Matthew,” he says.

“Nice to meet you,” the journalist says, starting to feel a bit worried.

“I have a bit of a personal question for you,” Matthew says, and the journalist shifts in her seat, wondering how she can get out of there without seeming rude. “Are you a Christian?”

“Um,” the journalist mumbles clearing her throat. “I mean… I believe in God, but I don’t really go to church or follow the bible or anything.”

“Interesting,” Matthew murmurs, staring at her. His eyes gleam and the journalist hurriedly leaves, claiming that her boss will get mad if she’s not back soon. The journalist rushes down the street, constantly looking behind her shoulder even though she doesn’t see the man following her.

The journalist finishes her story at 5, when the other interns leave. Normally, she’d stay after to start a new story, but decides to go out with the others. They bring her to a bar, where her anxiety keeps up with her despite the drinks.

The designated driver brings the journalist home, where she fumbles with her keys until managing to get inside. The journalist kicks off her shoes, then passes out on the couch, not realising that she didn’t lock the door behind her.

Matthew had followed the girl all day. She’s pretty- brown hair, green eyes, a smatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks. It’s a pity that she’s not a follower.

He walked at a safe distance behind her to her job, then followed her to the bar, where he waited diligently, reading his bible. He followed the car she drunkenly got into, then watched as she struggled to get inside her house.

Matthew had already prepared, wearing clothes similar to the ones the night before. He has a different knife in his hand. He peers in through the window, seeing that the girl has already fallen asleep. Matthew goes in through the door, standing over the girl for a few seconds. He leans down, pressing his knife to her throat, then softly begins to sing. The girl’s eyes open slowly, and Matthew smiles as he applies more pressure to the knife.

The pastor completely, wholeheartedly believes in God. At least, that’s what he tells his flock. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s doubted God’s existence more than once. But there’s nothing wrong with a tiny bit of skepticism, the pastor thinks. It’s not like he’s ever stopped believing.

It’s early Sunday morning, which means the pastor is up. He’s prepared his sermon for the day and is now going over it as he drives to church. The pastor pulls into the parking lot and goes to the front door. He unlocks the front door and flicks on the light, only to see someone sitting in one of the rows.

“Hello?” The pastor calls. “Young man? The service doesn’t start for another two hours.”

The man turns around. The pastor sees that he’s dressed in all black, even his head.

“Do you remember me?” a voice from within the black asks.

“I can’t really see your face, sir,” the pastor tells him. “Perhaps if I saw you, I could.”

The pastor has his hand on his phone, finding the numbers to call the cops. He knows that if he can just get the number right and press the call button, the police will find his location. He just doesn’t know whether or not it’s right.

“I visited this church about four years ago,” the voice says. “My foster parents brought me here because they knew I was interested in church. I told you of my beliefs and you called them radical. You said that it was radical what my parents did.”

The pastor glances down, seeing that the number is right. He presses the dial button, quickly silencing the phone before the man sees what he’s doing. “Are you the survivor of the fire a few years back? I think I remember.”

The pastor takes a few steps back, trying to get to the door. The man begins to sing a familiar hymn, his voice perfect. He stands up, staring at the pastor. The unfamiliar man raises a gun, pointing it directly at the pastor.

The cop’s usual day is boring. They’re mostly full paperwork and small crimes. In the past couple of days, though, there have been the murders. The entire office is overwhelmed, and now, the cop is speeding down the highway to a church.

The cop is sure there’s been another murder. 911 was called, but nothing was said. They found the address, so now the cop, his partner, and two others are on their way.

They pull up at the front door, then jump out of the cars and knock down the door. The four cops all see the man in all black with the gun. The man is spooked as he fires randomly, almost hitting the cop several times.

The cop’s partner aims for the man’s leg and fires, hitting him perfectly. The man in all black falls to the ground, crippled, as he screams in pain. The four cops all rush to him, handcuffing his hands behind his back.

“I am the modern disciple,” the man mutters dazedly, then he begins to sing.