It's kind of amazing that my great-grandmother is still alive and just as sharp as she was in her younger years. Of course, being almost ninety, she has slowed down just a tad, but she's still just as fiery and her memory hasn't lost its edge. She has a lot of stories in her, my Granny, and every time she shares one with me I make sure to pay close attention; it's not everyday you get to listen to someone who's been through what she has. My family comes from West Virginia; generations of poor, Appalachian miners and mountain folk who take pride in their history. Granny is no exception: she's witnessed wars and a Depression, not to mention burying both her husband and a son who died from Dementia a few years ago, but she's a tough old bird and I enjoy my visits to her house. I realize as I get older she starts telling me stories I haven't heard before; I guess I'm adult enough to know about family secrets. Nothing too shocking; just tales of Pap's days as a moonshiner or about the baby she lost soon after the War. I like hearing these stories because it gives me a deeper understanding of my family, and I like hearing about what my grandmother was like as a rebellious teen in the 1950s! One story, though, was different. I don't even know what prompted her to tell me the tale, but it was a late evening in July when I heard it. It was such a warm night; I had brought a watermelon over for the two of us to share after supper and we sat there on the porch in the twilight, enjoying the sweet taste of melon and watching the fireflies begin to light up the pastures below. I was spitting the seeds over the porch, seeing how far I could shoot the bastards, and Granny laughed that I was going to turn her flower garden into a watermelon patch come August. As we enjoyed the evening cool Granny became thoughtful, retreating into her memories for a time. She did that now and again and it never bothered me. Having lived a life as hers I assumed she had a lot of memories to keep in line. Suddenly she began to tell me a story from her past, a story that I'll keep with me until I pass away... Throughout the Southern part of the state, scattered deep in the mountains, are the remains of old towns and vacant coal camps. You won't find them on the map, but if you know where to look and enjoy a good hike in the hills you'll eventually stumble across one of these ghost towns. A few have already been demolished and some have just collapsed over the years from weather and time, but a good number lay sleeping deep in the hills. A lot of these coal towns dried up after the closing of the local mine due to accident, economy, or when the ore veins puttered out. Since the mining company owned the property, and all the buildings on said property, then there was no reason to keep a mine in operation in the area and the whole town was shut down and abandoned. No coal, no business. It was pretty common in the old days, before the Unions, and even afterwards it was still a possibility. Willow Fork was one such town, nestled deep in the southern hills with the company houses built in neat rows. Granny and Pap moved to the town soon after Pap came home from Germany and got a job in the mines. Pap came from a long line of coal miners; it was his life and he was proud of the work and proud of the Union. It was modest pay, what with a wife and five children to support but he and other men toiled under the mountains to mine the coal deep within. It was dangerous work and the prospect of a cave-in or explosion was always present. Maybe that's why so many West Virginians are devout in their faith. Baptist, Methodist, Pentecostal... Each miner knew the Sinner's Prayer by heart and every Sunday the churches were packed with mining families giving thanks to the Lord that none of the men had died in an accident during the week. Religion was a big part of the community and it seemed everyone in town was a member of some church and had a place for God in their lives. There was one church, though, that was a little different from the others. It was tucked away from Willow Fork, nestled in a holler to the north not far from the yawning entrance to the mine. It was a small, white wooden building with tiny windows, and painted on the pitched roof were the words, “Church of the Shepherd's Flock”. The congregation was lead by the Reverend Gerald Roberts, a "fire-and-brimstone" preacher who some believed was a prophet. He would claim that the Lord had spoken to him on such-and-such day, and talk of the Rapture was always a topic he relished. While some people in the town believed him to speak the Living Word, others regarded the man with a mixture of contempt and fear. Along with claiming to be a prophet, the Reverend also encouraged his flock to take part in the handling of snakes. It is rooted in the belief that if one's faith is strong enough then the Lord will protect the believer from the venom of snakes, as well as that of poison, and also be able to heal the sick. The congregation gets whipped into frenzy, seized by the Holy Ghost, and begins to speak in tongues as the Spirit seizes them. Copperheads are brought out and held by members of the Church, sometimes biting believer or remaining docile during the services. Other times members of the church will drink poisons like strychnine and remain unaffected afterwards. If someone does fall ill, the congregation will gather around and lay hands on the body as they attempt to heal the stricken. People have died for their faith by doing this, but still the tradition continues even to this day. West Virginia is one of the few states that allow the practice of snake handling to continue. Of course, not everyone in Willow Fork agreed with the practice. Some preached that it was an act of vanity and pride to try and tempt the Lord with such behavior. Others said that they were not seized by the Holy Spirit at all, but instead possessed by the Devil Himself and that the Reverend was a false prophet. They that did belong to the Church of the Shepherd's Flock, however, truly believed in the words of Reverend Roberts and the power of the Spirit when they took serpents and poison. They were fanatical in their beliefs, zealots to their faith. In the summer of '49 life in Willow Fork seemed serene. My grandmother was a bored thirteen year-old and work in the mines was thriving, even if the pay was small. Granny and Pap worked hard to provide a safe home for their family, like everyone else in town, and despite being poor things seemed okay. The only thing happening was Reverend Roberts' tent revival in a few days. Tent revivals were always happening in the summer; it was perfect weather for the three-day events, with all the food and singing and baptisms in the stream. Granny's church had just held theirs a few weeks ago up in Little Beaver and a few new souls had been brought to the Lord. Maybe it was the preaching or maybe it was the delicious fried chicken that won them over. People looked forward to revivals, but Church of the Shepherd's Flock was different. They held theirs in the clearing outside of the church, and on the way to the mines Pap and the other men watched as the worn canvas tent was slowly raised in the dirt clearing by the road. Now, Pap was a tall, strong man of German stock and well respected in town. He had toured in Germany during the war and saw his share of fighting, so nothing in Willow Fork seemed to scare him in the slightest. However, on his way to work that morning he spotted the Reverend and something inside him shuddered. Roberts' eyes were lit with a fiery glow, a crazed possession that Pap

Hand of God in the title of the video Berserk fans: "In this world, is the destiny of mankind controlled by some transcendental entity or law? Is it like the hand of God hovering above? At least, it is true that man has no control, even over his own will."

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hadn't seen in any man before. Were he a catholic he'd have crossed himself, but instead he just looked away and continued to the mines with his lunch bucket and cap. There were other things to worry about besides a zealous preacher... like explosions and cave-ins... One man who worked with Pap was named Jake Whittaker. His wife was a member of Roberts' church, but he didn't want anything to do with it. “Speaking in tongues, laying of hands: that I understand,” he would say. “But snakes? The minute I see a Rattler or a Copperhead, I'm done. If holding snakes proves I'm a Christian, then I guess I'll take my chances.” His wife, Ida, was constantly on him to join her and the children at church and would always worry over the status of his soul. She had finally worn him down, and he agreed to attend the revival with her that evening. He wasn't looking forward to it, but Jake loved his wife and if it made her happy and brought some peace to the house then he supposed one night wouldn't kill him. The other miners chuckled and nodded; a nagging wife just wasn't worth it, but Pap still felt something chewing at him after seeing Roberts that morning. He hadn't felt this kind of anxiety since the time he was in France during the war, when suddenly the line had shifted and he and his men had suddenly found themselves in enemy territory. They had hidden in the cellar of a kind farmer, but leading up to the moment Pap just knew something was in the air. Now he felt that same way after hearing Jake talk about the revival, but he dismissed it and continued to work. Work ended and the men walked home down the wide road, thankful for another day done. Once again Pap passed the dirty canvas tent, now upright and ready for the revival and once again he felt that sense of creeping dread in the pit of his gut. Young men were carrying wooden snake cages into the tent, as well as mason jars filled with what looked like rusty water. He knew that sometimes strychnine was drank, as a testament of faith, and wondered if that was what the jars contained. But strychnine was a white powder; the poison drink created when it was mixed into water… did it turn the water such a hue of orange? Again he felt that sense of dread, and as he watched the set-up continue he suddenly locked eyes with the Reverend. Gerald Roberts’ eyes burned with such zeal and fire as he looked at the coal miner. Roberts was by no means a large man, in fact he was easily dwarfed by Pap, but the power and energy that man exuded was enough to topple any seasoned GI. The preacher smiled, his white teeth glistening in the light, and Pap was suddenly reminded of the flashing of bayonets. “Why don’t you come and join us, Brother John?” he called out, “Lest you ignore the voice calling in the wilderness.” “That’s quite alright,” he fumbled over the words, feeling uneasy over the fact that Roberts had spoken his name, “I know where I stand with the Lord.” He started to walk away but the Preacher called out to him once more. “It’s a frightful thing to fall into the hands of a living God, John.” That evening Granny and the children were cleaning up after supper in the kitchen, as Pap listened to the radio. It was a wrestling match, broadcasted out of Beckley, and Pap loved wrestling. Usually he would get worked up over the match, yelling and hollering as the announcer detailed the chaos in the ring, but tonight he was still troubled by his meeting with Reverend Roberts and the strange liquid. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t sure what it was he had felt when he first laid eyes on the jars or the presence of the preacher, but slowly it dawned on him as the second match started; he has felt the hand of the Devil touch his soul. He shuddered and took a drink of his Dr. Pepper. Granny knew something troubled her husband but didn’t press; if he needed to tell her he would. As she finished washing the last of the dishes, a blue Ford pick-up erratically drove up to their front gate before parking. The driver’s door opened and out fell Jake Wittaker, his white dress shirt and pants covered in blood. “John!” he yelled, picking himself up and running to the door of the small company house. “John, come quick!” Pap quickly went to the door and opened it to see a panicked, blood-soaked Jake. “Jesus Christ, Jake-“ “It’s Ida! It’s that damn preacher! They’ve all gone insane! You gotta come with me, John! Something evil has taken hold of everyone! My kids, John! She killed our kids!” Pap grabbed the hunting rifle off the mantle and turned to his wife before heading out to the truck. “Don’t let the children out, and don’t come looking for me, okay?” “John, be careful!” Granny yelled after him. She felt the same dread her husband felt as she watched the blue truck speed off, followed by a number of other trucks. Jake must have alerted other men in the town before coming to their house, forming a posse to inspect the scene. She quickly shut the door and bolted it, telling the children to do the same with the back door as well as the windows. Whatever was out in the woods might be coming to the village. As Pap drove the truck, Jake rambled about the revival. It had started like any other, prayers and gospel singing as the congregation felt the Holy Spirit take possession of them. Jake had sat near the back with his wife and children, a son and daughter, as the rest of the congregation testified and sang. He felt out of place and a little uneasy, but his wife was so happy to have him there. “Like a real family” she had stated. Soon the Reverend entered and began his usual hellfire preaching; talking of the Apocalypse and the Wrath of the Lamb. He continued to speak of the visions he had seen from the Lord and the message of destruction he was to spread. True faith had vanished, he proclaimed, and the lambs are easily pulled from the narrow path into the wilderness. Then the Devil appeared to him, he claimed, and said if he really did love the Lord then he would drink of this cup. Roberts then gestured to the mason jars lined behind him. The Devil Himself had given him the poison, stronger than any made by the hands of man, but the power of the Lord is stronger he cried! The congregation praised the Lord, shouts of ‘Amen!” erupting in the seats. Roberts took a jar and held it up before the people. He would show the Devil just how unshakable his faith was and if anyone wanted to join him in an act of pure faith then they would join him. Jars were distributed out as gospel music started up from the choir again. Jake suddenly felt scared as he watched the Reverend take the first drink; just what was that poison? His wife jumped up to take a drink, urging her husband to join but he refused and stayed behind with the children. He should have stopped her, he knew something wasn’t right but he just couldn’t do it. He watched as she and a good number of people drank the rusty liquid, gagging slightly as it went down. The singing intensified and people were now speaking in tongues and clapping to the music. Those that drank the poison were even more active, jumping up and down and praising the Lord with upraised arms. Reverend Roberts was shouting now, claiming how they had just defeated the Devil and how Jesus would receive them in the End Time. Everyone was cheering and singing praises until one member of the congregation doubled over and vomited a stream of blood. Others began to follow suit, and for a moment there was wild panic, but the Reverend called out for order. There was no reason to be alarmed; it was just another test of the Devil’s! Those not afflicted began to lay hands on the ill members and pray over their bodies. Jake quickly looked for Ida and spotted her as she slowly made her way towards him and the children. The front of her dress was soaked in blood and it dribbled out the side of her mouth. The children screamed in terror as she approached them, her arms outstretched towards her husband. “Jake…” she weakly called. Another gush of blood and black bile poured from her mouth as blood began to trickle from her nose and ears. She fell to the ground, convulsing before his feet. All round them a large number of people had done the same and the tent walls were soon splattered with red and black. The Reverend had succumbed as well, retching and screaming in pain as a geyser of blood erupted from his mouth. Jake grabbed his wife and tried to rouse her, the children weeping in fear and terror at the chaos around them. As Jake screamed Ida’s name her eyes snapped open, bloodshot, and stared at him for a solid 5 seconds. A grin began to divide her scarlet-stained face, ruby teeth flashing. Her gaze jerked away from Jake and locked onto their two young, sobbing children.

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Bonda being bullied by the creatures and scp foundation

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Wow, it's been a long time since I uploaded