Written By Abdun Nur

Chapter Fourteen

Religious Hell

“The fool says in his heart “There is no God.” Psalm 14:1

If even the fool gets it, then what’s your problem.”

After delivering Cathy’s sculpture Sill and Phil returned in the taxi; they arrived to a cooked meal. “I made a lovely chicken shepherd’s pie, covered in a nice thick layer of Wensleydale, as a thank you. Get yourselves washed and I’ll dish it out in the kitchen.” Gwen told them both as they walked into the house. Gwen was enjoying having what was beginning to feel like family around, she hadn’t realised how much she’d missed that feeling of support and dependability, and cooking for others made cooking more worthwhile and rewarding. These two poor souls had been lost in the blackness of the worlds, now she was their light, their escape, their salvation, and that was making her feel content, the need for community, even this tiny expression was as water to a thirsty soul, making her realise that the solitude she had valued so highly, actually needed community as well, and she drank it deeply.

As they were all sat eating, Gwen was pondering. “I was thinking if you two plan on staying around, maybe you could renovate the derelict cottage. When I was a girl the grounds keeper and his family lived there, it could be made into a very nice home again, it has three bedrooms, I can get some quotes for some of the work, but maybe you two could do the easier jobs.”

Sill and Phil were both very interested in the idea. “Thanks Gwen. Your generosity is amazing.” Sill replied.

“Phil do you have a family somewhere?” Gwen asked as she ate.

“Once. Ah wis married ‘n’ hud four bairns. Who kens where they’re noo.” Phil answered quietly.

“Why’d you leave, if you don’t mine me asking?” Sill asked.

“Mah guidwife did’n’nee lik’ me, Weel efter she git tae ken me completely, she hud na interest in me, ‘n’ as time past that dislike grew, ‘n’ ye canee stay in that sort o’ environment fur sa long, afore it drains ya ‘n’ makes life hard ta bear.

Ah was’nea easy ta live wi.

Drink!” Phil answered sadly.

“So you left. How long ago was that?” Sill pried as he ate his shepherds pie.

“Years ago. They’d be al’ grown up noo.” Phil replied.

“Maybe you could look them up, and reconnect with your children?” Gwen commented.

“Ah done’nea think they’d wantae hear fae me, even if ah could fin’ them?” Phil replied.

“Why?

Did you wrong them in the past?” Gwen wondered.

“Weel drink mak’s ye dae glaikit things. Bit mainly ah wronged them thro’ goin awa..

I’m a jaikey, I’ve nothing ta offer ‘em.” Phil said quitely.

“Nonsense. You’re all the ocean in a drop. And that life of self destruction as a jaikey is behind you.

You were a soul isolated and abandoned, now you’re my friend, and Phil, you’ve everything to offer them; you’ve love, wisdom, and endless support.” Gwen told him sincerely.

“Ya know Sill, whin ah wis in th’ machine, held in th’ icy nothingness, I’d convinced ma’sen. The idea playing aroond in th’ back o’ mah mind that ah died ‘n’ I wa in Hell.” Phil said quietly and seriously, the trauma of that experience fresh and still lingering at the front of his thoughts.

“Set you mind at ease Phil, you weren’t in Hell, and this isn’t Hell either, it’s just Gwen’s kitchen, Hells likely not as messy.” Sill reassured him with a smile.

“Th’ bairn tellt me hell’s a fiction?” Phil said.

“Sorry Phil?” Sill replied looking confused.

“Th’ wee bairn ah murdered said Hell’s a fiction.” Phil told him.

“Why is Hell a fiction, could you relay what he told you?” Sill asked mildly interested as he ate.

He said, ah kin speak lik’ him, wi’oot an accent, ye ken, if you’d lik’ me tae?

“If you’d speak that way all the time would be great.” Sill smiled.

Phil cleared his throat, and began. “Think about all things rationally. If I’m a loving soul, I wouldn’t gain anything from the suffering and torment of another soul, no matter the transgression, and to witness such suffering would cause me to suffer. If a Hell did exist every time a loving soul looked upon its horrors; every time a loving soul saw the damned in utter anguish and torture, it would relocate Hell, the loving soul would share that reality as all souls are empathic and of one soul, so at the moment of the manifestation of a Hell, all creation would become Hell; therefore, innately there could never be a demand for punishment. Every loving soul only requires relief; it wishes to resolve conflict, torment and excess, as the soul that is claimed wicked, will not be any less wicked for all the torments of the world’s inflicted as punishment. The only hell would be perceptual, the hell you create within yourself and carry around with you. No matter where you’ve been, no matter what you’ve done, no matter how deeply you’ve fallen into depravity, there’s always relief, which ultimately allows each expression of soul to forgive them-selves for themselves.” As Phil finished his mind was back in the nothing for a second.

To Phil’s surprise the wee bairn began to talk within his mind. Phil felt a little abstracted from reality, and began to repeated what the voice was saying to Gwen and Sill. “The soulless entities make the souled believe that evils come from others, or that the evil is others working through them, this requires a demon mythology, to either demonise others or claim a demon acted through you, both ideas are used to negate accountability.

To this end of imposing false belief, secret Mafias or Mafias made ambiguous like governments, the Freemasons, the monarchies, the Vatican, or the Zionists, are collectives functioning as cenotaphs of hierarchy, where the walking dead gather to metaphorically drink the blood of the living and conspire to extort, enslave and control the uninitiated.” The voice answered for Phil who repeated what he was being told to Sill and Gwen.

“I read once that the idea of Hell was from Norse mythology. Loki’s daughter, Hel, who ruled over the evil dead in Niflheim a home of mist, the lowest of all worlds.” Sill commented not realising Phil was channeling the voice of the dead child.

The voice answered Sill, within Phil’s mind, and Phil repeated it. “Religion feeds off older religions for their inventions, their fictions and constructs, baseless lies were attached to Norse mythology after its decline, where the place-name Helheim, the cold, dark, misty world of the dead, was given a fictional ruler, using the idea of the goddess Hel.

Helheim was the abode of those who died of illness or old age. The entire concept of “personification” would’ve been out of place, as the Norse believed in an animistic and pantheistic reality, where nothing is inert or impersonal and everything is in some way conscious, and in this they were correct, as all perceptual forms are thought, and all thought is alive. However, you’re right Sill, the root of Hell was taken from the lie of a goddess, and new lies were added turning a cold place into a fiery place of torture, abuse and suffering filled with the wicked and none religious. The nonconformist was to be damned to eternal horror, and this fearporn keeps the weak minded as the witless flock, worshipping and mulcted through extorted tithes.

The religious Hell was invented to dominate all souls through fear and violence, fear is a powerful stagnating emotion.” Phil relayed what the voice had told him.

“So where did the goddess Hel originate?” Sill asked still tucking into his poultry shepherds pie.

“She was first the hidden spirit of the holly bush

To know the trees means druid, and the oldest consciousness on the land are the trees, existing symbiotically with the fungus, which aid in communication between all flora. The knowers of the trees, druids, were ‘tree’ defenders, respecters and honourer’s, especially the oak tree, which is the greatest of all trees in consciousness.

While the mighty oak slept at the autumns end, the Holly became the highest consciousness on the land. To mark this natural transition, the Holly was used in celebration at the winter solstice, it was also used as protection from wiccecræft, as the power of flora can be used for either benefit or detriment, they believed the Holly tree gave some protection; Holly was corrupted to ‘holy’, as religious holy fictions or relics, which the religious claimed repelled evils just as the holly bush.

Norse religion took this natural order and incorporated it into their belief system. Holly became a sacred symbol, representative of Hel, the hidden goddess of the underworld, a giantess, a fragment of their past, a recycled legend from the ancient warrior race that held dominance over all souls and soulless entities for their masters, before the destruction of the communities on the planet, at the passing of Venus.

Religious Hell is simply to make souls conform to the dogma of the religion and to provide revenue to its hierarchy, all through fear. Fear can be all-powerful.

Fear is a thought, which can create a mental prison. When that thought holds the mind in its emotional prison, it removes love, it strips compassion, it eliminates empathy; it’s the great imposer. Fear stagnates and dominates all thoughts and actions.

To the walking dead, meaning those without a soul, commonly identified as psychopaths, the idea of Hell is a dream come true, a place they could exist in open expression of their base nature, but they doubt that dream is real, so death for the elite of the soulless, creatures draining life from the living, those with a hidden nature expressed through a deceptive persona; the Jinn are easy to spot, they seek power, usury, and position, these creatures should be avoided, they dream of a world free of the souled, populated with machine creatures they would place their minds within, they fear death, in reality it’s the end for an entity without a soul, they wish to live on and avoid the hell they imagine could awaits them after death, and a machine body holds that promise.

A souled anima and a soulless persona are in dichotomy; the souled anima desires to create love, to establish peace and to live in happiness and harmony, with a love of beauty, nature and companionship; the soulless persona desire to create fear, to establish hierarchy and have authority, and to live for their own hedonistic pleasures, with a love of perversion, and imposing violence and suffering.

The soulless are hierarchical in nature just as in dichotomy the souled are anarchic. The elite of the soulless watch bloodlines, and test their offspring with perverse rituals, they’ve instill a false belief of an eternal existence, the persona is an expression of ego, and this is the dominant aspect of their psyche, they’re egotists, compulsive liars and commonly self-delusional, they often believe their own lies, and a good liar can be very charismatic, as they say exactly what the other wishes to hear. It’d be no good to create the illusion of a heaven of love and purity, when you’re a creature of deceptions that enjoys instilling fear and orchestrating violence.

Given a free choice between the two, Heaven or Hell; Hell would be the preference of the psychopath; they want to please the imagined lord of Hell through their actions throughout their life. They only care for themselves, they don’t feel anything for the suffering of others.

The global dominance of the soulless is cyclic, their domination rises then falls as time passes, and as their nature is exposed their power is destroyed. As their nature is forgotten once more their power expands; their empires of lies build.” The voice explained.

“Who’s the Lord of the fictional Hell of soulless invention. Satan?” Sill asked.

“To the soulless it is Melech!

Melech is a term that refers to a concept that subsist because a consciousness is under the possession of fear, hatred, guilt, sorrow or anger, this is discordant to the harmonics of creative thought, within the cycling toroidal field, forcing consciousness to be repelled, holding itself separate in a protective Melech pattern, a constructive beneficial influence.

“Is Melech an entity?” Sill asked.

“No Melech is a thought pattern that your consciousness forms when it repels the ocean of consciousness, shrinking into an ever diminishing drop, seeking nothingness instead of the entirety, this manifests as an infinitely collapsing toroid of thought, just as a magnet is repelled by the same pole, as consciousness flows from nothingness, it is in effect, the same pole as nothingness, so the poles are repelled in separation, to reverse that state, where consciousness recycles a constant thought no longer drawing from nothingness, this pulls consciousness back into nothingness, just as opposing poles attract. As every consciousness or soul is the one, the entirety counters that pull back to nothingness, and holds the soul upon the face of oblivion.

Melech requires appalling sacrifice, suffering, as to be held in nothingness is a horror to a soul of souls, to be separated from the ocean.

Melech is a continuum of the fractal infinite expression of the one, in tension between the end of consciousness and the healing of consciousness, seeking to unite emotion and intellect and allow the soul to rejoin unity. It’s a harmonising melody, but the melody will show you answer’s indirectly. Everything is musical vibrations” The voice explained and Phil repeated.

“Melech seems a familiar word for some reason, would I have come across it before?” Sill asked.

“It’s widely known, and has a variety of names, some call it Moloch, some Molech; there are other variations.

Many have, and some still do worship Melech as a god, as a misperception, it’s an ancient scourge that lingered on in the desert of the soulless.

Melech was Ba’al to the Canaanites, a man with the head of a bull.

Ammonites were Melech idolaters whose children were murdered in his worship, so Melech was commonly known as “the abomination of the children of Ammon”. At first the name Ba’al was used by the Jews for their God without discrimination openly, but as the depravity of their idolatry and the murders of kidnapped children generated hatred towards the Jews, so the name Ba’al was given up and its immoral rituals became more concealed. Ba’al is based on the three hierarchical structures, religious hierarchy, usury hierarchy of corporation and military hierarchy of governments, which forms tri-ba’al-ism.

The abhorrent Jedidiah, who you’d know as Solomon, was king of the Jews, the Jews at that time were a small band of soulless psychopaths that roamed the deserts of the middle east, Jedidiah built a temple to Melech, Jedidiah was the master of the soulless of his age, allied with the Moabites, Canaanites, Phoenicians, and Ammonites, and all worshiped Melech, and the horrors of soulless excesses were indulged and the authority of hierarchy established; almost 3000 years have cycled and the idolatry remains ever stronger.

The Vatican extended the Jewish Ba’al worship when the two emperors of the dying Roman empire invented Christianity to mutate the empire ‘Holy’. The Pope took the Triple Crown of Ba’al, claiming through the Papal Bull Romanus Pontifix ownership of the lands of the Earth, through the crown of Aragon, ownership of all enslaved by certificates of birth, and the crown of Cesui Que Vie claiming ownership of all souls.

Some of the perceptual entities of depravity, believe they’ll be the wards of Melech, so endeavour to placate, or even please Melech, as if it were some entity they could ingratiate themselves upon, soulless creatures end with death, this doesn’t prevent them from the rape, torture and brutal murder of innocent children, the more depraved the act, the more they feel Melech will be pleased. The practice of burning children alive in the name of Melech worship has been indulged for many thousands of years, and the soulless elite of hierarchy continue this practice even today. Now they burn children alive from the skies, dropping phosphorous, napalm, and other weapons of depravity.

They have and continued to fashion giant brass, or more recently steel and concrete idols, as the roasting place of sacrifice to Melech, the idols have several forms sometimes they fashion the Babylonian Goddess of the dead Ereshkigal, who has bird legs and wings, or the form of a man with the head of a bull; they heat the idol from its lower parts; whose hands or wings are outstretched to the ground. When the idol is glowing hot, they put the terrified child between the idols hands, and the heat consume them, they’re burnt alive in agony upon the glowing hot metal altar; as the child cries out the priests beat drums, so that no soul’s heart might be moved, if indeed any with a soul are present.

In your time the burning of the children thrown upon the fiery alters of the past, pales in comparison to the fires dropped from the skies; an endless extermination; orchestrated through the will of the soulless, who wield military machines murdering and destroying beyond any account; a continuous waging of endless war upon the souled; yes, it is waged, the souled are paid wages to murder the souled by the soulless. From thousands, to the burning of millions, and the souled multitude spectate in fear and silence, convinced the murdered are unworthy of remorse or defense, many even cheer on the murder and violence, but the truly ignorant and depraved are willing participants, revering their soulless masters, worshiping their callous nature in vicarious adoration. The majority wallow in conformity, content in their generous portions, they greedily consume the lies and poisons their slave masters provide. Over the millennia many billions of souls have been consumed in the flames the soulless have ignited and fueled, simply because the souled look to authority, as a child to a parent, fearing life, fearing the future, fearing the unfamiliar, fearing the baseless lies of doom and danger, within an environment of idol worship and adoration of hierarchy and authority, instead of establishing community and the bonds of loving companions.” The voice fell silent.

“Phil, that’s kind’a depressing.” Sill said, Phil just gave a slight shrug.

“It’s not me.” Phil replied.

“What?” Sill looked up from his plate, still chewing.

“Na. That wis th’ bairn ah murdered, ah wis juist repeating whit he said.” Phil said.

“You’re still connected to the ocean.” Gwen stated a little shocked.

“It seems so.” Phil said matter-of-factly.

“Changing the subject. I called a locksmith out, he’s fitted a new lock to the door in the cellar.” Gwen said standing up, as she began to clear the dirty dishes off the table. “But he told me the lights don’t work. Maybe we can all go down and see if new light bulbs will do the trick. After we’ve done the washing up.” Gwen smiled.

“You go sit down in the living room Gwen with a nice cup of tea, let me and Phil clear up the kitchen for you.” Sill said.

When the kitchen was once more ship shape and Bristol fashion Sill and Phil headed into the living room.

“Shall we see what we can see?” Sill said lifting up the pack of light bulbs he was carrying. Gwen gently pushed the two cats sat on her lap to the floor and slowly got up. She found the keys the locksmith had given her, and they all headed outside to the cellar.

Gwen led the way with her torch to the cellar, Sill opened the cellar door, entering he switched on the lights, the three of them walked to the locked door where Gwen unlocked the rusting, heavy steel door with the key the locksmith had given her, and tried to push it open, but it didn’t move. The two men pushed as hard as they could and slowly the old door groaned open, revealing the blackness of the room, they all peered inside the room felt eerie. “What’s that smell?” Sill asked.

“Smells like something died in there a long time ago.” Sill added.

“It’s giein’ me th’ willies.” Phil said quietly.

Sill wasn’t keen to go inside, it felt creepy, and smelled bad. He marshalled all his courage, groping the wall at the side of the door for the light switch, he flicked it on and off but nothing happened. “Can I borrow the torch” He asked. Gwen past it over to him. Sill shone it around the foreboding room.

The torch revealed a room with a work bench cluttered with equipment, above it narrow cupboards, a large wooden desk, with what looked like a leather covered top under the dust, and an imposing leather chair sitting behind it. The desk had a lot of books and documents piled on it, everything was covered in dust, and cobwebs, rust and signs of rot decorated the scene. The room was a good size matching the proportions of the kitchen directly above it, and at the far side a very heavy metal door it’s red paint peeling with patches of rust beginning to break out.

Sill gingerly entered the room. “Phil. Hold the torch for me please, for a second.” Sill held the torch towards Phil.

Sill dragged the heavy leather chair out and climbed onto it, reaching up at almost full stretch to undo one of the light bulbs which was reluctant to come out, but after a short fight the rust lock broke and it was released. Then he installed a new one, as he twisted the bayonet fitting the bulb lit the room up.

“It’s just as it was. My brother was always untidy, but paradoxically always organised.” Gwen said sadly, her brother was in this room in a way, she remembered watching him working so long ago it seemed, almost as if in another life.

“Wow. There’s plenty of expensive equipment in here by the looks of it.” Sill commented scanning the room. “Lets see if the other door will open.” He said as he climbed down from the chair, and headed towards the closed door.

Sill pushed the handle down and pulled, but the door was most certainly locked, his efforts looked puny, making no impression at all on the immovable looking door.

All three of them began to investigate the room, opening draws and cupboards, examining equipment and documents. Sill discovered a very heavy Victorian floor safe, inside a large wooden cupboard in the corner. “Maybe the locksmith could open this?” Sill asked Gwen a little excited at his discovery.

“I’ll ask him when he comes again, to open that door.” Gwen replied glancing towards it.

The smell in the air came from the long decomposed remains of food, a small pantry of food had rotted away.

Phil was examining the contents of the bookcase against the side wall. He stood leaning in studiously, using his broken, one lensed spectacles. He held them, squinting through, in front of one eyes, and scanned the shelves.

He randomly selected books and opened the odd one, from the large collection. “Thae books aren’t printed, thair haun written.” Phil commented while he was examining the book in his hand.

“Yes. My brother documented his discoveries and thoughts in journals, I suppose these days computers would be used, but in the seventies that wasn’t an option.” Gwen replied.

“Thare mist be a couple o’ hundred journals ‘ere, aal sequentially dated ‘n’ given titles.” Phil said still flicking through the pages of one of the books, he put it back on the shelf and continued to examine the spines.

He read out loud. “The Allodium, Allodarii and contemporary application” He slide it out, opened it and stood reading.

Gwen was looking for keys to the door, safe and draws but couldn’t find any. “Have you noticed any keys Sill?” She asked. Sill shuck his head as he made a sad face.

Sill did find something odd, a white powder in a large earthenware container, he was running it through his fingers and it made his hand feel funny, as if it was floating, it was the oddest thing he’d ever touched. “What’s this stuff Gwen?” Sill asked, Gwen wonder across and peered into the container.

“Talc maybe?” She pondered.

“It’s not talc, it makes your hand feel like its floating.” Sill explained.

“You shouldn’t be putting your hand into things when you don’t know what they are, Sill, it might be poisonous.” Gwen told him concerned.

“It doesn’t smell of anything.” Sill said with his fingers under his nose.

“Go wash it off, before it hurts you.” Gwen said with authority, feeling Sill was being very reckless. Sill wasn’t concerned, but wondered out into the other room to wash his hands at the sink as directed.

Sill and Phil continued to examine the room, the workshop was well equipped, a state of the art 1970’s professional engineering shop, the equipment still worked even after been stood all those years. Sill wondered round and tested certain devices.

“You found anything interesting?” Sill asked.

”Weel, thae draws hae al’ bin forced, th’ locking bars ur bent ‘n’ ye kin see th’ marks in th’ metal from th’ lever thay used.” Phil said standing in front of the set of metal draws bolted to a wall. ”O’ coorse that’s ain’lie circumstantial, it’s possible Isambard lost his keys ‘n’ forced th’ locks himself.”

“Let’s see what’s left in the draws.” Sill replied walking over to Phil, they both examined the draws but they contained very little. “Nothing here to warrant forced entry, so it seems whatever was here has gone.” Sill remarked.

“Draws might’ve happened efter th’ disappearance, mib’bie’s one o’ th’ private dicks did it.” Phil pondered.

“Maybe.” Sill replied.

“Hey, look at this.” Phil called out as he bent down.

Sill wondered over. Phil had a small pen knife in his hand and was digging out, what appeared to be the edge of something in the floor.

“What’s that?” Sill asked.

“Looks ta me lik a thick metal plate, a good half inch thick, if ah kin get a wee space under it, we kin lever it up.” Phil suggested.

Sill looked around and found a five-foot-long prizing bar, he jammed it hard into the small hole Phil had made, and it wedged under the plate, Phil placed a square metal vice he’d found on a work bench under the bar forming a canter lever and they both pressed it down. The metal sheet lifted up about four inches, and it became clear it covered a hole. Phil jammed a small reel of wire under the raised plate to hold it up. Each of them took hold of a raised corner and they tried to lift the sheet up but it was too heavy.

They both lay down looking with the torch shining into the black hole. “No need to force a door, if you can just dig under it.” Sill remarked.

”Na. Breaking open a door is fairly easy Sill. Even smashing thro’ a brick wall is easy compared ta tunnelling under it. Sae this wis’nea built` ta git past th’ wall.” Phil replied almost absent mindedly.

“Weel, who’s gaun in first?” Phil joked.

“Oh, if I’m choosing. You.” Sill smiled.

“I’m game, if we kin git th’ metal plate oot o’ th’ wey..” Phil replied.

The hole went down about ten feet, and at the bottom was a tunnel heading off under the wall of the locked door. “Need a ladder ta git doon thare me auld pal.” Phil stated.

“Aye. We haven’t got a ladder.” Sill replied sadly. As Phil shone the torch around it exposed the sides of the hole, it was coursed stone forming a circular tube dropping down to a still watery surface, the water was black and the tube disappeared into its depths. To the side of the water was a passage leading into darkness, it was uncovered about three feet before the water.

“No.” Phil agreed.

“A ladder may not be the answer anyway, looks more like diving gear, I think it might be a well.” Sill commented. They both lowered the metal plate back down recovering the hole.

“Ah wonder how come thay bult` a side passage ta th’ weel ?” Phil asked.

“Don’t know” Sill said.

“That wis a bawherr disappointing, ah git excited thare fur a moment.” Phil replied.

They continued to search around for another ten minutes, while Phil continued to read the same journal, then Gwen decided she’d had enough, “Well boys that’s me done, I’m off back upstairs for a new cup of tea, would you gentlemen care to join me?”

You’ve plenty to examine in here to help in your investigation Sill.” Gwen smiled. “if you want to stay I’ll leave you boys to it. I’ve to be up bright and early tomorrow. I’m having a guided tour of the university.” Gwen continued.

The two men walked out of the room, phil took the journal with him and Sill switched off the lights, then closed and locked the two doors, as they all made their way back into the main house.

Sill felt the workshop and study they had unlocked in the cellar was going to be a good source of information towards discovering what had happened to Gwen’s brother.

Sill was thinking about his investigation as they all sat drinking tea and eating fresh cream cake in the living room, he was thinking mostly about the lead he’d received from Joanne, of the university professor who may have known Isambard in the 70’s. “Gwen. Could I tag along with you tomorrow. I’d like to investigate the university; maybe I can get a list of professors that worked there when Isambard vanished. As a lead.”

“I’ve no problem with you coming along Sill, I’ll see you in the morning.” Gwen stood and made her way towards the door.

Click Here for: Chapter Fifteen

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