#038465187 - Eucharist

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[G. CHARLESTON]

Statement of one Martyn Erikson, regarding an unusual encounter during an overnight stay at a church. Original statement given April 4th, 2021. Audio recording taken by Gregor Charleston, head archivist of the Void institute. Statement begins.

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[M. ERIKSON]

So- I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before. You’ll have to guide me through it.

[G. CHARLESTON]

There’s not much to explain. You say what happened, I record it. It’s an archive.

[M. ERIKSON]

I just… talk? Where do I start?

[G. CHARLESTON]

Preferably, with where all of it began. Up to you, though.

[M. ERIKSON]

Where it began. Right.

So, I was in Minnesota for my cousin’s wedding. I’m talking rural Minnesota- nothing but farms and fields for miles. In the winter, too, so I wound up driving through about twenty feet of snow. That’s an exaggeration. It wasn’t that much snow. It just… felt like it, y’know? Like all I could see outside my car window was white. White snow against the white sky, white on white on white. I wasn’t as scared of it as I should’ve been. Looking back, it was probably the least of my worries, all things considered.

This is… kind of embarrassing to admit, but I was alone. No plus-one or anything. I was planning to meet up with my mom once I got into town, but, you see, I live pretty far from the rest of the family, and I’d had to fly in all by myself, and it made sense not to travel with anyone. At least, it did then.

Anyways, I was about three-and-a-half hours out from Minneapolis when my car broke down. I was being careful, I swear, but I think it was the cold- serves me right for getting a shitty rental, I guess. I was on this tiny little rural road- I hadn’t taken the highway, because highways freak me out, and it was getting late. The clock said it was 5 PM, but the sky was getting darker by the second.

I tried to google what to do when your car just breaks down on the side of the road, but there wasn’t any service. No wifi, no bars- absolute zilch. By then, I had resigned myself to my fate of freezing to death in my car, or at least sleeping in it and hoping I didn’t die of carbon monoxide poisoning. But then, I saw it.

I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. I really don’t. You can say it’s cause of the snow, and everything, and that I wouldn’t have seen it til it got dark enough to see the light- but I swear on all that is holy- poor choice of words, I guess, but-

[G. CHARLESTON]

Get to the point, please. What was it?

[M. ERIKSON]

It was a church- the church, the one I told you about. From my car, all I could see of it was the light, and the bare structure, but it looked lutheran. They’ve got a lot of those up there, in the great plains. Lots of Nordic immigrants came and set them up, y’know? It looked like an old barn church- no ornamentation, barely any windows. This one didn’t even have a sign- at least, not one I could see. Maybe it was buried by all the snow.

Come to think of it, I couldn’t see any cross on the building either.

Anyways, it could’ve had blinking red danger signs plastered all over it, and I still would’ve gone inside. There were lights on inside, which meant there were people, which meant I might not have to die in my car. It’s a win-win, y’know? And besides, it was a church. I didn’t think a church person would hurt me.

I got suited up to face the cold, gathered up everything valuable I had, and left my car. It was stupid, I know it was stupid, but it’s not like I had a lot of other options. It took me a while to get through all the snow, and the wind wasn’t helping, and even when I reached the door to the church I had to bang on it for a few minutes before it finally opened.

But then, it did. There was one guy behind it- he looked like he was in his forties or so. I think he was a priest- he was wearing one of those black shirts, with the fancy priest collars. He was tall- freakishly tall, and had long blonde hair, and ushered me inside quickly, so I wouldn’t freeze to death. Said his name was Johnathathan Solemark. Said he wasn’t expecting anyone to be out during the storm, and that I should stay with him, so I wouldn’t freeze. It really seems like a red flag, now, but back then I wasn’t in a position to disagree with him. He seemed nice enough, if a bit strange.

I guess… I should talk about his eyes. I don’t know how relevant this is, to anything, but… you guys need this sort of stuff, right? Identifying information?

[G. CHARLESTON]

[CHARLESTON STARTLES, ALMOST SCRAMBLING OVER THE DESK]

His- eyes? What was notable about them?

[M. ERIKSON]

They were just… weird. I feel really bad saying it now, ‘cause it sounds mean. But he never met my gaze. Figured he was blind, he did use one of those canes. His eyes looked all glazed over, like when someone has cataracts, except… it wasn’t quite that. I could still see parts of his pupils, they were just… weird shaped. Like they’d been melted away somehow. And he had these scars, trailing down his cheeks…

[ERIKSON SHUDDERS]

Eugh. I really feel horrible talking about it now. He was really nice to me about everything, all things considered. Jonathan helped me warm up, got me some warm water to stick my hands and feet in so I wouldn’t get frostbite. He even kept me company. It wasn’t freaky then- I wasn’t scared. I should’ve been, I think, but something about Johnathan’s demeanor calmed me down. Like, I didn’t think he was the type to hurt anyone. He just seemed… so nice.

Once I was all warmed up, he offered to get me something to eat. I was starving, only had eaten half a subway sandwich that afternoon, so I obviously said yes. He led me into the church basement- I didn’t even know churches had basements- and into this little kitchen area. Joked with me that ‘this is where the blood and body of Christ come from’. Makes me kinda sick, looking back.

Within a few minutes Johnathan had given me this bowl of… some kind of soup. It was red- like, really really red, but that hadn’t worried me at the time. I figured it was beetroot. This guy seemed like he was Swedish, and Swedes eat a lot of beetroot. It made sense. Except, it didn’t taste like beetroot. It tasted a lot like meat.

I know you’re gonna ask me ‘what kind of meat’, and I don’t know, it just was meat. I’m not a culinary guy, I don’t know my meats. It was weird. It made me kinda sick to my stomach, but I was starving, so I kept eating. Guess I ate too much, cause five minutes later I was vomiting it all up into the kitchen sink. All the while, Jonathan was at my side, gently patting me on the back the way my mom used to do. I noticed, as I was puking my guts out, that I hadn’t seen him take a single bite of the stuff. I didn’t care very much then, I was too preoccupied with being sick, but it stuck to me.

After that, Jonathan cleaned what looked like a crime scene from his kitchen sink, while I sat dazed as fuck at the table. I kept looking at the remainder of the soup, like I expected someone’s eyeball to bob to the surface. Eventually, Jonathan came over to me, and told me I should probably go to bed. My internal clock was telling me it was only around six or seven at this point, but I was tired from my drive and from being sick. I gave in.

Around 2 AM, I woke up- thank God I still had my watch on me. I was all bundled up in my blankets, and I could feel the cold on my nose, but I felt blisteringly hot. Like I’d woken up in a sauna. And I was thirsty- throat closing in on itself thirsty. I unwrapped myself from my blanket burrito and trudged down back towards the basement, planning to get some water and go back to bed.

As I descended the stairs, I began to hear something. It sounded… wet. Like, ‘wet-meat’ wet. That sounds weird and perverted, but I swear that’s what it sounded like. It smelled like a butchershop, too, but more clinical. Almost like when you had to dissect a rat in school- that kind of smell. Animal and bloody and gross.

I was still parched, and probably kind of delusional from lack of sleep, so I continued on, though I at least tried to be stealthy about it. As I neared the kitchen door, the sounds only became clearer. There was a distinct pattern of them.

[ERIKSON BEGINS RHYTHMICALLY HITTING THE DESK AND CLAPPING HIS HANDS]

SLAP-CHOP-SLAP-CHOP-SLAP-CHOP, like that. Nasty. The smell got worse, too. The light was on in the kitchen, and the door had been cracked open just enough that I could look inside without touching it.

Jonathan was in there, standing over the table. His sleeves were rolled up, and he’d put on a white apron over his priest uniform, and he was just… chopping up something. At first, it seemed a lot like whatever he’d put in the soup- the same bright red, the same meaty smell.

Two seconds later, my eyes made the realization that it was his arm. The one not holding the knife ended in a bloody, boney stump at the elbow, the rest being all diced out into perfect little squares on the table. I could see which chunks used to be his fingers, which ones still had bits of skin clinging to them.

I gagged. I thought I might puke again, if there’d been anything in my stomach.

Jonathan looked up when he heard me. I say ‘looked’, but I still don’t think he could see. He said to me, “Martyn, you weren’t meant to see this,” and I realized then I hadn’t ever told him my name.

I didn’t care, though, I was already running away. I scrambled up the stairs, and even when I realized Johnathan was following me I continued. His arm-stump was regrowing as he moved- I only saw it in a blur, but I swear it was coming back- bone then muscle then skin, in one disgusting swoop. Soon enough, he was grabbing me with it, by the hood of my shirt. “Leaving so soon?” He asked, and I could tell he was out of breath.

I wasn’t trying to kill him, I promise. I know this looks bad, but it was self-defense, I swear. Anyways, even if I did want him dead, it didn’t work. He stumbled back and pulled the knife from his chest, but he was still breathing. Panting and groaning in pain, but still alive. I didn’t stick around to find out why. I scrammed.

I was only in my hoodie, not my winter coat, and I didn’t even have my hat on, but I ran through the storm, straight back into my car. The cold seemed like so much less of an issue when I was running for my life.

Somehow, against all odds, the ignition started. I didn’t waste two breaths before speeding down the rural road, getting the fuck away from that church. I don’t think I stopped the entire night. The next morning, I crashed at a motel and tried to sleep off the nerve. I ended up skipping my cousin's wedding.

[ERIKSON LAUGHS AWKWARDLY]

Think I might go vegan now, actually.

[G. CHARLESTON]

I see.

[CHARLESTON PAUSES]

And that is… all you remember?

[M. ERIKSON]

Yeah, that’s about it. Went back to Minneapolis a different way, wasn’t gonna risk it. Sorry if any details were fuzzy. Don’t think my brain wants to remember all this.

[G. CHARLESTON]

It’s fine. You can see yourself out, I presume?

[M. ERIKSON]

[SHUFFLING NOISES, ERIKSON’S VOICE GROWS DISTANT]

Yeah. Yeah, thanks. Bye.

[G. CHARLESTON]

Statement ends.

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[G. CHARLESTON]

Given the nature of the information Martyn Erikson provided, it was difficult to find any information to support or deny his claims. Not only is there no comprehensive list of churches in rural Minnesota, Mr. Erikson provided no other identifying information, other than that it was ‘three and a half hours out’ from Minneapolis.

Furthermore, our searches for one such ‘Johnathan Solemark’ returned unfruitful. Martyn could not provide any sort of correct spelling for the name, and though Ryan and Ollie tried every variation they could think of, nothing came up on any of the clerical databases our archive has access to. It is possible that this isn’t the man’s real name, or more likely, that he wasn’t an ordained priest in the first place.

Though Mr. Erikson did report seeing a doctor once he’d arrived back home, the only symptoms he presented were mild nausea and stomach pain- both symptoms of swallowing human blood, yes, though both can also be attributed to stress, hunger, and a number of other common ailments that Mr. Erikson was, at his own admission, likely suffering at the time.

Even in this line of work, I find it… difficult to believe the tales of instant bodily regeneration propagated by Mr. Erikson’s tale. It just doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that should be possible. It’s not how human bodies work.

Regardless, there isn’t simply isn’t enough evidence or information to justify keeping this case open. Though Mr. Erikson swears by the events of his story, I find it easy to doubt the validity of his claims. Even he admits the fragility of his mental state at the time. I suppose we will just have to wait… and see.

End recording.

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