Penuel by Kyle Harrison

Of course, he successfully managed to make sure our paper can grab a few exclusives before the other big names in the city, so I knew his intel was not always bad. I just simply didn't understand the significance of this until I got a different phone call alerting me that our downtown office building was on fire. I was in the middle of dinner with my girlfriend, but she understood why I had to drop everything. Our entire business was depending on saving as many laptops and documents as

I could the blaze. I could see it from about a quarter block away. The fired started somewhere near the fifth floor. It didn't occur to me at the time that was where James's cubicle was located. The fire department did their best to stop the inferno, but they refused to let me rush in to save our devices. All I could do was watch as they doused the flames and continue to make sure the area was roped off.

It was an excruciatingly long twenty minutes. Now I was on the phone about three times with my boss chewing me out that I didn't try to supersede the first responders and get into the building. Once they gave us the all clear, I covered my mouth and rushed up the smoldering staircase to our offices, fully expecting to see the majority of it torched. I told myself I was ready for that inevitability, but seeing all of our offices and file cabinets and camera equipment turned into the jar

flooded me with anxiety and despair. After trying my best to avoid having an anxiety attack, I began to search through the wreckage for anything that survived, picking apart the black and rubble and watching as electronic devices crumbled in my hands with heartbreaking But I did manage to salvage a few things here and there, and it's the rubble.

I told the firefighters we wanted a full report about what caused the blaze, and went home late that evening, feeling dejected and defeated about the experience as a whole. But I never would have imagined a few hours later that I would also be adding fear intrepidation to the list. It had to be at least two in the morning when James pounded on my apartment door. I live in a very small complex just south of the river. Unless my coworkers have been there a few times times, but

never at this hour. I groggily asked what he wanted, but instead of responding, he barged into my apartment and laid down a few stacks of papers. He went to the fire. Of course, you did good, and it'll be easier to explain. Then it's gone, Darius. I was still trying to wake up and ask him what he meant, to which he pointed at one of his stacks of paperwork and answered, the video footage I snagged, the one

I told you was going to change the world. I was just at the office trying to see if there was anything you recover from the inferno, and it's simply gone. You mean your laptop got burned. I mean, that's it's no shocker. The majority of the stuff on the floor did, I commented, as I went to pour some coffee. His wild eyed look told me that I needed to be fully awake to hear whatever he was about to tell me. It was stolen, I'm sure of it. Most of it

was in my cubicle. I could recognize it against the rest of the debris, but I didn't see anything it looked like my laptop, So I brought the paper copies here to give you a look. It's not the same, but he could help us find another version of the evidence. Maybe, James, you're not making much sense, are you saying the fire was intentional? The only reason these arsonists would risk jail time was to destroy your stuff, not the rest of it. What story could you possibly have that would be worth

that much? I said, as I went over to the first stack and started to sort through the papers he brought a lot of it was charts and biological scans. A few sheets down I noticed strange geometric designs and patterns, the kind of thing that you might associate with the occult. What what exactly is all this? Remember how I told you that I had a contact in Europe a few months ago, someone that was a whistleblower. He said, pointing to the next part of the document that was written

and would look like Latin. I forgive me, but I haven't slept since then. Can you just get to the point. Tell me what this supposed conspiracy is all about. James took the second stack and showed me a transcript with a seal that I immediately recognized. My defector was from the Vatican, worked in the archives. Actually, he told me a deacon that defected. I guess that's a headline. I started to read through the transcript, bit perplexed by what the document

was claiming. The Vatican representative had some crazy out there ideas, especially about angels and demons. I stopped reading when the interviewer claimed that these supernatural beings walked among us. Please tell me you didn't believe this pile of horseshit, I said, giving him a dry look. Immediately, James went on the offensive. This is exactly why I needed the video files. They said they would send them discreetly, but the fire proved otherwise.

Don't you see the attack on our office proves that I was onto something here, James insisted. I finally got a chance to look at the clock. It was nearly three am in the morning. My patients hit its limit. Okay, let's talk about this tomorrow and you sleep, so do you. We can present your findings to the boss when we have lunch. James shuffled the papers together, giving me an

ugly look. You think this is nonsense. You can be saying that if you saw what I saw, the found footage was raw proof of this cover up, he growled as he gathered what he'd brought. A few of the stray papers fell to the floor as he hurried out of my apartment. I wanted you to see this first, that you would be on my side. Now coming here was a mistake. You're no different than the rest, he snarled as he slammed my door shut. I leaned over and picked up the papers he'd brought. One included a

few names of a clinical trial in Boston. Another was a sigil that reminded me of the Knight's templar, and the third looked like it was a page ripped from the Da Vinci Code. I couldn't help but chuckle at the similarities to his Wild Goose Chase in that famous book. Then I crumpled them all together and tossed them in my trash dispenser. I went to bed angry and disappointed in James, but also fearful because of what he claimed

about the arson. There were other conspiracy nuts willing to hurt us because of this footage, and if it's one group of people I knew not to piss off, it was the crazy religious ones. I got up to make sure my door was locked, then somehow found a way to get to sleep. For reasons I couldn't explain yet, my dreams were troubled and filled with strange imagery of demonic spirits and angels chanting in the name of God. Neither sight was pleasant to behold. The angelic host actually

frightened me more. I got perhaps an hour and a half of sleep before I was rudely awakened again, this time by the police. Two junior detectives were at my doorstep, alerting me to the fact that James had been found dead. What Mammau felt dry the moment they gave me the news, and my mind flashed back to the strange conspiracies that he'd tried to convince me of. Looking like it was

a suicide. There's nobody references you and says, uh, why we're here, The first officer explained, What did it say, I asked, But the officers told me they weren't at liberty to say. They told me that nothing had been found near his body, which troubled me even more, and then added there was still going to be an investigation

because the circumstances were suspicious. What do you mean, I asked, Oh, there are a few marks on his back that didn't look like they were self inflicted, so can't help but to wonder if perhaps someone forced him to write the note before, also making sure he didn't survive the night. The second officer explained, I asked them to keep me in the loop about anything they find, and the two of them bid me a good night, leaving me alone in the morbid thought that James's conspiracy had likely been

the reason for his death. I didn't believe him to be a suicidal person, and the fact the police mentioned that nothing was found near him troubled me. He had gone through the trouble of trying to collect all of his papers before he left here, and yet not a scrap of evidence existed. Someone was trying to make sure that the whispers of this bizarre angelic tale he spun to me would never see the light of dadny. I reached it in my trash and plucked out the papers

that had been discarded in his haste. I was going to find out the truth. I realized that I would need to do my own research into this mystery. I didn't even attempt to sleep again, for fear that whoever attacked and murdered James might find me next. Instead, I spent the last dreary hours before daylight trying to find anything I could on the clinical trials near Boston. I figured it was the best lead from the papers James had given me, but it still proved difficult to discover

anything related to the names. Eventually, I did stumble across a few names that seemed to connect to a nursing home just past the river. So, without much else going on, I drove there at first light with coffee in my hand. All the while I had the image of James in my head, strangled from a belt dangling above his bed. While the police didn't tell me precisely how he died, the image I had conjured up felt accurate, and I had a preminent that someone bearing the tattoo of the

sigil from the other paper was the one responsible. Now it was a simple matter of bringing them to justice. The nursing home actually proved to be not only for the elderly, but also developmentally disabled adults, and I soon discovered the three individuals I came searching for fit this category. All of them were in their late twenties or early thirties, all men, and all of them looked like they had

been brutally tortured at one time or another. Most of their mental capacity seemed gone, because as I tried to communicate all I found where the three were in vegetative states. Excuse me, but are you family, a nurse asked, as I tried to get one of them to respond to my prompts. I'm sorry, No, I came here as part of an insurance case, I said, thinking fast on my feet. I knew that these people value privacy and one wrong

thing could get me thrown out insurance. We were told that was resolved last year, She said, skeptically, it's a review. Can you tell me what happened to this client, I asked, pointing to one of the comotos. Look, just because you have huge money from friends in the Holy City doesn't mean you can do whatever you want. You've hurt these people enough, the nurse said, growing louder and more irate. A holy city do you mean the Vatican? I asked

as I recalled the sigil. Now I knew where I had seen it before, on a crest and an old movie connected to that place. James had claimed his source came from there as well. Do you have any records of when they were first brought here? I asked, But the nurse had apparently already figured out I didn't belong and started to walk to find a supervisor. It's time for me to disappear. I went the opposite direction, searching for the record department and making sure they didn't see

which way I went. When I did find the right room, I started to pour through the files, trying to find the names that were connected to those trials. I did find them. I immediately started to see connections written in their first data here at the home. For one thing, all of them were registered as being originally from Europe, you know, actual birth data or anything related to their time before coming to America, almost as if they didn't exist at all, or had been created the moment they

came here. Where had they been before, that why the Vatican sent them here. I also noticed that all of them shared a similar tattoo on the right ankle. Reminded me of that sigil and I recognized as being connected to the Holy City. Along with the tattoo, each client had scars in their back, both the left and the right all the way down. Scars reminded me of what you might see if you plucked the wings off of

a bird. As much as I didn't want to even fathom the possibility of James being correct about his strange conpiracy, it was almost sounding plausible. I decided to try one last thing before leaving the home. Returning to the comotose woman that I had been speaking with earlier, I showed her the sigil, asking if she had ever seen it before, But I didn't anticipate her visceral reaction to my inquiry.

She actually started to shake and act like she was having a seizure and moan, and then she startled me and grabbed my arms, her nails digging into my flesh as she gargled incoherent words. She spat and foamed against my face, pinning me to the floor. I found myself shocked to this elderly woman even had such strength. I pushed her away, scrambling to stand and protect myself. As she kept trying to prottact me. Was as if she

was possessed the superhuman and strength behind me. A few orderlies pushed me aside and sedated her as a new nurse walked in, giving me a judgmental look. You're from the insurance, you said, he asked as I was escorted to their office. I guess in that story isn't sticking, I realized as soon as I saw two police officers. Everyone was waiting for me to give an answer. They could get me out of this mess instead. Before they led me into the office, I bolted in the other direction.

Not my best reaction, I could hear them frantic to find me. I hid in a linen closet and listened for the noises to die down. Then I snuck out towards the eastern wing in my car. I was just about to leave the place entirely when the nurse from earlier spotted me. I was certain she was about to squeal again, but instead she passed me a small copper key. There's a storage center over in midtown, big one box three or six. That's where you'll find the remaining footage.

To get out of here before they find out you were here, she insisted. I heard the shouting coming from another part of the wing and wasted no time to appreciate her gift, racing to my car and then getting away from the building before more enforcement was called. As I got on the highway, I finally found myself able to calm down. Everything was spinning out of control inside my hand. It was clear to me now that the people at the home had been experimented on somehow, their

superhuman abilities weren't explainable any other way. I needed to get to the heart of the matter, I thought, as I glanced at the key that I'd been given. The nurse had mentioned tapes, so I automatically connected it to the footage that James had died for. Apparently there was more. I wasted no time, making it to the storage center to find out, telling them which box I was searching,

and opening it without a second thought. Inside I found only two dusty VHS tapes, both marked with Hebrew letters, and right below them someone had hastily scrawled the translations all the same word Penuel. I took them and left for anyone was the wiser. On my drive back to my apartment, I researched where to buy a VCR and the meaning behind the Hebrew word Penuel was said to be the spot where a Bible character Jacob wrestled with an angel all night. A verse said that it was

called the face of God. Some sources said that you could still go to the spot in the modern day and see a glimpse of the supernatural. I didn't believe that nonsense, but I found it interesting that these tapes were connected again to James's claim of angelic experiments. The Vatican was hiding something. Intent to find out what. It took me a few hours to find the right pawnshop that sold a VCR, but I sped back to my

apartment right after. I felt certain that the forces which had already taken out James, were watching me, so I immediately started to watch the tapes. I'll do my best to record what I saw, but I dared not to repeat the experience. The first video started out quite boring. I was not sure what I was looking at because most of the people were speaking Spanish and Arabic, with only minimal English from the cameraman. I took notes. Because the video was so scratchy, I knew that it would

likely be impossible to reproduce. It was clear whoever it created it wasn't intending it to be used for anything besides revealing the secrets that the Holy City had covered up. The cameraman was also extremely nervous because it often was difficult for him to keep his filming steady, and when I could see even without the language I'm understood was terrifying.

The man had discreetly placed himself with a camera inside one of the patient words from the hospital I had visited, allowing him to observe visitors coming by and checking on the comatos woman. They would examine the scars on her back or try to get her to vomit, but I couldn't tell you why. The cameraman made a note that the scars showed no signs of healing, and that this was a good thing as long as she doesn't sprout

or remains safe, he explained in a low tone. The next few images proved me with a detailed look of the secluded room which the man was hiding in. Apparently it was right next to the room where I had attempted to speak to the woman myself, and the mirror that was facing her was in fact a false one, allowing the cameraman easy access to anything within. But staye as long as necessary. He told whoever he intended his video for, and then placed the camera down and lay

on the cold stone floor. I became alarmed when sounds of whales filled the video, and so the camera had caught the woman leaning back on her bed and screaming towards the ceiling. She would rear her head back, then scratch at her back as best she could, and keep shrieking for help, but none of the nurses came to visit her. The first part was the worst of all. Showed her trembling on the floor. A dim light seeped through a glass window above. Her body was bare. Two

doctors watched in awe as she underwent the transformation. The cameraman and I both found ourselves holding back a gasp as the woman grew white wings from her back. They spread almost as wide as the room. The doctor shouted at each other in excitement and sedated their newly formed creature, dragging her out of the room. The second video looked

like it was filmed on a ship. The cameraman had somehow stowed aboard the vessel and kicked open a door to reveal what looked like dozens of cages, all of which had more strange mutated people inside. All of them were weeping and gnawing at themselves, unable to stop the angelic transformation that was happening to their body. The man was talking in a low whisper, explaining that the ship was headed for the Vatican's secret lab, somewhere in the

sewers of that holy city. There they'll try to unlock the secrets of Heaven again, and the ones that don't belong will be cast down. His video showed that the experiments seemed more successful on men, and he speculated this was connected to the biblical references to masculinity and angels. He also mentioned a man who was purchasing these people from stateside hospitals and selling them sinners, forgotten people that no one cares to look for. They're trying to make gods.

They camera men whispered. The footage ended as he told the unseen audience that he would send him more when he arrived at the Vatican, and it was apparent that James was the recipient. As I finished them, I came to grips with the awfulness these experiments and what they revealed. The people in charge of representing God were making monsters. He took them and I tossed them in the dumpster, tearing out as much the tape as I could. No one would ever see these horrors. I couldn't help but

feel guilt creep into my soul. My friend died for this, so many would keep being tortured and experimented on because of my silence. But I'm just one man against a force that's creating God on Earth. Hiding wasn't a brave move, which it was the only way for my survival either. Kids, it's me mister creep Pasta, and I just wanted to tell you thank you so much for watching tonight's video or for listening to tonight's episode of the podcast once again.

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