Obadiah Chronicles: The Arrival of Antioch(Flash Fiction, Episode 8) Part 1

 

The Arrival of Antioch

Night draped the outskirts of Baylor City in an unnatural stillness. The moon hung low, casting faint light over the weathered "Welcome to Baylor City" sign. A faint breeze stirred the air, carrying a chill that whispered danger.

From the shadows, a figure emerged, his dark cloak billowing like smoke. Antioch stepped forward, his glowing red eyes narrowing with disdain.

“So, this is where Obadiah hides,” he muttered, his voice a guttural growl.

Perched on his shoulder, Isis leaned forward, her golden eyes gleaming with predatory delight. “Quaint. And vulnerable,” she hissed, conjuring a flame that danced across her clawed fingers.

Antioch smirked, his long fingers tracing the faded lettering on the sign. The paint flaked away, frost creeping across the wood until it cracked and crumbled.

“It’s perfect,” he said, his tone laced with malice. “Let’s make him regret leaving the heavens.”

Isis tossed the flame toward the town’s faint glow. The flame extinguished midair, its sparks scattering into the wind. “Max has found the Chosen One,” she purred.

Antioch’s grin widened. “Good. But first, let’s sow a little fear. Let them feel us before they see us.”

The streetlights along the road flickered and dimmed, one by one, as a ripple of cold energy swept through the air. Antioch and Isis vanished, their dark laughter carried on the chilling breeze.

The following morning, the chatter of students filled the history classroom as they settled into their seats. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting slanted beams across desks cluttered with notebooks and textbooks.

Principal Cross clapped her hands, silencing the noise. “Everyone, please welcome our new history teacher, Mr. Lucas Elliott!”

A tall man with a confident, commanding presence stepped forward. His tailored suit emphasized his broad shoulders, and his piercing blue eyes scanned the students. For a brief moment, his gaze lingered on Laric, and something passed between them—an unspoken awareness that made Laric sit up straighter, his heartbeat quickening.

“Nice to meet you all,” Luk-el said, his tone warm but steady. “I look forward to getting to know each of you.”

Laric frowned, glancing at Allen. “Did you feel that?” he whispered.

Allen raised an eyebrow. “Feel what?”

“That... thing,” Laric said, struggling to put it into words. “When he looked at me.”

Allen laughed, nudging him. “Relax, Laric. He’s just a teacher. Not everyone’s got a secret.”

“Maybe,” Laric muttered, but he couldn’t shake the strange connection. It wasn’t a bad feeling—more like the recognition of something familiar yet unknown, like hearing a melody you’d forgotten but still somehow knew.

Later that afternoon, the school gymnasium was nearly empty, the faint thud of a basketball echoing against the walls. Alex, a wiry sophomore, practiced alone, his movements deliberate and precise. He leaped, releasing the ball. It swished through the net, satisfying but fleeting.

“Impressive,” said a voice from the shadows.

Startled, Alex turned to see a tall, dark-haired student leaning casually against the bleachers. His smile was friendly, but something in his eyes made Alex’s stomach tighten.

“Who are you?” Alex asked, gripping the basketball.

“Just a friend,” the boy said, stepping forward. “You’ve got talent. Real potential. People should notice you.”

Alex blinked. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” the boy said with a laugh. “But I know you. I know how hard you work. How overlooked you are. It’s not fair, is it?”

Alex hesitated, the boy’s words hitting too close to home. “What do you want?”

“To help you,” the boy said, his tone turning serious. “What if I told you there’s a way to show them all who you really are? To make them see your worth?”

Alex stepped back, wary. “I don’t even know you.”

The boy’s smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of impatience. His red eyes gleamed briefly before fading. “Think about it, Alex. Greatness is within your grasp... if you’re brave enough to take it.”

Before Alex could respond, the boy vanished into the shadows. The gym lights flickered before stabilizing, leaving Alex clutching the basketball and trembling.

The next morning, the school hallway buzzed with life. Lockers slammed shut, snippets of conversation bounced off the walls. Students gather in small groups, chatting and laughing, while others head to their next classes. Alex stands near a row of lockers, fumbling with his books.

He  hunched over his textbook, keeping his head low. He hoped to go unnoticed, blending into the background as he always did. But today, luck wasn’t on his side.

Brett and Jason, two football players with a penchant for bullying, shoved Alex against a row of lockers.

“Hey, nerd!” Brett sneered, snatching Alex’s book. “What’s this? Math homework? Trying to make us all look bad?”

“Give it back,” Alex muttered, reaching for the book.

Jason smirked, shoving Alex harder. “Why? You gonna cry about it?”

Before the situation escalated further, a sharp voice cut through the crowd. “That’s enough!”

Laric strode toward them, Allen trailing behind with his usual mischievous grin.

“Great,” Brett muttered. “The choir boy and his sidekick.”

“Say that again,” Allen snapped, balling his fists.

Laric raised a hand, his voice calm but firm. “We’re not here to fight. Leave him alone.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. We were just joking.”

The bullies sauntered off, but not before shoving Alex one last time.

“Jerks,” Allen muttered.

Laric crouched beside Alex, helping him gather his books. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alex mumbled, avoiding Laric’s gaze.

“Sure you are,” Allen said, smirking.

“Is there a problem here?”

The trio turned to see Lucas Elliott, his blue eyes sharp and watchful.

“No problem, Mr. Elliott,” Laric said quickly.

Lucas nodded, but his gaze lingered on Alex. “My door’s always open,” he said softly before walking away.

Laric watched him go, his brow furrowing. “There’s something about him.”

Allen rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”

Dusk draped Baylor City’s park in soft shadows as Obadiah walked the winding path toward home. The distant laughter of children, the murmur of families, and the cheerful strumming of a street musician blended into a soothing symphony of life.

Then, everything stopped.

The park froze in an instant. Children hung mid-leap, their faces locked in joy. Joggers paused mid-stride, their breath suspended in the cool air. The musician’s hand hovered above his guitar strings, the final chord echoing faintly before fading into eerie silence.

Obadiah’s steps faltered. His senses sharpened as a familiar presence rippled through the air.

“Well, isn’t this charming?”

The voice came from behind him, smooth and mocking. Obadiah turned slowly to face Antioch. Cloaked in shadows, the demon’s form seemed to absorb the last traces of light. His red eyes burned faintly, twin embers of malice.

“Antioch,” Obadiah said, his tone calm but firm.

“You seem tense,” Antioch replied, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “Still playing the noble protector, I see. But let’s not waste time—surely, you knew this moment was coming.”

“What are you doing here?” Obadiah demanded, taking a step forward.

Antioch chuckled, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, just visiting. Exploring your quaint little sanctuary. Baylor City...” He gestured lazily at the frozen park around them. “A charming choice. But you can’t shield them all, Obadiah. Not forever.”

“I’ll protect them,” Obadiah said, his voice like steel.

“Brave words.” Antioch’s smile sharpened. “But you’re not alone, are you? Tell your pet, Luk-el, to stay out of my business. He’s meddling where he doesn’t belong.”

Obadiah’s jaw tightened. “Luk-el is more than a match for you.”

Antioch’s smirk faltered for a moment, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “Perhaps. But this isn’t about him... or you. This is about breaking your sanctuary, one soul at a time. And I’ve already chosen my first.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, laced with cruel promise.

“You won’t win, Antioch,” Obadiah said, his voice unwavering.

Antioch’s grin returned, wider and darker. “Oh, Obadiah. You’ve always been so confident. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

With a wave of his hand, Antioch vanished. The park came alive again in an instant. Children’s laughter rang out once more, joggers resumed their stride, and the musician’s tune floated on the air as if nothing had happened.

Obadiah stood in the midst of it all, his thoughts churning. Luk-el. What are you doing here?

He exhaled slowly, his resolve hardening. The battle was only beginning.

Obadiah Chronicles: The Call of Shadows (Flash Fiction, Episode 7) Part 2

The Calls of Shadows: Part 2

The Harrington estate was alive with music and laughter, the clinking of champagne glasses echoing through the grand ballroom. Evelyn Harrington drifted through the crowd, her polite smile a thin veil over the heavy ache in her chest. Tonight’s fundraiser, planned months ago by her late husband Jonathan, was in full swing. Yet the weight of his absence dulled everything around her.

Everywhere she turned, whispers followed.

“Jonathan would have loved this,” one guest murmured.

“A shame about the scandal,” said another.

Her husband’s death, paired with the revelation that his prized artifact—the Psalms scroll—might be a forgery, had tarnished his reputation and left her drowning in debts. Their legacy was unraveling, and the pitying glances of the guests only deepened her humiliation.

The walls of the ballroom seemed to close in around her. She excused herself, slipping through a side door into the quiet sanctuary of the powder room.

Evelyn gripped the edge of the sink, staring at her reflection. Her pale face, lined with grief and exhaustion, stared back.

“Get it together,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

As she reached into her purse for a compact, the lights above the mirror flickered.

She froze, her breath hitching. The muffled music and chatter from the ballroom faded into an eerie silence. The air felt charged, as if a storm was building. She turned toward the mirror, watching in horror as the glass began to fog over—not with heat but with something unseen.

Letters appeared, traced by an invisible hand.

BRIAN

Her heart pounded. She stumbled back, her purse falling to the floor.

“Jonathan?” she whispered, barely able to force out the word.

The writing continued, slow and deliberate, until another word emerged beneath the name.

ARKLOW

Evelyn pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. The message was clear: Jonathan was reaching out to her from beyond, urging her to find someone named Brian.

The lights flickered once more, and the letters vanished as if they’d never been there. But Evelyn knew what she had seen.

Her husband’s voice whispered faintly in her mind: “Find him, Evelyn. Brian. Arklow.”

The halls of the Arklow Bible Museum were quiet as the last visitors departed for the day. Obadiah—stood in the Psalms exhibit, his hands clasped behind his back. The warm glow of the lights bathed the artifacts in a golden hue, but an uneasy tension lingered in the air.

Gabriel and Michael’s visit weighed heavily on him. Their warning about Jonathan Harrington’s death—and the prophecy that Evelyn would seek him out—had left him restless.

He gazed at the ancient manuscript in the display case, the golden light casting shadows over its worn surface. The Book of the Law, uncovered in Josiah's time, a reminder of a king who had reignited faith in a people who had nearly forgotten it. Jonathan Harrington, taken by a demon, he thought grimly. Antioch again. How far has his reach spread this time?

His reflection rippled faintly in the glass, a momentary distortion as if the weight of the past had brushed against the present. This scroll had been hidden for generations before its rediscovery transformed a kingdom. Now, another scroll, Jonathan’s scroll, had become the center of a mission to restore a family’s shattered legacy.

Obadiah straightened, the echoes of purpose stirring within him. The work of the faithful, past and present, carried on.

“Brian,” called Cole, breaking the silence. His hurried footsteps echoed as he approached, clipboard in hand.

Obadiah turned, his focus shifting from the scroll to his colleague.

“Mrs. Harrington is here,” Cole said, his tone low. “She asked for you specifically. She’s waiting in the lobby.”

Obadiah nodded, his thoughts racing. So it begins, he thought to himself.

Making his way to the lobby, Obadiah spotted Evelyn near a glass display case. She was a petite woman in her sixties, her silver hair neatly pinned back, but her eyes betrayed the turmoil she carried.

“Mrs. Harrington,” Obadiah greeted, his voice calm and soothing. “How can I help?”

Evelyn turned toward him, clutching her purse tightly. “Mr. Sessions... I—” She faltered, then took a deep breath. “My husband sent me to you.”

Obadiah tilted his head slightly. “Sent you to me?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “He’s gone, but... he’s not gone. I hear him in the house at night. I feel his presence. And at the fundraiser... he wrote your name on the mirror. He whispered to me: ‘Find him, Evelyn. Brian. Arklow.’ Why would he send me to you?”

Obadiah gestured toward a nearby bench. How do I explain the unimaginable? He knew he couldn’t tell her everything—not yet. “Let’s sit. Tell me everything.”

As Evelyn recounted her experience, Obadiah listened intently. She described Jonathan’s belief that the Psalms scroll would secure their legacy and how an appraiser had declared it a forgery.

“I don’t know what to do,” she finished, her voice breaking. “He trusted the dealer—a man named Victor Caldwell. But if it’s a fake...” Her tears flowed freely, her grief and fear overwhelming her.

Obadiah reached out, placing a steady hand over hers. “We’ll get to the bottom of this,” he assured her, though the weight of responsibility pressed heavily on him.

The air grew heavy, charged with a faint energy. Obadiah felt the ripple of a spirit’s presence. His eyes flicked to the corner of the room, where Jonathan’s ghostly form appeared, flickering and translucent.

Evelyn gasped, her gaze darting around. “Do you feel that?”

“Yes,” Obadiah said softly, his gaze fixed on Jonathan’s apparition. The spirit nodded toward him, his lips moving as if to say, “Help her.”

Obadiah turned back to Evelyn. “I’ll look into Victor Caldwell. I’ll call you once I have answers.”

The next morning, Obadiah arrived at Victor Caldwell’s office, an unassuming building tucked away on the outskirts of town. The shelves and display cases were filled with artifacts that exuded a false air of legitimacy.

“Mr. Caldwell,” Obadiah said as he entered, his tone calm but commanding.

Victor Caldwell, a wiry man with sharp eyes, looked up from his desk. His practiced smile faltered when he saw Obadiah’s expression. “Who’s asking?”

“Brian Sessions. Director of the Arklow Bible Museum.”

Victor leaned back, feigning nonchalance. “What can I do for you?”

“The Psalms scroll you sold to Jonathan Harrington,” Obadiah said, his voice steady. “It’s a forgery.”

Victor’s expression tightened. “That’s a serious accusation. Do you have proof?”

The lights flickered faintly, the room’s temperature warming subtly as divine energy rippled around Obadiah.

“Jonathan trusted you, and you betrayed him,” Obadiah said, his gaze piercing. “Where’s the real scroll?”

Victor paled, sweat beading on his forehead. “I don’t have it—I never had it.”

Obadiah stepped closer. “You’re lying.”

Victor slumped into his chair, trembling. “It’s in the back,” he finally admitted. “I kept it for leverage.”

Obadiah followed as Victor unlocked a cabinet, producing a worn leather case. Inside lay the authentic scroll, its energy unmistakable.

Later that evening, Obadiah returned the scroll to Evelyn, she clutched it to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I can’t believe it... Jonathan was right all along.”

Obadiah stood a few feet away, his hands clasped. “He wanted to make things right—for you, and for his legacy.”

Evelyn turned to him, her voice trembling. “Why did he send me to you? Are you... an angel?”

Obadiah’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Your husband is at peace. He sent you to me because he trusted I could help. That’s all you need to know.”

Before she could reply, the air grew warm and light, and Jonathan’s ghostly form appeared beside her. 

She sobbed as Jonathan faded into the light, her trembling hands clutching the scroll as if it were a piece of him still with her. Obadiah’s gaze lingered on her briefly, his expression softening. “Take care, Mrs. Harrington,” he said quietly before turning toward the door.

Several weeks passed before Evelyn Harrington returned to the Arklow Bible Museum. Obadiah was reviewing notes in his office when Cole announced her arrival. She carried the scroll in her hands, wrapped in delicate cloth.

“I thought about what Jonathan would have wanted,” Evelyn said softly, her voice steady despite the emotion in her eyes. “This belongs here. It’s where he wanted it to be.”

Obadiah accepted the scroll with a solemn nod. “He’d be proud of you, Mrs. Harrington. You’ve honored his memory.”

Evelyn carefully signed the donation paperwork, her trembling hands now steady with a sense of closure. She glanced up at Obadiah with a faint but sincere smile. “Thank you, Mr. Sessions. For everything.”

Obadiah inclined his head. “It’s what Jonathan would have wanted. You’ve honored his memory.”

She nodded, clutching her purse, and after one last glance at the scroll, turned to leave. Her footsteps echoed softly as she made her way down the hall, the weight of grief lightened ever so slightly.

As the door closed behind her, a warmth lingered in the air. Obadiah glanced at the scroll now resting on his desk, its significance illuminated by the soft glow of the room.

“Thank you, Evelyn,” Jonathan’s voice seemed to whisper on a breeze only Obadiah could hear. “I’ll always love you.”

With a final glance at Obadiah, Jonathan’s form dissolved into light, leaving behind a profound stillness.

Obadiah stood in his office, the scroll resting on his desk. For a moment, the weight of this mission lifted, leaving him in quiet reverie. Another soul at peace. Another life set back on course.

Turning back to his notes, Obadiah’s thoughts lingered on what lay ahead. Somewhere, another mission waited—a call he would answer when the time came.

Obadiah Chronicles: The Call of Shadows (Flash Fiction, Episode 6) Part 1

 

The Call of Shadows: Part 1

This is WGOD Gospel Radio, and I’m Kat Dawson. Today, we’re joined by Professor Brian Sessions, director of the Arklow Bible Museum, to discuss the museum’s upcoming exhibit featuring recent discoveries tied to Nehemiah’s rebuilding of Jerusalem. Welcome, Professor Sessions!”

“Thank you, Kat. I’m happy to be here,” Brian replied with a calm, easy smile.

“So tell us,” Kat began, leaning into the mic, “what’s so special about these new artifacts?”

“These pieces offer an incredible glimpse into one of the Bible’s most resilient figures,” Brian explained. “From ancient tools to inscriptions tied to the rebuilding of Jerusalem, they highlight Nehemiah’s unwavering faith and leadership during one of the most challenging times in Israel’s history.”

“That sounds amazing,” Kat said. “This isn’t just for Christians, right? Anyone can enjoy this exhibit?”

“Absolutely,” Brian assured her. “These artifacts are not just relics of faith but of history. They’re meant to inspire curiosity in anyone who seeks to understand the past.”

Kat nodded thoughtfully. “It must take a village to uncover and preserve treasures like these. I hear Mr. Jonathan Harrington, one of Baylor City’s most prominent philanthropists, has been a big supporter of the museum.”

Brian hesitated briefly, his expression shifting to a more somber tone. “Jonathan’s generosity has been vital to our efforts. He truly understands the importance of preserving history.”

Kat smiled. “Mr. Harrington is a great man. We need more people like him to support the arts.”

Brian return her smile with one of his own, saying. “I couldn’t agree more.”

The next morning, Brian strolled through Serenity Park, the crisp autumn air carrying the earthy scent of damp leaves. He stopped at Ricky’s fruit stand, selecting a few apples for Laric, when a familiar voice called out.

“Stocking up for your nephew?”

Brian turned to see Dr. Cassandra Gregory approaching, her light blue jacket catching the morning sunlight.

“Good morning, Cassandra,” he said, smiling. “It’s Laric’s favorite snack.”

They wandered through the bustling market, the hum of conversations and laughter blending with the rustle of leaves overhead. Cassandra gestured toward a bench under an old oak tree, and they sat.

“You know,” Cassandra began, her gaze lingering on him, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something about Daniel.”

Brian’s expression softened. “Your brother—how’s he doing?”

“He’s doing well,” she said, her voice tinged with relief. Then she hesitated. “But I still don’t understand how you did it.”

Brian tilted his head slightly, his expression calm but unreadable.

“I tried everything,” she continued. “The State Department, my senator, every avenue I could think of—and nothing. Then I came to you, and somehow, within a week, Daniel was home.” Her voice lowered, curiosity mingling with awe. “You cut through the kind of red tape that stops governments in their tracks. How?”

Brian leaned back, his gaze drifting toward the fountain where children played. “Sometimes, when the path seems blocked, you have to look higher for answers. Like I told you, I know people.”

Cassandra studied him, her lips curving into a faint smile. “You always have a way of avoiding direct answers, Brian.”

Before he could reply, Principal Marilynn Cross bustled toward them, waving a clipboard.

“Professor Sessions! Dr. Gregory! Just the people I need!”

“Good morning, Marilynn,” Cassandra said, amused. “What’s the emergency?”

“We need more chaperones for prom,” Marilynn said breathlessly. “You two are perfect. Please say yes!”

Brian chuckled. “Well, Laric’s going, so I suppose I can keep an eye on him.”

Cassandra sighed. “Fine. But only because I’m terrible at dancing, and no one will expect me to try.”

The Harrington estate stood eerily still under the moonlight, the soft glow of flickering lights giving it an almost spectral air.

In his study, Jonathan Harrington sat alone, his desk cluttered with papers—bank statements, legal notices, and the appraisal report that had shaken him to his core.

The words stared back at him like a curse, unraveling the legacy he had worked so hard to build. His hand trembled as he traced the appraisal with his fingers, his chest tightening with shame.

The fire in the hearth suddenly dimmed, a chill sweeping through the room. Jonathan stiffened, his eyes darting toward the shadows in the corner.

“Who’s there?” he called, his voice shaking.

The shadows coalesced, forming into a dark, cloaked figure. Its presence sucked the warmth from the air, its gnarled fingers extending as it stepped closer.

Jonathan stumbled back, clutching his chest as pain rushed through him. “No... please...”

The figure’s twisted face loomed closer, its eyes gleaming with malicious delight.

Jonathan’s vision blurred as he fell to his knees, gasping for breath. The last thing he heard was the creature’s low, guttural laugh as darkness consumed him.

Later that night, Brian sat in his living room sipping tea, the soft light of a desk lamp casting long shadows across the walls. He stared at the museum plans in front of him, the words blurring as his thoughts drifted.

The air grew lighter, carrying with it a faint warmth, as though the room itself had begun to glow. The scent of lilies wafted faintly, subtle yet unmistakable.

“Obadiah,” a familiar voice called.

Brian looked up as Gabriel and Michael stepped through the far wall, their forms radiant with divine energy.

“Good to see you, my friend,” Gabriel said warmly.

Brian set down his tea, smiling faintly despite himself. He strolled around the desk. “If you’re here, it must mean trouble.”

Michael’s stern expression softened—barely. “Trouble is an understatement.”

Gabriel stepped forward. “Jonathan Harrington is dead. A demon took his soul, and his wife will soon seek your help.”

Brian’s jaw tightened. “Antioch?”

Gabriel nodded gravely. “One of his underlings.”

Michael crossed his arms. “The enemy is moving fast, and Raguel’s doubts about you remain. But Heaven believes in your purpose.”

Brian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Raguel never trusted me. And you’re asking me to deal with Antioch again?”

“You’re the only one who can,” Gabriel said. “You have all the help you’ll ever need.”

The faint hum of celestial energy filled the room as a golden staircase materialized. Gabriel placed a hand on Brian’s shoulder.

“Jonathan’s soul isn’t the only one at stake. Stay vigilant, Obadiah.”

The angels ascended the staircase, their glowing forms dissolving into the light. Moments later, the staircase faded, leaving Brian alone in the quiet room.

For a long moment, he sat in the silence, the warmth lingering in the air. Finally, he murmured, “Antioch again. This is far from over.”