Posted on June 18, 2008

The Hole: Part 77

There is hope, gentle reader–though I fear it is slim, indeed. Moroni’s return seems inevitable, but with luck he can be defeated, either killed or driven back to the dimensions from where he came.

Let me begin by telling you what I know of Moroni, called “The Angel” by the modern church, but elsewhere granted the title “The Mad King.” He–it–is an awful creature, a demon birthed on a plane far removed from our own. He is not of this world, but he desires absolute power over it, and drove Joseph Smith to create the Mormon faith so as to further that goal.

My grandfather was a pawn in Moroni’s plans. I have every reason to think the stories he told of angelic beings coming into his room, of meeting them in the woods, and even the discovery of the golden plates, were true as far as he had knowledge of them. Moroni showed him the untranslated Book of Mormon, except that the story contained within was nothing more than a fictional account designed to launch a great religion. By opening themselves up to him, making their minds available through faith, the subsequent generations of Mormons could function as conduits through which Moroni’s hoards might return to this world.

I have come to learn that the conspiracy reaches farther than that single Christian sect, however, and in fact includes the whole of its mother religion, and even those related to it by the book of Yahweh. You see, it was Yahweh who first moved to solidify a hold on the earth, and he did so by spreading his name via the lips of countless faithful.

Neither Moroni nor Yahweh are gods as we use that term. (I have come to doubt whether such a thing as “god” even exists.) Instead, they are best described as demons: extra-dimensional beings who have warred for eternity and have, in part, used our world as their killing field. More about their nature I do not know and I imagine grasping it fully would prove impossible, just as it is impossible to understand the whole of the heavens. Our minds reach only so far.

What little more I can state of the matter is that there exists two competing armies, one under the command of Moroni, the other lead by his nemesis, Yahweh. Moroni’s legions are the Nephites, a people key to the Book of Mormon, though very different than their portrayal would suggest. They are not the original inhabitants of this continent but, instead, alien creatures who have walked these lands in the past and hope to do so again in the near future. Yahweh’s armies are the Lamanites, those cursed and declared evil in Smith’s text. Neither Nephite nor Lamanite is likely the true name of these varieties of creatures, but I’ve discovered no others and so am forced to continue to use them. We should not fall into the trap of placing our faith in Yahweh simply because we know Moroni’s nature. Both beings seek only our subjugation, and both would destroy us all if given the chance.

Hope instead rests with the One Mighty and Strong, a term out of Mormon scripture for the one who will come to see the faith through the end times. I have been able to discover little more except that Moroni appears terrified of him. This I learned from a drunk I spoke with in a back alley in Boston, a man of considerable years who had spent most of them staring into the end of a bottle. I’d found him when my inquiries reminded a visiting professor of a story he’d once heard about an elderly tramp who’s mad rantings had caused terror throughout a sizable portion of New England. After meeting the man, I have to wonder about the sensibilities of the region, if they are so easily spooked by such a seemingly harmless merchant.

Regardless of his reign of terror, the drunk, when I met him, exhibited all the usual signs of excessive and prolonged alcohol intake. He mumbled through his interview with me, but I was able to extract enough information to recognize the significance of this prophesied savior Joseph Smith, Jr. first spoke of in 1832. It is my view now that the One Mighty and Strong is not meant as a hero to Mormonism but is, in fact, the ultimate weapon against the tyranny of Moroni and Yahweh. Moroni sent the particular vision to Smith, working the myth of this person into the Mormon belief structure, so as to excite believers and, in a sense, place them on a lookout should the One appear. Identifying him would then make him easier to dispatch, thereby preventing Moroni’s downfall. Unfortunately, that is all I can say. The drunk man was found dead the following morning, his frozen body propped among some trash in one of the many alleys he called home. I have no evidence, but I suspect foul play.

I implore you, reader, to search this being out. Find the One Mighty and Strong and take whatever actions necessary to assure his survival and victory.

Enclosed with his journal is a document sent to me by post just two weeks ago. It is my grandfather’s handwriting, I’m sure, but, as is clear, the text is not a language currently known. I’m inclined to believe it is the same alphabet as the purported Book of Mormon and, if so, only my grandfather’s seeing stones, the Urim and Thummim, can read it–for these are what he used to do his translating. Find them. Discover his message. And put a stop to the conquest of Moroni and Yahweh. This I beg.

****

“Jesus,” Elliot said, letting the journal fall.

“It’s us, isn’t it?” Evajean said. “That’s what Melvin said. The writer has is wrong. It’s not the One Mighty and Strong, but the Ones. You and me.”

Elliot nodded. “We were meant to find this. Everything, all your hunches, all those times when what we did just felt right, it was all to lead us to this.”

“The glasses!” Evajean said. She jumped up. “Where are they? The ones you found in the house.”

Elliot reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled them out. The two large lenses, one gray and the other blue, caught the moonlight from the hotel room’s window.

“That’s them,” Evajean said, excited. She leaned forward, taking the glasses from his hand. “The Urim and–whatever the other one was.”

“Thummim.”

“Give me that,” Evajean said, pointing toward the folded sheet of paper. Elliot picked it up and handed it to her. She put the glasses on, the huge lenses bulging out from her eyes, and held up the sheet. She studied it for a moment, turned it around, then turned it back. “I don’t see anything,” she said.

“Nothing?”

“I can’t see through these things,” she said and took the glasses off.

“Here,” Elliot said, and took them from her, along with the paper. He set the sheet in his lap and was lifting the glasses to his face when he stopped.

“What?” Evajean asked.

Elliot was silent. He leaned down, the glasses still in his fist. “I can read it,” he said.