The Writings of Eric Stahl

Editors note:

---

I found this logged on one of my probes. I don't know if a blog is really enough for the depth of the following seven entries, but I don't really know how else to share this. Nevertheless, I feel like these should be shared and I didn’t know where else to put it. Now, I was having doubts about the presentation… I don’t think transcription really does this justice, but I found it as though a great discovery. This feels so important… No. I know this is important. But still, the audio-file I intercepted is so garbled, I've decided to transcribe it rather than change the meaning of it all. From here on, all text is formatted as such: (My own interjects will be parentheticals); italics will be another voice; bold will be a new entry or something else important; unmarked will be the writer's original words. Let me know if this makes sense. I'm so sorry that the original file is too esoteric; a file to contain these voices from beyond can sometimes be too much for modern comprehension. Let me reiterate: I did not write this. This story was a found thing, brought to my lap from the great aether. If you're reading this, then I hope the stars speak to you as they have to me.

Entry 1

---

“Out of the depths of the Earth I cried and the most high heard my voice. And when I asked, God lifted me up from the pit.”

My wife quoted that once. I wonder if any of it is true. I don’t think so, but I remember pretending to care for her.

(I think this the beginning is a quote? Something from an old mythology? I put quotes there, but, again, I'm not sure.)

Hopefully, they won’t see through the disguise or discover why I am here, following them to the end of it all.

(The recording here to cuts to an empty space. Only static to fill the void of nothing. Then, quite suddenly, a snap of the fingers spikes into the microphone. The voice that spoke the opening lines returns to it, bewildered and somewhat unsure. I'm guessing this is the author)

Should I cut that part out? Feels a bit dramatic?

(A silence once more, then the man speaks)

Ah, I’ll leave it in for now, edit it later. A better introduction would be to explain why I’m here.

(After another snap, he clears his throat, crack his neck, and then breathe deeply. The air goes through the nostrils and then is returned to the world from the mouth. After his sigh, more words are summoned)

My name is Eric Stahl, and this is a personal project. A journalistic escapade. If you have not been following my project this far, and I assume most listeners have not, then I can get you up to speed.

(I hear him shuffle here; it feels as though he is straightening himself before embarking on the following array of information)

My current goal is to find Heaven, or, rather, Heaven as it is identified by the group we know on Earth as the People of Dupre.

Now, those of you back home should be well aware of their presence, the jokes in the media, and the nutjobs you meet on street corners. They are a strange bunch, these folk, enigmatic, and I’m sure that hasn’t changed much since I’ve left. No, I imagine most is still the same since I’ve departed. Nevertheless, I believe that this venture is important as their prevalence and dominion in our society cannot be understated.

But, in case you are not an initiate of the way things are: The People of Dupre are a cult—a force embedded deeply in our world, shaping it in ways hard to ignore. For the social buffs: They’re similar to how the Mormon movement grew in America during the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Now for the layman: who are the Mormons? Well, history tells us they were the second to last among the American Christian movements, outside of New York Catholicism. Despite this, the sect was largely eradicated when Yellowstone erupted. When the fire rained down, the Mormons were no more.

(He snaps into the mic)

Now, what point was I making? Oh, right...

(He snaps again)

My working theory is that the people of Dupre are an underground offshoot of the Mormon religion and perhaps an extension of historical Christianity as a whole. They reject the overt association, yet despite that, though I believe their beliefs echo a vanished past—a strange mix of these Mormons and other Christian sects — they’re also more than that; they’ve also drawn from ancient Islam and modern Buddhism, the latter still practiced in isolated pockets today. Since Christianity declined globally during the early twenty-third century, this faction is the most significant portion of our population to have resurrected aspects of that belief system, particularly the ladder of ascendancy found in most Orthodox and some medieval Catholic traditions. They think of God as the top of some sort of food chain, and by practicing both asceticism and temperance, they believe they will one day look down upon those who were once their peers. Their faith builds their rungs, and they climb their way up, proximity to God bought by the treasure of humanity being left behind.

While many of the core tenets of Christianity and the People of Dupre are the same (for instance, sexually abstinent, communally minded, and moralistically domineering), from what I can tell, they have adopted other aspects from other ancient Abrahamic traditions, particularly, the idea that one can become holy through personal sanctification, hence why they practice each of the former.

Yet, despite following such traditions, they do so without understanding the history of their own dogmatics.

Unknowingly, or at least from what I can tell, they practice certain Christian forms, and yet, unlike their hypothesized Mormon forebears, they claim not to be Christian. Whether or not this is a farce, I cannot tell — it is hard to know anything particular with these people. You see, they have no sacred texts, relying entirely on oral tradition, and every single one of them must pledge to make a pilgrimage to end their lives to fully become recognized as members.

For personal reasons, I want to understand this religion better and find out exactly where this pilgrimage leads. As far as I can tell, it’s their holy land. To accomplish this, I have accompanied them on their sacred pilgrimage and have learned that it is not simply a holy land, but something greater: their Heaven. While it is not a place on Earth, it is a physical place across the cosmos. Now, we are charted to a Star in the Andromeda Galaxy, far away from the Earth we know.

As most of you understand, this is a one-way trip, even with the modern amenity of Faster than Light Travel. Regardless, I felt the purpose of this testimonial was a worthwhile exploration. If I have not returned and you are listening, understand this: We have to know.

All of us should know why we have lost loved ones to Heaven. And if my body is the price of that understanding, then I, as a journalist, am happy to surrender my life for the cause of discovery.

(Another pause)

For clarity, I do not wish for this fate, but I am being as frank and realistic as I can. No ships have returned from the nebula we have charted as our course, nor have any transmissions been retrieved to tell us what became of them.

Tomorrow awaits me, and I go to it without a forecast. If I’m facing a dark day, the least I can do is give the warning I wish she’d received.

(A snap)

…I’d received…

(Another snap; dude really likes snapping, I guess.)

To further understand the journey, over the next few weeks, I will interview the crew and passengers aboard this vessel to understand their motivations for making this trip. Likewise, I hope to chronicle the anecdotes and stories from their religion.

If they refuse to document their God, then I will make myself their prophet. To the zealots, I am masquerading as one of them, but perhaps to the more open-minded, I will be honest with my intention. In either case, I hope to tell a story of earnest people. I hope to tell the story of those misguided souls who yearn for something more. After all, faith is a strange thing, and I hope…

(The recording here pauses; this Eric is clearly chooses his next words)

…I hope this story will help someone understand.

Entry 2

This is my third day on the cruiser. It is a strange thing. To any outside observer, the ship is a beat-up freighter. No signs of splendor or majesty. However, inside, they renovated the rooms with red and purple carpets; the light fixtures are almost all chandeliers. Wood or wood-like coverings make the walls and doorways. The few utilitarian buildings and little utility pieces that visibly remain of ship’s character are painted over in a kindly white, winey red, or softened blue.

There are three residential areas, two for the pilgrims and one for the crew. The three compartments are laid out as follows: the two residential are lengthwise from the center, stretched toward the caboose of the freighter, while the crew’s is horizontal, ending just before the bridge, though there is a buffer before that breaks the lines of the pilgrim’s breezeway. This buffer is a shared living space. It acts as an observation deck, lounge, and dining hall. Most people spend their free time out here.

A few hundred of us are aboard, mostly elderly, but a few are very young, and some are around my age. The old ones look to the young with both pride and sadness. Some of them look at me and feel their shame. They are casting their own judgments, though they’d never tell you. I still feel their eyes, though. Perhaps to them, something about my pre-gamed middle age makes the killing of myself seem worthless. “What could a man in his thirties know about dying?” I’m not “killing myself” properly, no according to them, I am to “ascend to Heaven.” Despite my guesswork about their disdain, I began to strike up friendships. I realized some of them are lovely people.

The following is an interview with Maybel Crow. She is sweet and elderly. My greatest friend here.

Before the interview, I thought to tell her of my intentions, but even amongst the most liberal of their number, it seems they are united in their belief that none of their testimonies should be documented. Unfortunately, I must go against their wishes. Likewise, I would ask you to forgive me in advance. The second half of this interview cuts out. I had to conceal my recording device and hadn’t realized I had bumped the mute button. Regardless of that unfortunate revelation, I believe the interview went well. Here it is, the portion of it you can hear, in its entirety:

“You said your name was Maybel?”

I did! And can you remind me of yours?

“Of course! My name is Eric.”

Well, it is good to know you, Eric.

“Now, I’m a bit newer to the faith.

Oh, and you look so young, too!

"No too young! I'm fourty-two."

"Still, one of middle life... It is strange to join us.

"I know. I just felt the conviction.”

Well, I won't question you then.

(A creak of a chair; they are clearly getting more comfortable)

How did you find God, Eric?

“My wife, actually. She was the one who told me about it.”

And is she with you?

“No, she went last year.”

Oh, I see! You’re following her to Heaven! How romantic!

“I suppose. But, as you can tell, I’m still a bit green regarding this idea of prayer.”

Well, I hope I can help.

“Just talking to me is a big help. I’m a bit intimidated!”

I bet! You are in the belly of the beast now!

“Right! You get it! So! Can you tell me, Maybel, what we are praying to?”

Our God? Oh, she’s a beautiful thing. The greatest of all beings. Who was and is and is to come.

“Alpha and Omega?”

Yes! Precisely! And you said you were new!

“Oh, well, that’s old Christian mythology.”

'Huh. I didn’t know that. What did you say your job was?

“I didn’t, but I'll tell you I wrote for a university back on Earth. Cathedrals, castles, cultures; all that and the like. You can think of me as a bit of a nerd.”

Oh! A man from education! Does Ornitholo know you’re here?

“I don’t know? I don’t remember if I’ve met him.”

Oh, you can’t miss him; he’s a big chap. He’s a Cardinal within the religion. Second only to Sentry Finch. You should tell them you gave up your life as a man of learning to be here. They would both be thrilled to know the redemption God can grant.

“Redemption?”

Yes!

“From what?”

From the sin of knowledge! There is none greater! There is a reason it is faith that we hope for, not understanding.

“Why?”

Understanding is corrupted and twisted by whoever gives the answer. No, we operate differently than the others on Earth. That, as a believer, you must know. Please take that with you if you remember nothing else from our talk.

“Well, you gave me the answer; isn’t that what you told me not to take?”

See how you test the spirits! Careful now, there might be a bit of a man of learning in you! I know it’s hard, but you must accept the truth of it before we get to Heaven.

“Then if I cannot know God, let me know the faithful. Can you share with me how you came to faith?”

I can! Would you care to hear it now?

“I would!”

Well, it’s a long story…

“Perhaps over a game of bridge? I’ve noticed you playing.”

Oh, you walk the talk, mister. Thoughtful and observant. I understand why you were married.

“My rogue-ish charms didn’t give it away?”

(They share a laugh)

Don’t get too big-headed now! But, yes, I’ll start with the abridged here if that’s okay?

“I’ll take it however best you feel it serves you.”

That’s more than fair.

(And she waits a moment)

My past is this: I used to be one of those companions. You know the kind.

“You were a sex worker?”

Well, I was trying to dance around that word, but yes. My girlfriend and I worked in a pleasure house, one seedy but near the City of Angels. Being in the vicinity, the rich and sinful came to us.

“Your girlfriend? You both worked there?”

Yes.

“How long?”

From my early twenties to the edge of my mid-thirties.

“Why so long?”

Oh, I loved it! Or at least, I thought I did. From the outside, certainly, why wouldn’t I? After all, Mr. Eric, have you ever been to an orgy?

“For both Heaven’s sake and present company, I won’t answer that question!

(You hear him laugh with her.)

“What made you change?”

A man came in and bought both of our time.

"A lover?"

Not quite. He paid for us, but we didn’t sleep together.

“Why did he buy your time then?”

To preach. He would tell us about the People of Dupre.

“And?”

And at first, we used his kindness, his money…We turned it into a joke, but then I began to admire his dedication.

“And you converted?”

Not for a while, but one day I started responding when he asked questions.

“What kind of questions?”

Are you happy? Do you enjoy waking up? Are ever you wishing for something more than this?

“And did you?”

I was whore wasn’t I?

(Breath comes out her nose)

Sure, I was content for the moment, but I knew the future was coming. I knew I was getting old. Women of my kind only matter to the consuming but for a window. Sure, I could become a matron, but I realized that wasn’t what I wanted. No, I wanted to leave, but Raven didn’t. We got into a fight about it.

(A noise, like something caught in her throat.)

It was a lousy fight; it ended our relationship.

“I’m sorry…"

(He waits before asking her more)

'What happened after?”

I went with him. He introduced me to the others.

“He asked you to marry him?”

What? No! He was a Cardinal. They don’t get married. Plus, I doubt he would’ve wanted me.

“Why?”

Emotionally, his tastes were similar to mine. I’ll say that.

“Ah."

(There is a beat that plays here)

"And you’ve been with the faith since?”

Yes, for nearly forty years now. Over half my life.

"Any regrets?"

Sometimes, it’s lonely, but I’ve a vow to keep.

“Why have you been lonely?”

You're a smart boy, figure it out.

“Oh."

Yes.

"I’m sorry.”

For what?

“For what you gave up.”

Don’t weep for that. I am so much more now

(A muffled spike hits the recorder as the voices trail off. A snap peaks the volume as the environment shifts. The man is speaking to us directly again.)

To reiterate: I must have shifted something in my pocket or bumped a wall because the recorder stopped. The rest of my time with Maybel was this — we played bridge and she went on to talk about her life, her interests, her hopes. We talked for a good few hours over a game, but the summation of her was this:

Always she ever chased was Heaven.

Entry 3

Over the past few days, I spent time mingling with the others on the ship. I met a few fine folks and made friends with them enough not to eat alone, but no one could really tell me more than I already knew about their God or the structure of this church.

There were no answers, just depths of despair and different points of contact with their introduction to the religion. No one really understood it. They just knew it would get them here.

So, all other wells exhausted, I finally approached the Cardinal. Maybel didn’t lie. He was broad and tall, a boar of a man and one of few words. The way he used the silence scared me. Something about the way he looked at me made me sweat. It was like he could look into my soul.

It wasn’t a kind gaze, either. It was like the worst parts of myself bubbled to the surface. When he looked at me, he saw my evil things.

What disturbed me more than that feeling was his reaction, his smugness. He looked at that darkness and seemed proud? Like I was fulfilling some sort of ritual? Some cornerstone of prophecy.

In short, I didn’t like the Cardinal. And that was before he opened his mouth. When he spoke to me, it was with a thick accent. If I had to place it, my guess is he was born on the Moon Colony, descended from the Second Soviets. Perhaps that explains it, the otherness to him. Where he's from really doesn't matter... I’m not really sure why I’m telling you all this, just… I’m specifying that I felt uncomfortable and that I found it odd that the lieutenant of this spiritual journey summoned that feeling in me. Perhaps this speaks to the truer nature of this religion.

That, or I have let my own biases paint the story for me, but I will let you determine that.

Regardless of my strange connection to the man, Cardinal Ornitholo did grant my request to meet with Sentry Finch.

For this interview, I am using the auxiliary recorder in my inner ear as I will have all my redundancies here. It’s not as reliable as my standard device, but there is no way I am getting an external unit past the Cardinal. I apologize for the dip in audio quality, but my safety takes precedence. The militance of their zealotry was vastly underestimated on my behalf. Though, dear listener, this is a victory. I have gotten past their defenses. Sentry Finch will sit down with me. The next portion, hopefully, will be the exchange.

(We hear a quick jump in the time of the recording and a general cut to the quality of the audio)

“Thank you for meeting with me.”

Certainly. Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?

“Well, I just wanted some clarity. About the structure of this religion, about the meaning behind your rank, what we can expect to find.”

We’re on our way to Heaven, chap. Don’t you think it’s a bit late for doubts?

“They aren’t doubts, sir, just a curiosity.”

Then, ask the cat if he knows the devil.

(Eric forces an awkward laugh)

“You’re right… I just thought having such a versed and well-educated spiritual guide amongst us…”

Well, I suppose, this close to the end, I will humor you.

“Really?”

Question not mercy, boy. What is it you wish to understand?

“Just a few things, sir."

Ask, but tread lightly. Knowing is a sin… you know?

(There is smugness in the preacher’s joke. Still, Eric begins)

“Why are we here?”

Is that not asked by every religion?

“But I mean here, on this ship. What sets us apart? Why have this journey?”

The principle, my son. We are the chosen.

“How?”

Not everyone believes enough to go to the stars. Though all of mankind once called the stars Heaven? They were right, of course, just abstractly. They didn’t know about the Gates proper. We, the People of Dupre, are headed towards the Gates of... (Static on that word)

“And what lies beyond the Gates of (static?)”

(The sound disrupts and jumps to another part of the interview. Based on context clues, you understand they have changed from talking about their Heaven to talking about their Prophet)

No one knows for sure, but we believe Dupre founded us after witnessing the hellfire rain upon the Midwest. That’s the tradition, anyway. The Sentry who taught me was believed to be a direct acolyte of one of Dupre's first acolytes. Apparently, my lineage knows that Dupre was from Nebraska! Did you know he told his followers they once grew corn there?

(The two of them share a genuine laugh at the amusing thought. I laughed, too; everyone knows that the desert of ash has been infertile for decades)

So clearly, God had judged us for losing our way, for getting lost in the midst of false politics and dogmas. No, fire is used to burn, but also cleanse. Hell came to earth that day. So, we looked to the stars. Our first missionaries went to the Soviets on the moon. The feeling was the communists needed God more than anyone.

“Perhaps true?”

Are you a communist?

“No!”

Are you being truthful? You’re not just saying that? I’ve been told you’re from a university.

“Maybel shared that with you?”

Does she not every right to? I am her father. Her guardian. Her Sentry. I look over each of the children in my care. I point them toward the light -- I wait for the sunrise and guide them away from winter. I am to lead them through the skies. Of course she told me.

“And does that change anything between?”

Just more to my suspicions. You wanted to know about what we stand for, yet I am among the last to speak to you?

“What is it that you are implying?”

I spoke of the cat earlier, but that was for curiosity, not the canary. Are you our wolf? Come to destroy? To tear our flesh?

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

My Cardinal doesn’t like you. He says you are impure.

(I cannot hear anything, but I feel tension in this space.)

“How could he know that? What does he know about me?”

Perhaps more than you. The Soviets are a queer stock. To have broken from their conditioning… Well, he is full of insight, one could say.

“So he’s a telepath?”

Of course, you choose the secular explanation! Is it so far-fetched to say that God grants him wisdom or does our answer not satisfy you? Is divine intervention too far a farce for you?

“It’s not! I’m just…”

New to this? Certainly.

“…So what happens?”

Nothing if you permit it! Why should I care about Ornitholo’s judgments? He’s from the moon! A Soviet! I, for one, loathe the man.

“But he is your Cardinal?”

He is assigned to me, yes, but am simply his perch. As a hawk holds a branch, so does the Cardinal cling to Sentry. Our relationship does not resolve my suspicions.

“Which are?”

Stalin once attended Seminary — did you know that? Then look at what he did. He was born a Soviet; that doesn’t leave.

“I thought every sinner was worth redeeming? Did he not vow to renounce his wicked ways?”

I see you know at least that of us, but are you that gullible? A vow is of words and words can be changed! No, Ornitholo wants to be a Sentry, one among our highest sacred order, yet every one of my peers knows he is unfit. They sent him with me on this journey so his youth won’t outlive our sensibility. Let this honor befall him now, so that his resourcefulness won’t one day entangle our church into a schism.

(You hear a sip taken of something. Finch has wetted his gullet before amassing his disdain)

He claims to have renounced his communist leanings, but the way his work is focused on helping the poor and the needy… It seems the Cardinal has not shed the watermark of moralism so naive and adjunct. He indeed enforces that which he thinks is wrong but does so like a primitive. Evil is what he believes he destroys, not realizing that his own darkness is yet stronger.

We teach what the shadow is, but Is the man born for revolution ever sated by nuance?

“Is that knowledge truly something you want?”

(The older man’s voice erupts in a chuckle of amusement)

I hear the college in you. You catch on quickly. You understand mankind better. Certainly well enough to be this age and come along on our suicide mission. Tell me, was it money that ran out? A divorce? Or, perhaps you are not a queer, and the university kicked you out? After all, they like those types.

No, don’t tell me. I think I prefer speculating. It’s more fun to not know. I don’t really care why you’ve blinked away your sanctification and fast-tracked our Ars Moriendi. I just ask you to keep your questions to yourself.

(Finch's voice shifts into something more sinister here)

I will not have doubts wash over my flock. Not this close to the end. Do we have an understanding?

“And if I refuse?”

Then I order my Sputnik to kill you. The dog is eager, I’m sure.

“So, no choice?"

No, that’s the beauty of it. It is a choice, one that we sinners make every day.

“I understand.”

I thought you would. A pity you are here now, had you stayed with us at home, I think you would’ve made a far better Cardinal than that oafish Ornitholo. But alas, that potential world is for us to gaze upon from the hindsight granted by Heaven.

(Another sip)

I will see you on the other side. You are dismissed.

(All that's left of the recording is the rubbing of fabrics and the creaking of doors. Eric has apparently made his way out and he stops the recording after a sufficient distance of sanctuary is garnered.)