And demons also came out of many, crying out and saying, “You are the Christ, the Son of God!”And He, rebuking them, did not allow them to speak, for they knew that He was the Christ.
John the Baptist | How Many Tomorrows Come? | Romantic
Both of you knew what you were getting yourselves into when you decided to start a family under the perilous circumstances of John’s ministry. It doesn’t make losing him any easier.
Requested by Aria
John the Baptist lived for Him. The entire purpose for which he was born was to prepare the way for his cousin. Everything he had ever done was to serve God, to do what he had been supposed to do, in a fashion that befitted him. Eccentric, unapologetic, speaking his mind regardless of the consequences.
Getting married wasn’t something that had initially been on his list, but then you came along and everything was thrown off its axis. John had never been in love before up until that moment. It had taken him a long time to be forward about it, too. To allow the feelings to exist and to act on them. However, Jesus knows His cousin through and through, aware of the conflicting feelings swirling inside John’s heart, battling the ones inside his mind. With a few necessary talks and nudges into the right direction, the baptiser allowed the feelings to evolve into more than just a crush.
And how could you not feel the same? Rarely had you met such an honest, courageous soul that lived so fiercely for God. You stuck around, not put off by his antics, and from one thing came the other. In spite of his lack of time as well as his intense devotion to God, John eventually made vows to you, too.
But the Spirit of God compels one to go even when he doesn’t want to. In spite of your staunch support of John’s ministry as well as your love for Adonai, the tears cannot be stopped as John stands in front of you, eyes turned to yours, glittering with both sorrow and that ever-present hint of mischief that never leaves his expression no matter how serious the situation. The sun has disappeared behind the clouds somewhere, cloaking you in a strange, unsettling light.
John is skinnier than you, always has been. His bony hands lay under yours as they rest upon the swell of your stomach, over the stretching linen of your tunic. Six months along. The Spirit had allowed him no respite. “This is just the way things go, John,” you sniffle as the wind tousles your veil. He reaches for your face, palm cold against your cheek as he thumbs away the wetness of your tears. Leaning into his touch, you close your eyes to commit his touch to memory. “I knew what I was getting myself into when I said yes to you, to having a family with you. I knew the risks, and I’ll be fine.”
Your husband steps closer and effortlessly turns the caress of your stomach into an embrace. You hug him tight and sigh, your arms looping around his neck as you inhale his scent — no matter how unorthodox compared to your own soapy smell — and you press your mouth against his in what might just be your final kiss. It suddenly tastes of salt, but neither of you pulls away. It isn’t until you need air that you do, and you rest your head on his shoulder for a while, looking towards the horizon for a moment, John’s hand cradling your tummy protectively, the sky darkening into dusk.
The two of you are forced out of your embrace as soon as you hear footsteps approach. Jesus walks up with Simon the former Zealot in tow. John drops the arm that had been around you to his side.
“So, you're really going for it?” Jesus murmurs. He gives you a nod in greeting, which you mirror.
“You know I can't be silent.” John replies, smiling softly as he squeezes your hand before releasing it. It’s nothing for your husband to be quiet.
“Soon, I will break My own silence as well.” Jesus says.
John lets out a small noise. “Soon. Such a strange word, soon. It could mean anything.” Jesus can’t help but huff in amusement.
The two cousins wrap one another into a hug, forcing you to step away from your husband for just a moment. “I love you.” says Jesus as He tightens it.
“Thank You… For letting me see that.” the Baptist murmurs. “I heard about the miracles, but I never thought I'd actually get to see one.”
Jesus hums in acknowledgement. “Well, timing is everything, I guess. Now, go on, Simon and I will give you two some privacy.” He nods at you, smiling softly. As soon as He and Simon turn away, you fall into John’s arms, overtaken by sadness once again.
“Oh, my love. My love,” he whispers as you weep into his chest, “Don’t you know that this isn’t goodbye?”
“You are taking on a perilous task, John,” you whimper into his tunic. “And I don’t know what I would do if you never get to meet our…” Your voice trails off with heavy emotion as you press your stomach a bit firmer against him. John gently caresses the back of your head through your veil. He kisses your forehead.
“I know. But He will.” For a moment, you two look at Jesus, Who is sunken away in thought as He paces back and forth. This is hurting the Messiah, too, as is the fact that His cousin has to say goodbye to the woman he loves so much. “And as long as you stay close to Him, everything will be well. Just how it should be. Promise me that, my love.”
The Baptist pulls away from the hug to cup your face in his hands, tilting it up to gaze down into your eyes. “Promise me that you’ll follow Him. I know they most likely aren’t prepared to travel with a baby just yet, but you tell the Disciples to stock up on supplies because you are going with them. Hm?”
You can help but laugh softly through your tears at that. “Yes.” you whimper. “Come back to me.”
“You know I can’t make a promise I might not be able to keep.”
“I know. But please think of me— of us, while on the road.”
John sighs and kisses your forehead once again. “You know I’ll think of you, right? You’ll be on my mind, constantly, and we’ll never be far apart. I’m right here.” He puts a hand over your heart and you nod, sniffing. “Right here.”
You embrace him again, secretly hoping that both of you will forget to let go and stand here for all eternity.
“It’s time to go,” he whispers against the crown of your head. You can’t help but peck his lips one last time before he goes, just in case…
The wind of the plains immediately catches your veil as John turns away, as if the weather itself adapts to resemble your heartbreak. You now notice that you’re feeling cold, shivering a little as John gives you one more look before starting to walk off.
Jesus turns and calls after His cousin. “John… What you are about to do-–”
“—I’ve lived my whole life with warnings,” John cuts Him off, “warnings are how I know I'm on the right track!”
“It's not a warning. You're doing what you're supposed to do. I'm just reminding you to be sure to listen to God's voice as you do it.”
John waves as he walks, looking from you to Jesus. “Always.”
Jesus puts His arm around your shoulder as you watch the Baptist leave with a blurred vision as your warm tears shield him from your view. You silently cry into Jesus’ arm whilst He gently rubs your back in a comforting manner. Always. John always listens to His voice, no matter how much it may hurt both of you.
You honestly wouldn’t have it any other way. Your hand rests on your belly, your thumb caressing it as you stand in the wind sweeping across the grass, seeing your love disappear over the horizon, without any assurance whether you’ll ever see one another again.
“How are you feeling?” Jesus silently asks you. Only now you realise that Simon the Zealot had been watching from a distance and has turned his back to you to give you some time alone with the Messiah.
“Horrible,” you admit, “But I trust God and I trust You.”
“Do not be afraid.” Jesus comforts, “Whatever may happen, John is right where he is supposed to be, as are you.”
You nod, look back at the distance where John had disappeared towards, half-expecting him to return already. The horizon remains painfully empty. The weather picks up, but you don’t mind it, standing there with Jesus until the sky is dark, starless.
—
A healthy boy is born a while after John’s captivity in the Decapolis started and per tradition named on the eighth day during his circumcision. Zechariah has the baptiser’s eyes as well as his strong lungs, making for restless days and sleepless nights, though you adore how he resembles his father in this way. You bet the child will have his reckless spirit too, and luckily you have learnt how to deal with that already.
A letter arrives for Joanna under Andrew’s name, secret correspondence exchanged between the two. Meant for John’s weary eyes, who has started to grow impatient in a way that only he can afford to be. Between the iron bars, the Roman woman slides a small roll of parchment. John’s fingers have grown greasy over the weeks yet at the same time cracked and dirty, causing him to stain the paper upon touch.
He rubs some hair from his eyes as he reads your familiar hand, his smile growing as newfound fire causes him to jump to his feet. “I’m a father!” he breathes happily, “I’ve got a son! A boy named after my late father!” Joanna laughs at his contagious enthusiasm as the baptiser rushes to the front of the cell. “Please tell me you’ve got paper for me. I— I need to write her a message. Blessings for our child. Please…”
Joanna hums and looks in her bag, rummaging around for the requested items. “I’ve got charcoal, but no pen.”
“That will do perfectly.” John mutters, “Give it to me, quickly.”
“Alright.”
He scribbles the message with trembling hands, not allowing himself time to calm down to write the words to you. “There is quite a bit of commotion going on upstairs lately,” John comments suddenly, not looking up from the parchment, “Are people finally revolting against Herod?”
Joanna lets out a noise and shakes her head. “No… They’re… They’re preparing for a party.”
John lifts the charcoal from the paper. “A party?”
“A banquet.”
“I see.”
After pausing for a moment, the Baptist writes on. The amount of parchment isn’t enough to cover even half of what he wants to tell you, how much he misses you and prays for your wellbeing, that he hopes he will be out of here to share in the joy of parenthood with you — even though Joanna’s comment about the banquet hasn’t exactly put him at ease, but you don’t need to know that — and writes that you must tell your baby that his abba loves him unconditionally. As soon as the charcoal has reduced to a nib and the parchment is more black than manila, he pushes it back through the prison door. “Here, please get this back to Capernaum.”
“Of course, I’ll do so as soon as I can.” Joanna says, smiling softly at the baptiser. “Congratulations, by the way. I can tell that this makes you very happy.”
“It does.” John beams, sighing happily as he momentarily casts his gaze upwards, “And if I ever get out of here, I can’t wait to meet the boy.”
“I bet.” Joanna says, smiling softly as she puts the letter away safely in her bag. “I’m glad this has lifted your spirits.”
“It definitely has. Thank you once again for your help, Joanna. You have no idea how much it means.”
The Roman woman nods, hearing a guard somewhere in the distance. “I have to go now. I’ll speak to you later, alright?”
John hums, giving her a slight bow. “Thank you. I’ll see you later.”
As Joanna rushes away lest she be caught speaking to a prisoner, the Baptist mutters words of praise to Adonai, unable to keep himself from dancing around his cell for a few moments.
—
She arrives under a sky as clouded as it was on the day John left, with tears in her eyes and a tremble to her voice. Joanna stands in front of Andrew’s door as the curly-haired fisherman takes in the sight of her distressed face under her purple cloak before piecing two and two together. She removes her hood as she bursts out into tears, causing Andrew to shake his head in disbelief. “No, no, no.”
“I’m sorry.” Joanna counters, sobbing as Judas brushes up behind Andrew, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Andrew, what’s wrong?”
‘No. It’s… It’s John.” Andrew’s voice breaks.
“Are you Philip?” Joanna asks.
“No, I’m Judas. Philip is away.” the man from Kerioth replies.
“—I’ll tell Philip. I’ll tell Philip… Someone should tell… That John is uh…” Andrew’s knees give way underneath him as he takes a seat on a crate, short of breath. “She’s resting in the other room with the baby.”
From a distance, Matthew and Mary concernedly approach, soon followed by the others, who seem equally as worried. No word has to be exchanged between the brothers as Simon takes his younger sibling into his arms to comfort him.
“I’ll go and tell (Y/n),” Mary takes the heavy task on her. Joanna turns to her with a tearful face.
“Give her this.” the Roman woman whispers, pushing the letter meant for you into her hands. She hadn’t had a chance to post it yet, and now the words came too late so that you could not reply anymore. Mary holds it against her chest as she steps into Andrew’s home to find you.
The moment the door to the guest room creaks open, you lift up your head from nursing Zechariah. A soft smile graces your features — glad you’re receiving visitors in your time of recovery — but the solemn frown on her face makes your heart drop. Your throat screws shut with sudden fear as she slowly approaches you, waiting for you to cover up.
You rush to take Zechariah from your breast even though the infant is not done drinking and drape a blanket over your chest, holding the baby close against you. “N-No.” you croak, “Is John… Is it about John? Is… Is he…”
Mary wordlessly walks over to you and gently puts the letter into your lap. John’s handwriting is familiarly uneven, causing your heart to swell with love as much as it breaks at the same time.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
It’s all you need to know for now. You aren’t yet looking for why’s and how’s, heaving the baby over into Mary’s helping arms. Your friend gets the message, giving you a sorrowful smile before stepping out of the room to give you some privacy. The moment the door closes, you fall apart.
Your wails of agony shake the followers waiting outside, who share pained looks with one another upon hearing your intense grief. You cry out until your head hurts, until your ears ring from how intensely you’re quivering, head buried into your pillow as your world shatters. It had been the risk of it all; you had known what you had gotten yourself into, and yet… It doesn’t hurt any less. John hadn’t been completely yours in his ministry regarding Adonai. The Baptist had fulfilled his purpose, the reason he had been put on this Earth: to prepare the way for Him. That legacy didn’t change once he met you.
The letters on the parchment dance before your eyes as you manage to read it. Your broken heart rears as you read how overjoyed your husband is — was — at the birth of his son. He tells you that he loves the both of you, that you should remain hopeful and focused on Jesus no matter what happens. That this prison means nothing compared to what God is doing right now. Nothing about his words indicates that John knew what was coming to him mere days later. Your fingers slide over the shape of the letters and you don’t mind the fact they get stained black with charcoal as you do so. It almost feels as if John is still alive, that he might come walking in at any moment to be with you and your child. However, you don’t hold onto that false scenario of what could have been. Instead, you lock the blessings away in your heart, before you clutch it to your chest, crying bitter tears as you tremble with grief.
You don’t know for how long you lay curled up, vaguely remembering Mary coming in again to bring you your son as well as a dark tunic and veil for you to show that you’re in mourning. The first fully conscious moment is when Jesus gently knocks on the doorframe — you figure Mary likely left it a little askew to check up on you without having to disturb you — and you look up into His tired, ash-covered face. Your nod of affirmation is enough. The Messiah closes the door behind Him and walks over to you. As you scoot over on the bed, He lays down next to you without saying a word. The action might be considered odd and maybe even inappropriate by many, but you know better. Both of you are strongly connected to the man you’re mourning and are in need of comfort.
Jesus wraps an arm around you as you lean into His shoulder where His tunic is torn, careful to not hurt Zechariah in the process. Nothing verbal is exchanged. Just a sniffle every now and then, meaningful enough to cover all the hurt that is being shared between you two.
The moment bears similarity to the day you said goodbye to John as he went on his way to the Decapolis. You had been standing just like this, side by side with the Messiah as you cried together. This time around, it is definite. Your grief is no longer premature. You will never see your husband anymore.
“Not in this life.” Jesus whispers, as if able to read your mind, “But you will see him again.”
You digest His words as you gaze down at the baby restfully asleep in your arms, unaware of what is going through you at this very moment. He looks a lot like his father, taking after him more than after you. It both terrifies and comforts you, knowing you’ll always have a piece of John with you as long as the boy is nearby. At the same time, you fear he might need to leave for a similar purpose as the Baptist.
But then again, it was the best kind of ministry you could wish upon your child. To follow God no matter where it would lead. It’s the way life is, you let it dawn on you, as you feel your eyes grow heavy with exhaustion. Jesus notices your weariness and carefully pats the back of your head, helping you fall asleep, keeping a close eye on the newborn.
Recently Viewed - Antrum: The Deadliest Film Ever Made
[The following review contains MINOR SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]
The first time I watched The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, I felt unclean afterwards, as though the grime and grit of the setting had infected my skin. It is, after all, a thoroughly unpleasant cinematic experience: every frame resembles a murder victim’s last known photograph, and the climactic descent into insanity seems far too genuine to have been staged for the camera (if Leatherface actor Gunnar Hansen’s personal accounts are to be believed, grueling conditions behind-the-scenes indeed reduced the cast and crew to a mad delirium). Few movies since have had such a profound and visceral impact upon my psyche; only Antrum: The Deadliest Film Ever Made has come close.
In this case, of course, the effect is entirely intentional; whereas Tobe Hooper apparently considered Chainsaw Massacre to be a dark comedy (which does come through in the finished product… if you squint), Antrum is deliberately designed to assault the subconscious, from the early disclaimer warning any audience members suffering from weak constitutions to leave the theater (William Castle would be proud) to the fake-out closing credits that roll approximately ten minutes prior to the actual ending.
I hesitate to discuss the plot and themes in further detail; much of the story’s suspense lies in discovering its intricacies and idiosyncrasies as it unfolds, and I’d hate to deprive potential fans of that thrill. Suffice it to say that recognizing the various visual tricks and sleight-of-hand techniques employed by directors David Amito and Michael Laicini—the documentary-style prologue, which elegantly creates a palpable sense of anticipation for the terror to follow; the fabricated “snuff” footage randomly interspersed between shots, which within the context of the overarching meta-narrative is obviously meant to be “authentic” (an homage, I believe, to Michael Findlay’s infamously trashy Snuff); the enigmatic occult symbols scratched into the “celluloid,” which linger just a bit too long to fit the textbook definition of “subliminal”—hardly diminishes the film’s mystique and allure.
Ultimately, the word that best describes Antrum is “unsettling.” Its oppressive, foreboding atmosphere lingers in the viewer’s nightmares; I’ve jolted awake in my bed with Alicia Fricker’s moody musical score ringing in my ears, tormented by the overwhelming dread that I’ve been irrevocably tainted by the sin of witnessing something taboo, forbidden, cursed. That is the essence of true horror.
Function Order: Ne-Ti-Fe-Si
ENTPs are all about immediate, radical change based on their ideals, and that is John the Baptist in a nutshell. When he talks to Nicodemus, it’s full of metaphors about transformation. He says Jesus is here to “awaken the earth, but some will not want to awaken. They’re in love with the dark.” John is theoretical and believes he can change the world through words as…
Broke Horror Fan presents Antrum on limited edition, fully functional VHS! Our latest tape is on sale now at Witter Entertainment.
The 2018 horror film is presented in an alternate “film-only” cut, sans the documentary framing story, exclusively on VHS. It’s limited to 100 copies.
Antrum arrives on VHS in a black clamshell case with artwork by Vasilis Zikos. Each tape includes a letter from directors David Amito and Michael Laicini and an Antrum liability waiver.
For optimal VHS viewing, the film has been cropped from its original aspect ratio to 4:3 full frame. It is officially licensed from Uncork’d Entertainment and has been approved by directors David Amito and Michael Laicini.
A young boy and girl enter the forest to save the soul of their recently deceased pet. They journey to The Antrum, the very spot the devil landed after being cast out of Heaven. There, the children begin to dig a hole to Hell.
