“Time of death between twelve and three A.M. No signs of trauma, asphyxiation…any sign of external force that suggests murder,” Walker said, repeating what little information the forensics officer was able to ascertain from examining the body.

      A middle-aged man, fifties, lay lifeless like a sack of potatoes on the floor of his apartment. Cause of death was deemed suspicious at first glance by the battle-hardened phantom, DI Martin. It was nothing he had ever seen before.

      DC Walker’s drenched shoes squelched across the polished wooden floorboards. A single fan light swathed the room in a warm, eerie glow that coloured Walker’s ordinarily pale skin. The streets of Oxford were being drowned that night, and Walker had been caught in the worst of it, even if it was from the car to the front door. Rain seemed to cling to his coat and his kempt copper hair, taunting every attempt at shaking them dry.

      “Who’s the poor bugger?” Martin grunted, his eyes forever scanning his surroundings. No signs of struggle or disturbance. The room resembled a still life painting, untouched by human activity, yet mirroring its occupier. Boring, yet sinister. Untold truths. What was left on the coffee table was a radio and a crossword puzzle. Nine down. ‘Something hidden’.

      “A Professor Fredrick Manes sir. Sociology and History at Oxford University. Next of kin is a daughter in Canada. No previous signs of drug or alcohol addiction. Nothing connecting him to criminal activity,” Walker listed off from memory with efficiency.

      “Record’s clean as far as the eye can see, sir.”

      Without much to go off, the two took their leave from the room, walking past uniform just beyond the door, waiting to clear up the corpse. Their footsteps echoed around the room. The dead body, as if the soul had been torn from it, lay perfectly still.  

 Walker, squinting, drove through the dark damp streets. From lamp post to lamp post, beacon to beacon.  Oxfords cramped corridors on this night extended for eternity, a maze of drenched brick and glass panes. The only life he saw amongst the lonely streets was a lone humanoid shadow. Walker attempted a glance at their face, but it was concealed by white fabric.

      “International crisis and we’re still out in the rain playing who-done-it. Vendettas and grudges can wait once we’re sure we aren’t all being sent to hell.”

      “Complaining about your job now are ya?” Martin chuckled, wheezing with every breath. “Human society’s never stopped for the end of the world. Almost what pushed us over the edge. Ironically, it never felt like humans were in control.”

      “You don’t sound scared, sir.”

      “Course I am. I lived through the damn war I know what the end of the world feels like,” Martin sighed. “It’s come back to haunt us. Over and over again. You’re just too young to remember.”

“We understand you were the closest to Professor Manes at the University.”

      “Well, I wouldn’t say close,” Professor Deron admitted. He reclined in his large leather chair, commanding his quarters, fit for a king of old, packed with the knowledge of the great library itself. “Campus gossip was the most we ever got out of an interaction.”

      “Was there anything odd about him…close to the time of death?”

      “Time of death? Never mind time of death, that man was nothing short of feverish.”

      Walker perked up. He sat forward in his wooden seat. It creaked under even his modest weight, sending small echoes around the room.

      “What do you mean by that?”

      Professor Deron leaned forward, the leather of his chair groaning, almost too loud. Even his echoes triumphed over Walker. The skeleton looked down upon him, his black suit refusing to betray his true figure.

      “Are you aware of the end of the world, Constable?”

      “…I’d like to believe the soviets-”

      “Never mind the Soviets!” Deron snapped. His face contorting into a snare. The rain assaulted the window pane behind him. With every lightning strike, the Professor was illuminated, a halo around him. Like an angel.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

      “Is what he would say to me,” he smiled. “You were an Oxford boy, you’re smart enough to realise how dire the situation has become...Something higher than any ICBM could fly, he would say. I only went to his apartment for tea once. Terribly uncomfortable. The radio, constantly on a vacant channel you see. The white noise only added to how…dead his life seemed. Sucked of any joy or hope...The fifteenth Apocrypha.”

      “Sorry?”

      “Something he would mention every so often. He would say it was inextricably linked to his end of the world. Separate from the Soviets, or even Americans.”

      Vacant radio channel. Fifteenth Apocrypha. Whatever the Professor thought would bring humanity to its doom wasn’t anthropogenic or natural. Instead something the Church had hidden away, disowned and abandoned. An heretical way of thinking couldn’t even begin to describe it.

      “Human salvation lies in the creatively maladjusted. I hope you are crazy enough to save us, Constable,” Professor Deron finished. A subtle smile crept across the old mans face, his very wrinkles casting shadows as he sank back into his chair, retreating into the dark.

Walker had been drawn back to the deceased professor’s apartment. The body was gone, leaving the room…somehow more lifeless than it was before. Walker did his best to light the room, but the darkness outside refused to leave. He opened the curtains for some moonlight. The only light waiting to greet him was a lamp post, and the figure under an umbrella. The same faceless wanderer from before, a sheet concealing his face, red scabs forming around stitches down his arm.

      Walker hobbled back to the coffee table, sinking into the weak couch. The crossword from before caught his attention. ‘Something hidden’ he remembered. Nine letters. His brain began to work away at it. If not this case, his brain could figure out this puzzl-

      “Apocrypha…”

      Nine letters.

      “Fifteenth Apocrypha. One. Five. Nine.”

      The radio channel.

      15.9.

      Walker scrambled to pick up the radio, hastily raising the antenna. He cautiously turned the dial. Each click of the mechanism a cog turning in his head. The rain grew wilder, the thunder more violent and the crackling of white noise like a muffled scream, warned him.

      Stay away.

      A voice emerged from the static.

      “-re listening to this…You have found my secret. God help you.”

      Walker put the radio down and listened intently. Indeed, the Professor sounded feverish. A prey’s last words, almost.

      “Of every single calamity humanity has survived, every single time nature…or even each other had the chance to wipe us out, we’ve survived, preaching. Preaching! That the next time would be the last. Our last chance. ‘The end of the world is nigh’ they would say.”

      The professor got up and began to pace, the shuffling of his clothes and the clack of his books followed the recorder. No ownership of magnetic tape, or any mention of the purchase of a radio channel had reached the ears of the police.

      “Well it is! It is this time! And it’s not the bloody soviets either!” The professor was panicked as the paces of his footsteps began to quicken. The rain in the recording and the rain pelting the glass pane rang in Walker’s ears.

      He let out a disheartened chuckle. “We’re done for. They’ve decided that…that we aren’t good enough. Maybe we strayed too far, took our power for granted…forgot who our makers were. But they are coming.”

      Walker’s attention turned to the failing lights, precious life was slowly being snuffed out of them. He got up and looked out the window. The street light was still illuminated, confirming that it indeed wasn’t a blackout. The figure had disappeared.

      “A punishment so divine, so merciful that no destruction will be brought down. No fire, no flames. Simply bloody oblivion.” The professor’s heavy breathing mirrored Walker’s gradual panic. He strode across to the door. It was locked from the outside.

      “Oxford city police! Open this door!”

      He slammed his fists on the entrance to his prison cell, to no avail.

      “And they will come down on us like mothers. Mothers to children. Children of god.”

      The storm forced its way into the room through the window. The small confined apartment had become a cage, a coffin, and the wind had just let a beast in.

      “I am but one man, and for that I am truly afraid. No matter what my intelligence awards me in society, this…is beyond the boundaries of…of our reality. Our small reality.”

      Walker regretted not carrying a revolver, even if he knew it wouldn’t make a difference against this invisible, unknowable threat.

      “Even if I reached for the heavens…”

      Humans, no. Taxidermized humanoids.

      “Who would hear me amongst the heavenly forms...”

      Seven of them. White sheets hid their faces. Drenched like the figure outside.

     “Do I only wish to be consumed by their grace...”

      They reached out, towards Walker.

      “For every angel…is terrifying.”