The occult is strongest during Hallow's Eve.....
Chapter Description: Sven awakes...
Sven opened his eyes.
It was dark, he couldn’t see anything. He tried to move, but found he couldn’t. He wasn’t bound, but his muscles refused to work. He tried to yell, but found his voice was silent.
Sven breathed shallowly as a mix of claustrophobia and nyctophobia set in. The place around him remained pitch black until he could see lights move in the distance.
Sven watched in anticipation as the lights grew closer. He could see the light illuminating figures in white robes. The skin color varied intensely, which told Sven that this was not a racial thing. He was here for a different reason.
The lights were candles. Twelve hooded figures carried candle posts into what Sven now could tell was a tent. There were holes in the roof to allow the smoke to flow. Sven watched as the figures surrounded him and formed a circle. The figures stuck the posts into the ground in unison. With the combined light, Sven could his captors and his surroundings clearly. The cloaked figures were grim and had their eyes covered. Sven could only see their mouths. The mouths were chanting some odd, low chant. It was unintelligible to Sven.
Sven saw that he wasn’t wearing his normal clothes. He was covered with black robes, which contrasted sharply with the white robed captors. Sven was beginning to panic.
A thirteenth figure entered. He wore a goat’s head, and his robe was decorated with a sole pentagram. He held an ankh. He spoke.
Sven’s mind swam once he said this. How this lunatic know him?
Sven was standing, and the figure was only slightly shorter than him. The goat’s head disturbed Sven in a way he couldn’t describe.
“You should be honored,” the goat-headed figure continued. “You are about to prove that Baal was right in all of his teachings! Tonight, on Hallow’s Eve, you will thank us!”
Sven wanted to run, but that same strange force kept him from moving. The bind on his voice, however, had been released.
“Who are you?” Sven asked, gasping.
The goat-headed man laughed. “You call us the Illuminati. We call ourselves the Enlightened. You need not know this. You won’t know much in a little bit anyway.”
“What do you mean?” Sven interrogated.
“You shall see soon enough, or not. It doesn’t matter to me, or Baal,” The goat-headed man turned his attention to his followers. “It is time my brethren! History shall be made!”
The cloaked figures began chanting again. It sounded like some sort of Latin to Sven, but he couldn’t be sure. While the figures repeated their chant, the goat-headed man was chanting something else entirely.
“Baal!” he cried. “Hear my words! Prove to us that you are the word! Show us your path! Show us the truth! Demonstrate the Ankh!”
The goat-headed man lifted the Ankh in the air. To Sven’s amazement, the Ankh began to glow. The man continued to chant his chant. The follower’s chant began to grow louder. Sven felt a sense of loss as the goat-headed man appeared to be getting taller. When Sven noticed the baggy robes he was wearing were becoming baggier, he realized the man wasn’t getting bigger, he was getting smaller. Sven still couldn’t move. He watched, helpless, as the goat-headed man grew bigger and bigger. Sven felt the robes slide off, revealing his bare, brown skin. Sven felt an even greater sense of loss when he saw his bare crotch and smooth chest.
Sven started crying as a wave of emotions began to overcome him. His legs grew wobbly as he grew too young to walk. He plopped onto his bottom in the large pile of black robes. He kept crying until he finally stopped shrinking. The occultists had stopped chanting. In horror, Sven realized he couldn’t remember much of anything. He didn’t know math, English, history, anything. He only remembered who he was, and what he had lost. The goat-headed man stepped over and gently lifted Sven’s small body out of the black robes.
Sven saw the man and stopped crying. He felt a strange connection to the man, like he knew him from somewhere.
“Rejoice my brothers! The word of Baal is true! Sven is the proof! This is true rebirth!” the goat-headed man celebrated. He held Sven up in the air. Sven felt exposed and vulnerable. He could move again, but his movements were limited. He kicked his feet unconsciously as the goat-headed man brought him back down again. He cradled Sven. An occultist handed the man a baby bottle. The man brought it to Sven’s lips. Sven latched on in reflex and began to suck. He had been one of the best MMA fighters in the game, and now he was sucking milk out of a bottle.
And, amazingly, Sven didn’t care.
Sven came to realize that he didn’t have to do anything now. Everything would be done for him. What better heaven was that?
Later that night, several trick or treaters would report a mysterious group of people holding what would appear to be a six-month infant. On that same night, those people that were spotted would be gone.
It would be reported later that Sven’s car was found in the river, with the body nowhere to be found. A perfect cover.
Sven’s brother was present at the funeral. He would later tell that he had just adopted. He looked over his brother’s grave as he fed his new infant son, Georgie, formula.
Georgie looked into his father’s eyes, and realization washed over his regressed mind.
Stories of Age/Time Transformation