I’m going to try to keep this short because I don’t have much time.
It is currently 9:03 PM GMT. The storm will come in 57 minutes.
I live in a small town called Al Mahadis, Iowa. It’s not very known to outsiders, but those who do know of it tend to call it the “Arabic Capital of Iowa”, as it was founded by a small group of Arabic immigrants in the late 19th century. Since then, a few small time oil tycoons have retired here. The families all seem to be connected somehow, which is why they moved here collectively over time, or that’s just what the common folk assume. The Arabian immigrants tend to be the higher ups in this town. Our mayor is the son of a retired Middle Eastern business owner, and is said to be the descendant of a great king.
None of that is too important, though. What I’m trying to focus on here, and trying to relay to you, is The Storm. Since as long as even my great grandparents can remember, every 10 years to the day and time, there is a storm that appears in our town. July 15th at 10pm. The surrounding area is not affected, and it never appears on a weather radar.
Our mayor, Abdulmalik Sabir (who I’ll refer to as Abdul from now on), says the storm is a reminder from Allah, to make sure we follow Sharia Law. I, unlike most of my town, don’t follow Islam, as I follow Pantheism, the belief that reality is divinity in itself.
My father says that Mahdi (the Islamic figure said to rid the world of evil, also who our town is named after) will be born in Al Mahadis during the storm, and he will lead the townsfolk to be the first to rule over the world. As an Pantheist, I believe the storm is the Earth getting revenge on the corrupt people who live here, who have damaged Her in the past. No matter the origin of The Storm, it’s seemingly divine.
Every 10 years, when the date of The Storm comes, we prepare to enter “The Vault”, a large underground facility meant to protect us from The Storm. Anyone who does not enter the Vault in time is assumed to have been killed and taken away by The Storm.
When I was 16, I had a friend named Hal around the same age. Hal had moved here from Denver when he was 10, so his family had never experienced the Storm. He believed the Storm was a plot by the City Council to instill fear and Islam to the community. He thought that the City Council would kidnap anyone who stayed outside, and he was ready to fight back. He decided to test his luck. The night of the storm, he snuck away from the group heading to the Vault, and let himself get locked out. Upon exiting the next day, he was nowhere to be seen, and there was blood in the spot he told me he would be hiding out in.
This year, as the time of the Storm approached, the City Council made their decennially announcements and released the protocols. At 6pm on the night of The Storm, we were to head to the City Hall. In the back was the entrance to the Vault. We start entering at 6:30, and doors close at 8. The Storm hits at 10pm. I had followed the rules on the last storm, but this time was different. This time, I wanted to test out Hal’s theory. I don’t know why I did it. I guess I lost purpose in my life. Nothing has been going my way lately. My girlfriend, Jessie, died 6 months ago to cancer, I lost my job I was trying to start a career in, and recently, my dad had a stroke in his brainstem. The doctors declared him brain dead, and I plan to take him off life support soon, if I make it out of this.
At 6pm, I left my home like I was supposed to, except this time I headed off the in the complete opposite direction. As the patrols were rounding up anyone who hadn’t left yet, I hid. After 8 o clock hit and the doors were closed, I stayed hidden in my spot under my grandparents’ old and abandoned house, where I used to hide from my abusive grandfather. It didn’t take long for the noises to start. Scratching sounds coming from the sky. The sounds changed to snarling. Over the next hour, I heard a variety of creature sounds, some I can’t even explain. Then the voices started. They knew my name.
“Omar, come to us. We only want to help you. You’re not alone in this.” And things of that sort.
I started writing this so I can let everyone here know of what happens in Al Mahadis, Iowa. It’s currently 9:48. I left the house, and have been walking around the ghost town. The voices haven’t stopped. They’re only getting louder. They sound almost familiar. Maybe Abdul was right. This could be Allah’s punishment to me.
It’s 10:01 now. The thunder and lightening have started. I see figures in the distance, standing in a weird formation. They’re calling out to me. I don’t know what’s happening. I’m hiding inside a gas station.
The calendar, it must be wrong. It says October 7th. The clock reads 7am. Did I fall into a coma? No, I remember typing this out. Hal’s here. Why is Hal here? He brought Jessie.
What’s happening? There’s blood on my hands, I’m under my grandparents house. There’s a skeleton with a wallet next to it. It reads “Hal Adams”. Why is there a knife in Jessie’s stomach? I hope it killed the baby.