“He’s coming,” said the voice.
“Who?” I asked.
“Jesus is coming,” said the voice. I chuckled.
I should look busy, then? I laughed. That bumper sticker is awesome.
“He can’t come back until your father lets him,” said the voice. “Your father is stopping the return of Jesus.” Concern filled me. My father?
“How is he stopping Jesus?” I asked.
“He is stopping him,” is all that the voice would say.
“What do I do?”
“You have to stop your father.”
Later that night, I took a knife out of the kitchen. It was large. At least 8 inches long. Dad was watching TV, enjoying a beer. I walked up behind him.
“Dad, let us bring back Jesus,” I said.
At first, I didn’t think he’d heard me. Then he muted the TV. Slowly, he got up from his chair and turned to me. The look of concern when he saw the knife startled me.
“Son? What’s wrong?” he asked, voice wavering. I stepped forward and slashed, spreading crimson all over the wall.