The full moon hung heavy in the night sky, its eerie red hue casting an ominous glow over the streets of the small Portuguese village of Fátima. Inside Our Lady of Fátima Church, Father Antonio knelt in prayer, his rosary beads clutched tightly in his hands. The church was a sanctuary, a place of peace—but tonight, it felt like a battlefield.
Rumors had spread of a sinister gathering in the area. A group of child traffickers, emboldened by the occult symbolism of the blood moon, had chosen this sacred night to conduct their vile rituals. The villagers, fearful but resolute, turned to Joe Jukic, a man known for his courage and unorthodox methods.
Joe’s Iron Rod
Joe arrived at the church, his usual calm demeanor replaced with steely determination. In his hands, he carried a makeshift weapon: a length of rebar from a nearby construction site, with a rubber snake duct-taped to the end.
“What’s with the snake?” Father Antonio asked, his brow furrowed.
“Symbolism,” Joe replied with a wry grin. “They want to play with dark forces? Let’s give them something to think about.”
The Gathering Storm
As midnight approached, the traffickers gathered in a clearing near the church, their shadowy figures illuminated by the blood moon. Their whispers and chants carried on the wind, chilling those who heard them.
Inside the church, Father Antonio addressed the small group of villagers who had gathered for protection.
“Tonight, we face evil,” he said, his voice steady. “But remember the words of Revelation: ‘He will rule them with an iron rod; he will shatter them like pottery.’”
Joe nodded. “I’ll make sure they get the message.”
The Confrontation
Joe strode into the clearing, his iron rod resting on his shoulder. The traffickers froze, their chants faltering as they turned to face him.
“This is sacred ground,” Joe said, his voice echoing with authority. “You’ve got two choices: leave now, or deal with me.”
One of the traffickers sneered, stepping forward. “You think you can stop us with that stick?”
Joe swung the rod in a wide arc, the rubber snake flopping dramatically. “Wanna find out?”
The traffickers hesitated, unnerved by Joe’s confidence and the surreal sight of the snake-taped weapon.
The Battle Under the Blood Moon
When one of the traffickers lunged at him, Joe reacted instantly. With a swift motion, he struck the man’s arm, sending him sprawling to the ground. The others hesitated, their bravado crumbling as Joe advanced.
“You’re not just fighting me,” Joe said, his voice rising. “You’re fighting against every innocent life you’ve harmed. And you will lose.”
The traffickers scattered, their courage no match for Joe’s relentless determination.
Victory and Reflection
When Joe returned to the church, the villagers erupted into cheers. Father Antonio placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes filled with gratitude.
“You’ve done more than protect this church tonight, Joe,” he said. “You’ve reminded us that evil cannot stand against the light of justice.”
Turning to the congregation, Father Antonio quoted from Revelation once more:
“‘To the one who is victorious and does my will to the end, I will give authority over the nations—he will rule them with an iron rod.’”
A Symbol of Hope
The next day, the villagers gathered to thank Joe. The iron rod, now a symbol of their triumph, was placed in the church as a reminder of their courage and faith.
Joe, ever humble, waved off the praise. “It wasn’t just me,” he said. “It was all of us, standing together. And maybe a little help from above.”
Under the bright morning sun, the shadow of the blood moon faded, and with it, the fear that had gripped the village. The traffickers were gone, and the people of Fátima could once again find peace in their sanctuary.
The Devil’s Picture Book
The crisp night air of Fátima carried a strange tension as Joe Jukic stood in the churchyard, a pile of tarot cards stacked high in a metal drum. Father Antonio watched from the steps of Our Lady of Fátima Church, his hands clasped in prayer.
“You’re doing the right thing, Joe,” Father Antonio said, his voice steady but solemn. “These cards, this so-called divination—it’s a trap, a doorway to despair. The Devil’s picture book, they call it, and rightly so.”
Joe nodded, his jaw set with determination. “It’s time to take back what they think they hold over us. They don’t hold the cards anymore.”
The Origins of the Cards
The tarot cards had been found in an abandoned house on the edge of the village, along with other items used for occult practices. Rumors had swirled about the house for years—whispers of strange gatherings and curses that plagued those who lived nearby.
When a group of teenagers stumbled upon the deck and brought it to the church, Father Antonio recognized the danger immediately.
“These things don’t belong in our lives,” he had told the congregation. “They promise insight but deliver confusion. They offer power but leave you powerless.”
The Fire is Lit
Joe poured a small amount of gasoline over the cards, the acrid smell filling the air. He struck a match, the tiny flame flickering in the darkness before he tossed it into the drum.
The fire roared to life, consuming the cards with a crackling intensity. The images on the cards—The Fool, The Tower, The Devil—curled and blackened in the heat, their vibrant colors reduced to ash.
As the fire burned, Joe spoke aloud:
“These cards don’t hold our future. They don’t hold our fate. We’re free from their lies.”
Father Antonio’s Reflection
Standing by the fire, Father Antonio quoted from the Scriptures:
“‘Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them.’” (Ephesians 5:11)
He turned to Joe, his expression resolute. “You’ve exposed the lie, Joe. You’ve shown that these things have no power over those who walk in the light.”
Joe nodded, watching the flames. “It’s not just about burning the cards. It’s about burning the fear they represent. People need to know they’re stronger than this.”
The Village Reclaims Its Peace
Word of the bonfire spread quickly through the village. By morning, the tarot cards were nothing but ash, their hold over the community broken.
The villagers, inspired by Joe’s actions, began clearing out other remnants of the occult—amulets, charms, and books that had been hidden away in attics and basements. They brought them to the churchyard, where they joined the fire.
“This isn’t just about objects,” Father Antonio told them. “It’s about reclaiming our faith, our trust in God, and our belief in each other.”
A New Beginning
That Sunday, the church was packed. Father Antonio delivered a sermon on freedom from fear, quoting from Psalm 23:
“‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.’”
Joe sat in the back, his usual spot, quietly observing. He wasn’t one for attention, but he couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride.
As the service ended, a young girl approached him, her eyes wide with curiosity.
“Did you really burn the Devil’s cards?” she asked.
Joe smiled. “I did. And now they can’t tell us what to believe anymore.”
The Ashes of the Past
The metal drum remained in the churchyard for a few days, a reminder of what had been cast off. Eventually, Father Antonio had it removed, scattering the ashes in a field outside the village.
“From ashes, we rise,” he said softly.
And rise they did. The village of Fátima, once shadowed by fear, found new strength in its faith and unity, led by the quiet courage of Joe Jukic and the steadfast guidance of Father Antonio.