Two years' time, Meares reached his prime. The self-proclaimed Mouth of God reveled in the dark audience he'd drawn.

 

Members of Seven Trumpets were known to be more hostile than other folk. They were quick to anger and more prone to sins of the flesh. It was as if the animal, still residing in every man, was stirred up in excess by the fiery rhetoric of their communion, and Reverend Meares stirred it fresh every week.

 

For the rest of Wilmington, It was easier to look the other way. No one wanted to address the fanatics - outside of idle gossip and mumbled jokes - but the snide smiles wilted as the stories of their activity grew…

 

There were whispers of group flagellation and uncomfortable contortions of communion rituals. Word even reached other church bodies that Meares was fully deviating from scripture, painting his own abominable doctrines based on supposed “divine inspiration’.

 

Local church leaders convened in grave meetings, hoping to find a way to stop Reverend Meares. But Temple of the Seven Trumpets was an independent entity. There was no one in place to strip him of power. The best they could do was to mount a smear campaign, warning people not to be led astray by the false prophet. They swung their stones, yet they could not strike down the Reverend. Every futile rebuke only served to draw his followers closer.

 

"Look how they fear the truth, my children. Look how they persecute me. Imagine what they'll do to you!”

 

Despite all the stories and sacrilege, there was no evidence of actual criminality. Most townsfolk stood on the outskirts of controversy, meekly whispering amongst their own, "You can't charge a man for abnormal religion and rumors." But they'd soon know these rumors were steeped in truth.

 

The direst sign of Reverend Meares' intent staggered into the public eye at the start of his third year.

 

In January of 1956, a stripped and beaten man collapsed downtown. His back was ripped to ribbons, and his face was gaunt and skeletal. As his blood and his life faded on the rain-soaked street, the man mustered the strength for a few final, broken words.

 

"The reverend .. he's building an army.”