Things had been weird lately.  Particularly the sky, which was orange.  When there were clouds, which was most of the time, they were orange too.

In England, the sun was almost invisibly setting beyond the veil of tangerine, and Henry and Charlie were on their second pint in the Dog and Duck.

“Anyway,” said Charlie, “isn’t the Antichrist supposed to come before Armageddon?  Who’s he, then?”

“Trump, of course.”

“Aye.  You’ve got a point there.  Could be.”

“He sets himself up to run for President, all full of himself, and charms the pants off more than half the electorate.  The Antichrist is supposed to be charming, in’t he?  And he wins loads o’ people round and they follow him.  And there’s that bloke Q who pronounced about him like he was the messiah.  Gotta be him.”  He took a long pull on his pint.  “That’s why we’ve got the tribulations.”

“Tribulations?  What, wildfires and wars and stuff?”

“Aye.  We knew the world was warming up, and scientists told us to stop using fossil fuels, but no, Trump said, ‘drill baby, drill’ and the air gets thick, like a blanket keeping the planet warm.”

“True, true.”

“And the wars are making it worse, in’t they?”

“Yes.  Even over here, they say a lot of this dust is from blowin’ up things over there.  Blown all round the world, especially the top half, the north.”

“And the Antichrist says he’s fightin’ t’ stop the Muslims, them as don’t think Jesus is the Messiah, taking over the world and having nuclear weapons.”

“Yeah, he says he’s a Christian, and God is on his side,” complains Charlie.  “He doesn’t act very Christian, though, does he?  He should be all peace and love, not hate and war.”

“Aye, he should.”  Henry gave one nod and a belch.  “But who’s his only ally?  Israel.  The home of the Jews.  They don’t believe Jesus was important, yet he treats them different from the Muslims.  He’s not what he makes out to be.”

Draining his glass, Henry stands and totters between the tables to the bar, returning with two new pints.   “I thought Netanyahu might be the Antichrist at first.  You know all them Jews ain’t bad.  But he’s evil, in’t he?  He loves killing people, and he’s not even scared to admit it.  Says quite freely he won’t stop until all the Palestinians are dead.  What kind of believer in God is that, eh?”

“You’ve got a good point there, and no mistake.  He acts like he wants to be the new Hitler.”

Nodding, Henry agreed.  “Never a truer word, Charlie.  Never a truer word.”

“So why do you say Trump’s the Antichrist, then?  It could be Netanyahu.”

Gazing through the window at the orange sky, Henry sucked air in through pursed lips.  “Don’t forget he’s got to be a charmer.  He’s got to be able to get the people to follow ‘im.  That’s more Trump, in my mind.”

“What about the plagues, then?” asks Charlie, reaching forward to prop his elbow on the table, missing, but managing it at the next attempt.   “Covid came from China.  You don’t think that makes Xi the Antichrist or somethin’?”

“No, no.  Got to have plagues because it was foretold in the Bible.  Can’t go foretelling then not havin’ it come true.  I think the Antichrist’s main purpose is to lure Christians away from Jesus, innit?”

“Er, yeah.  Suppose so.”

“But if it’s Trump, well then, he’s appointed people like himself to his regime and they’re causing more plagues and suffering.”

“What, the war an’ all?”

“I wasn’t thinking of that, Charlie, but you’re along the right lines.  He got Hegseth to get the war started, against Iran.  But I was thinking about the plagues.  Robert Kennedy Junior.  He’s causing deaths, even of little kiddies, in America.  He’s Secretary for Health, an’ tells the mums not to vaccinate them, and what happens?  They get measles.  Some of them die from it.  Others go deaf or blind, or disabled.  It’s terrible what he’s done.  But it makes sense if it’s all to bring about the Apocalypse, don’t it?  Otherwise…  Well, whoever heard of someone like that being in charge of a country’s health, eh?”

“We had Liz Truss as Prime Minister.”

“Aye, but she was a follower of Trump, wasn’t she?  That’s why we had to have her for a few days.  He’s spreading his evil about.”

“Yes.  She was PM for less time than it took a lettuce to go manky, yet she caused havoc.”

Charlie emptied his glass and picked it up.  Having bought two more foaming pints he returned.   “Tell me about the four horses of this ‘ere Apocalypse.”

“The four horses, yes, they’re important, in’t they?  Well, I reckon the first one is actually about Trump.  Maybe it’s that car he rides around in.”

“The beast?”

“Yeah, he is.  But the Bible says the first one is white.  Well, that’s like Trump’s hair, innit?  So I reckon he was the rider.  He’s said to represent conquering, but not properly.  He creates a deceptive peace.  You know, like when he kept saying he’d ended all those wars, but nothing was different.”

“Well, most of them weren’t wars, were they?  He just made ‘em up.”

“Yeah, you have a point there.  But he was being deceptive about making peace.  And then there was the peace he said he made between Israel and Gaza.  His ceasefire.  But they kept on fighting.  And then he decided to go to war against Iran with his old mate Netanyahu, and when he got fed up, he said he’d done a deal – he’s always talking about ‘deals’, never ‘agreements’ or what have you – and the war had ended.  But it hadn’t.  Iran kept bombing, Israel kept bombing.  Then when he got embarrassed, he decided to try and block up the Strait of Hormuz, even though the Iranians had already done that.”

“Ah, yes.  A false peace.”

“Exactly, Charlie.  So Trump fits the description of the first horseman.  Another reason to suspect he’s the Antichrist.”

Charlie wiped beer from his mouth with his sleeve.  “Yeah, I’ll go with that, Henry.  Who rides the second horse?”

“Well, I reckon that’d be Putin.  But it could be Netanyahu.  See it says the second horse is red and symbolises war and bloodshed.”

“Oh aye, that could be either of them.  Although I suppose red fits in with communism, which is kinda related to Russia and Putin.  What about the third one?” asked Charlie.

“Well, there’s the thing.  It makes me think Putin must be riding the red horse, ‘cos the next one is black, and he brings famine and economic collapse.  Netanyahu certainly did that, didn’t he.  He razed Gaza to the ground, then Lebanon.  All he left was just land covered in concrete dust and rubble.  Nothing would grow there.  The only way for the people to get food was by the aid workers, and ‘e wouldn’t let ‘em in.  So the people, Palestinians, were starving.  And of course, there was no economy left.  There was nowhere left to sell things, and nothing to sell.”

“So Netanyahu’s gotta be riding the black horse.”

Henry leant back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.  “Aye.  But the fourth one I don’t really get.  Its rider is Death.  So maybe we can’t see him as a person.  Just death.  And death certainly follows Trump, Putin and Netanyahu.”

“You’re saying the fourth rider is more of a concept?”

“I suppose that’s what it means, aye.  It fits, don’t it?”

 

*****

 

Henry and Charlie had moved on from speculating if the apocalypse was coming.  They made themselves comfortable on a couple of folding garden chairs a yard or two back from the touchline.  Their pub, the Dog and Duck, was about to do battle against the Queen’s Arms in a five-a-side football match.

The players from the Dog and Duck wore blue t-shirts, and those from the Queen’s Arms were in various shades of orange.

“I hope our lads can spot any of the orange brigade coming up from the side,” said Henry.  “Their top halves blend in with the colour of the sky.”

“They do.  Especially as there’s orange clouds and their t-shirts are all different shades.”

“We’d better watch out for any fouling the ref can’t see, eh?”

“Aye.  We’ll ‘elp ‘im out.  Beer?”

“I thought your arms had fallen off, I’ve been waiting that long.”

Charlie laughed loudly at his friend’s joke.  They’d been supporting their team by spending the last couple of hours in the Dog and Duck supping beer.

Ten minutes into the match, one of the blue defenders dribbled the ball expertly past the forwards with the orange men in hot pursuit, and he was lined up perfectly to kick the ball into the net.  With the loudest crack either Henry or Charlie had ever heard, a golden bolt of lightning pierced the sky.  It was so bright the particles in the pollution could be seen as clearly as dust motes in a ray of sunshine.

In less than a second, a giant of a man in a too tight orange t-shirt whipped round the man from the Dog and Duck and arced his foot out and round, gaining possession of the ball.  He hopped round in a semi-circle, keeping control of the ball, and started to run back the other way, towards the Blues’ goal.

“Unfair!” bellowed Henry.  “You should ‘a’ blown yer whistle, Ref.  Play was interrupted by a lightnin’ bolt.”

Charlie was on his feet.  “Weather stopped play!”

The Ref blew his whistle, just as the ball rolled into the Dog and Duck’s goal.

The men from the Queen’s Arms were hugging and jumping and shouting with glee.

“C’mon, Ref.  That wasn’t fair,” said Charlie.

“He got the goal before me whistle went.  That lightning made me jump that much it knocked the sense out of me.”

A man in a tweed jacket, with a red nose put his arm up.  “Sorry lads, it’s got to be one nil to the Queen’s Arms.  They were disturbed by the lightning, too, so it’s fair.”

Henry and Charlie groaned and sat back down.  “Give us another, Charlie,” said Henry holding his hand out for a beer.

The players resumed their starting position, and the Ref blew the whistle.  The big man in orange got the ball, but one of the men in blue tripped him up.

“Foul!” shouted the fans from the Queen’s Arms.

The man with the recalcitrant foot lifted his arms out sideways, palms skywards. “I didn’t do nothin’, Ref.  He kicked me foot!”

A brawl looked inevitable, but a flash of gold and a long, loud roll of thunder stopped them all.  Most eyes were looking at the orange sky, but Charlie was sharp enough to notice something off to his right.  He turned his head.  “Hey!  Look out!”

All eyes followed Charlie’s gaze.  Four horses came galloping towards them.  The one in the front, a white one, shot straight through the Dog and Duck’s goal, but it didn’t slow down.  Almost at its side ran another beast, chestnut with a darker mane and tail.

Close behind them a black horse romped over the football pitch, followed by another, pale in colour with a tinge of green.   This one ripped up the Queen’s Arms’ goal.

Some ugly looking men were riding these horses, and they circled their animals round until they came back to the side of the pitch at a trot.

“Oi!” said the only goal scorer.  “You’ve ripped our bloody nets.  You’re gonna have to pay for them.  We’re just blokes from a pub.  We don’t have money to keep buying new goals.”

The white horse was reined to a halt by the centre circle of the pitch.  He was wearing a golden tiara on his head of tangled white hair.  He wore a dirty off-white cloak.  “So sorry.  I declare your match over, and it’s a draw.”

“It bloody ain’t,” said the man who’d fouled the defender from the Dog and Duck who’d run right out of position.  “I scored a goal, fair and square.  The Queen’s Arms wins.”

“My dear chap.  We made that happen with our bolt of lightning.  And I say it’s one all.  You’re even.  You can be at peace and not have to compete against each other anymore.”

“But we’re football teams,” shouted the Queen’s Arms’ goalie striding forward having noticeably gained confidence.  “Our sole purpose is to play matches against each other.”

“No, no,” said the rider of the white horse.  “You have to be at peace with each other now.”

“You’re kidding,” said the goalie.  “Why would we want to?”

“You don’t have to want to.  You just have to do it.”

The chestnut horse nudged up next to the white one.  His rider was wearing some kind of outfit reminiscent of a medieval knight, and he had a large sword in a scabbard hanging down by his right leg.

“Look here, chaps,” he said.  “You have to become peaceful so that I can stir up trouble and get you fighting again.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” said the Dog and Duck’s goalie.

“Well, it doesn’t really have to make sense,” said the rider of the second horse.  “It’s been prophesised, you see, so it just has to be.”

Charlie scratched his head.  “You’re mad. What are you even doing here, anyway?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little heads about that,” said the rider of the white horse.  “Just go about your business in peace and harmony.”

“Somebody’s been opening seals,” said the second rider.  “And so unfortunately, we had to come here and cause an incy bit of chaos.  Just be peaceful and friendly, then you can go back to your game, the more intense the better, if that’s alright with you.”

The third horse, the black one, started stomping its hooves on their pitch.

“Oi!  Stop churning up the grass, will yer?” called out the goal scorer.

The rider, wearing a black robe with a biker’s jacket, looked up, pulled on the reins of his horse, and patted its neck once it was still again.  “Sorry about that.  I’ve taught him to trample over crops so they’re ruined.  He needn’t do it to grass.  You don’t eat grass, do you?”

“No, we’re trying to play football on it, if you don’t mind.  Clear off!”

Henry’s brow was furrowed.  “Why d’you ask if we eat grass and say you get yer ‘orse to trample on crops.  You tryin’ to stop us eatin’ or summat?”

“Well, yes, I’m afraid that’s my job.   Make food scare and expensive.  Screw up your economy.  Make you appreciate what you had.  You must suffer to realise you used to have it good when you followed God’s laws.  That’s what I was ordered to do, anyway.  Oh, but you don’t have to ease up on the wine and oil.”

“Will beer do instead of wine?” asked Charlie.

“It’s alcoholic, isn’t it?  Well, then, yes.  That should be okay.”

“What about crisps?” asked the Queen’s Arms’ goalie.

“Crisps.  Let’s see.  Slivers of potato fried in oil?”

“Yeah.  Only I likes cheese and onion.”

“Ah.  Is that real cheese?”

“No, don’t think so.  Just some powder to make ‘em taste nice.”

“That should be alright, I’d think.  Yes, have your crisps and your beer.  I’ve got plenty of other things I can make scarce.”

The goal scorer came closer.  “Can we start our match again now?”

“Excuse me.”  A voice caught their attention from behind the three horses.  A gaunt face with little hair on top and sunken eyes could be seen over the others.  The face moved round and revealed itself to be attached to a greeny-grey clad bony body sitting upon a thin pale horse with a greeny hue about it.

A heavy sigh came from the goal scorer in his tight orange t-shirt.  “What now?”

“Good afternoon, all.  I’m Death.  I’ve come to clean up after all the conflict, starvation and disease, etc, have taken effect.  I decide which human deserves death and which should be left to suffer a little longer.”

Pausing in his address he turned his upper half to look behind the group of mounted men.  A little way back was an even bonier and paler horse than Death’s with the green more apparent in splotches on its coat.  The rider was also bonier with greasy tangled hair and a robe that looked as if it had once been white, but had a lot spilled on it.

The horse limped forward, pulling a wooden cart behind it.  The rider raised a bony hand with yellowing over-long and curly fingernails.

“This is Hades,” said Death.  “He’s what you might call my undertaker.  He takes the bodies away.”

The footballers raised a hand in response to Hades and mumbled, “Hi.”

There was a pause in activity and speech, and gradually all eyes returned to the first rider on the white horse.

“Well, that seems to be it for the time being.  Nice talking to you.  You all look nice and peaceful now, so you may return to challenging each other.  Cheerio!”

Led by the white one, the horses swerved to the left and accelerated to a gallop, avoiding the men from the pubs, and started to rise into the orange polluted air.

“Well I’ll be bugged,” said Henry, returning to his chair.  “Charlie.  Give us another can o’ that beer, will yer?”

Handing across a drink, Charlie frowned.  “That wasn’t Trump or Netanyahu or Putin.  Not anyone I recognised at all.”

 

*****

 

The Dog and Duck was packed to the rafters with five-a-side football players from two teams, their supporters and officials, and various other people from the neighbourhood.

Bill the landlord and his wife Becky had been busy selling alcoholic drinks to the throng.  Everyone present had bought or been bought one, and several of them had gone back for seconds.

Henry climbed unsteadily onto a table.  “Alright, Bill!”

Ringing the bell, Bill called for hush, and the excited murmurings died down.

“We had a strange experience over on the playing fields this afternoon.”  Henry was careful to project his voice so all could hear.  “Did you all see, or hear about, the unexpected visitors?”

There was a rumble of agreement and expressions of surprise and fear.

One higher pitched voice called out, “No.  Who was it.  It wasn’t the Council about putting up the goals again, was it?”

“No, Chrissy, it wasn’t.  We’ve sorted things out with them, and they’ve said it’s alright so long as we pay for the equipment ourselves.”

“And now we’ll have to have another fundraiser to do that,” said the big burly goal scorer.

“Why’s that then?” asked Chrissy.

Raising his voice, Henry said, “If you’ll let me carry on, you’ll find out.”

The room became quiet again save for the sounds of glass on wood and the odd belch.

“We had a visit from the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, no less” announced Henry.  “They barged in and ruined our nets, and we only just stopped one of them churnin’ up the pitch.”

“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?” wailed Chrissy.  “Are we all going to die?”

From behind the bar, as he pulled another pint, Bill called out, “No, we’re not all going to die, Chrissie, but life will be a tad different soon.  We may all be living somewhere else, even.”

“Where?”  Laurel’s voice was as booming as any man present.

“Well,” continued Bill, handing over the pint.  “Some of us may be going to Heaven, and some of us…”

“Might not.”  Becky finished her husband’s sentence.

A shrill voice made its way above the hubbub and scraping of seats.  “You mean Hell?”  It was Leon.  He was a short thin man who always wore a worried expression.  He’d been on an extended visit to the Gents when the footballers set off and decided he needed to sit very still for a while after that.

“I’m sure you won’t be going to Hell, Leon.  You’re a good man.  No need for you t’worry.  Now can I get on?”  Henry tried to make himself appear taller and more important.

Leon fled to the Gents.

“I’d better keep it brief,” said Henry, and proceeded to explain about the Horsemen in as few words as he could manage.  “So you see.  All this orange sky an’ pollution is the beginning of the Apocalypse.  It’s very inconvenient, but we’ll muddle through.  We will ‘ave to buy new nets, though, so any ideas for fundraisin’ will be greatly appreciated.  Thank you.”  He climbed down from the table and returned to his seat.

“I’m just getting’ yer one,” said Charlie.

 

*****

 

The town wasn’t big but word of the Apocalypse spread through it like wildfire – even though that was an unfortunate expression in the circumstances.

The Dog and Duck became the centre for townsfolk to gather and try to mitigate the worst effects of the supernatural problem, and to help with information.  For theological matters they called in the Rev. Tom Tweed.  The landlady Becky put herself in charge of the raffle that was the first event to raise money for new football nets.

After a few weeks, Bill spoke to his customers as he served them, “What do you think to our having an event about the Apocalypse?” he said to Henry and Charlie.  “We could call it ‘The Great Debate’ and have two teams to talk about why they thought it was or wasn’t going to happen.  A bit like a political debate, or Question Time but with two panels.”

“Aye, I like that, Bill,” said Henry.  “ Could be quite a crowd puller.  We could get some really decent nets, and maybe a bit of new turf round the goals and the centre circle.  You can put me down t’ talk about why I think the Apocalypse is really happenin’.”

“I like your idea, Bill,” said Charlie.  “But I don’t know that I’d be any good at public speaking.  I’ll come along and listen, mind.”

Normally when special events were planned the Dog and Duck would compete against the Queen’s Arms and other pubs and clubs.  But this was to be a joint effort.

Rev. Tom Tweed was to captain the “Believe It” side, while Mrs Gillian Potter would be captain of the “Sceptics” team.

As she went about the pub collecting used glasses, Becky spoke to the regulars.  “If you’ve got a question you’d like to put to both teams at the Great Debate, I’ve left a note pad on the bar.  Just write them on there, and we’ll use them after the first round of introductions on the night.  I’ll be Mistress of Ceremonies.”

Mick, the landlord of the Queen’s Arms, said he would adjudicate whether the teams had answered their questions properly and debated each other fairly, as he didn’t expect many customers at his pub that evening.

Notices were put up in the pubs and churches and the odd bus stop.  People spread the word amongst their WhatsApp groups and other social media, although it was decided to keep the people being told to locals, because they simply didn’t have room for half of England at the Dog and Duck, even though they had a fair-sized garden.

However, some regulars were impressed with their plans and wanted others to hear what they came up with on the evening, so a local influencer who normally dealt with personal feedback on food, Gavin Whitaker, offered to broadcast the event via YouTube.  “It can stay up online, so anyone can hear what we discuss at a later date.  After all, it’ll be very late at night for people in China and Australia.”

“True,” said Bill.  “Go on, then, Gavin.  You organise it.  We can give publicity internationally for the online event.  I’m sure there are plenty of people around the world trying to make sense of it all.”

“It could become an international phenomenon,” said Laurel.

“I should say the Apocalypse will be global,” said Becky.

“No, not the Apocalypse, the debate.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe if enough people put their minds to it, we’ll work out a way to stop it,” said Leon.  He’d had several brandies that day, as he had each day since he learned about the Four Horsemen, so he was managing to use his brain for other purposes than to fear the worst, now and then anyway.

“That’s it, chuck,” soothed Becky.  “We work at it hard enough and we can sort it out.  After all, we’ve only really had that orange sky and pollution – and that may be just that, pollution – and these Horsemen.  Who’s to say they weren’t people dressed up having a laugh.”

Leon’s gaunt face lit up with a smile, not seen since the last time England won the Eurovision Song Contest, so word had it.  “Yes, yes.  You could be right there.  It could have been a prank.  And the sky – well, we’ve had pollution since the industrial revolution, haven’t we?!”

 

*****

 

The day of the Great Debate was thought to be bright and sunny, above the veil of orange pollution.  Leon walked into the Dog and Duck for his lunch without a frown on his face.  He had been convincing himself that the Apocalypse could be stopped or was just a hoax.  “Brandy, please, Becky.”

“Triple?”

“No, I think I’ll just have a double for the moment, thanks.  Pace myself.”

Bill came out from the back room.  “Are you having lunch with us, Leon?”

“Yes, I will do, after I’ve had this apéritif.”

Bill put a pack of pork scratchings on the bar in front of Leon.  “For when you want them.  Pay us when you have your next drink.”

“Thanks, Bill.”

The landlord of the Queen’s Arms arrived mid-afternoon to help out, which was unusual for him.  But he did have a large sign advertising his pub with him.

“Alright, Mick?” said Bill.  “I thought we could have a row of tables down here, for one team, and the other along there.  What do you think?”

“Seems about right, given the shape of the room, Bill.”

Henry and Charlie arrived just after five, wanting to get good seats, and hoping they’d be doing fish and chips that day as it was special, rather like on Saturday nights.

“Which side of the debate are you two on?” asked Bill as he poured their pints.”

“Well me, I’m on the side wot believes the Apocalypse is on its way,” said Henry.  “Those ‘orses looked solid enough t’ me at the footie match.  I didn’t imagine them.”

“No, no, of course not.  You didn’t think it was some people messing about?   A hoax?”

“Nah, not the way they flew off at the end.  I can’t see how they coulda done that.”

Looking pensive, Charlie began, “Well…  Could there have been some mechanism up in the sky, like helicopters, say, above the pollution clouds?  We might not a’ seen them with all the haze.  Could have had the horses on ropes.  Like at a show – a pantomime.  Some fairy gets lifted up above the stage by ropes.”

Bill nodded.  “Possible, I suppose.”

“Well,” said Henry.  “Anything’s possible, as they say.  But by that token, so is the Apocalypse.”  He took a good swig of his beer.  “But y’know I’ve been thinking.  It might a’ been a load of ol’ rubbish, my idea about seven Manchester United players wearing the number seven starting it.  I think the whole things a lot more in-depth than that.”

Charlie knew what he was talking about, even if no one else did.  “I think you’re right there, Henry.  About being wrong, I mean.”

“Find yourselves seats on the right-hand side,” said Bill.  “That’s the Believers side.”  He walked off to serve more of the increasing throng of customers.

 

At 7.30pm Bill rang the bell behind the bar.  Becky stood up from her chair between the two rows of debaters.  “Time to begin, folks!”

After a reasonable quiet had settle over the Dog and Duck, Becky gave instructions on how the Great Debate was to be carried out.  “First, let’s hear from those who believe the Apocalypse has started.  We’ll begin with you, Henry, then go up the line.  After that, we’ll come back down the other line, the Sceptics.  OK?”  She looked around at the people in front of her and nodded.  “Right, Henry.”

“Well, Charlie and me ‘ad been talking about the Apocalypse having started because of the colour and strangeness of the sky, so that would be one point.  There’s also been a lot of wars and bombing and genocide an’ so on happening.  But when I saw them Horsemen, I knew they was for real.  And they just rode off up into the air and disappeared behind the orange clouds when they went.  That was no trick, I swear it.”

“How about you, Reverand Tweed, Tom?  What makes you believe the Apocalypse has started?”

“I am a man of God, and I read my Bible daily.  Sometimes more than once a day.  Often in fact.  Anyway, it’s all there in Revelations.  Jesus will open seven seals and various things will happen, including the Four Horsemen appearing.  The Antichrist is already among us.  Someone who’s had lots of followers, but he’s completely duplicitous.”

“Nigel Farage,” called a voice from somewhere over by the bar.

“Well, yes, it could be,” replied Tom Tweed.  “There are a few candidates around the world.  But as a quick reason why I believe the Apocalypse has begun, I refer you to the Bible, and comparisons with what’s going on these days.”

“Thank you Reverand,” said Becky.  “Next, one of our great five-a-side footballers, who I understand nearly scored a goal before the Horsemen put in an appearance, Ajeet Singh.  What makes you believe it’s real?”

Ajeet stood in front of his chair, his hands folded together in front of him.  “I saw those Horsemen, and they were real.  That was no trick.  And of course, the sky.”  Then he sat down again.

“Thank you, Ajeet.  That just leaves you, Laurel.

“I’ve known since I was a child,” boomed Laurel, “that the End of Days would come in my lifetime.  There is so much wickedness in the world.  And personally I think it started with Hitler and the war, and things haven’t got better since.  And the sky is so unnatural.  And I believe what Henry told me about the Horsemen.”

“Thank you for keeping your introductory arguments so succinct, Believers Team.  Now, time to hear from the other side, the Sceptics.  Let’s start with you Gillian, Mrs Potter…”

Gillian stood up and curled her fingers together.  “I see the good in people.  I don’t believe anyone exists who is bad enough to be the Antichrist.  Yes, I’m concerned about the orange sky, but I think if we all do our part and stop using fossil fuels and plastic and so on, it will clear.  Especially if we plant more trees.  I have filled my back garden with several native species.  Every little helps.”

“Excellent, Gillian.  Now, another footballer, not from the Dog and Duck this time, but from the Queen’s Arms.  But we’re all friends here tonight, trying to work our way through a confusing world.  Florian Bakker.”

“Thank you, Becky.  I’m here to say that I don’t believe there is or ever will be such a thing as an Apocalypse, because I don’t believe in the Bible.”

“Oh.  Okay, fair enough.  Next we have Liam Murphy.”

“Hi guys.  I do believe in the Bible, but I don’t think things have got bad enough to suspect the Apocalypse.  There will be much worse before that happens, so…  No need to worry.”

“Thank you Liam.  Now, last but not least, Sue Hope.”

Sue stood up to speak to the gathered throng, a wide smile on her lips.  “We haven’t arrived at the Apocalypse.  Everything is going to be fine.  People have been saying ‘the end of the world is nigh’ for centuries, and it hasn’t happened.  We’re all going to be hunky dory, and God loves us.”

Bill called out from behind the bar.  “That was round one, so to speak, so feel free to come up and get yourselves more drinks now, everyone.”

People rushed from the area in front of Becky to the bar, and drinks aplenty were bought.  Bill smiled a lot.

At last the room settled down to a low mumbling and most people were sat in the teams or at the tables.  A few remained at the bar, those who had been there since before the Debate begun.

Bill rang the bell again, and Beck declared it was time for Part 2 of the evening’s special event.   “I have here the questions some of you gave to me to put to our two panels.”  She rustled some pieces of paper.

“Hang on!”  It was Gavin Whitaker.  “Sorry, Becky, I forgot to start the livestream up again.  Can you just say that again?”

Becky rolled her eyes then pushed a smile back onto her face and repeated what she had just said, complete with the rustling of paper.

“The Believer’s Team went first in the introductions, so I shall ask the Sceptics to answer the written questions first.  I’ll start with you Sue.  Then it’ll be fair.  The one who went last going first.  Yes?  Right, Sue, the question is… ‘Who do you think is the Antichrist?’”

Sue frowned.  “Well, I can’t really answer that because I don’t believe we have an Antichrist.  Not at the moment, anyhow.”

“Okay, let’s move on to Liam.  Who do you believe is the Antichrist?”

“You may find difficulty getting answers out of my team, Becky.  I don’t think the Antichrist has arrived yet, either.”

“Oh, I see.  Well, in fairness I must ask everyone.  Florian?”

“Don’t believe in the Bible, don’t believe there’s an Antichrist.”

“Right.  Gillian?”

“I don’t think that particular beast has arrived in our world.  Sorry, Becky.”

“Okay.  No matter.  Let’s move over to the Believers.  Starting again with the person who went last before.  Lauren.  Who do you think is the Antichrist?”

“That has to be Donald Trump.  Politifact have twice voted him Liar of the Year.  I think because he’s scarcely able to say anything that’s true, and he’s a prominent leader in the world, it must be him.”

“Ajeet.  Same question to you.”

“Omar al-Bashir of Sudan.  He murders, he rapes, he is evil.  I think he is the Antichrist.”

“Reverand Tom.  Who in your opinion is the Antichrist?”

“I think it’s Vladimir Putin.  Yes, I believe Trump and al-Bashir are evil, but Putin has been at it longer.  He kills his own people, he kills individuals abroad, and of course, he has waged such a dreadful war against Ukraine.”

“Henry?”

“Well, I were thinkin’ of Trump, but I’ll go for Benjamin Netanyahu.  He is supposed to be the leader of the people of Abraham, but he is just a murderer, a genocidist.  He is cruel, and he also tells many, many lies.  That is who I believe to be the Antichrist.”

Charlie looked at his friend with his features scrunched up.  “You said you thought it was Trump before, because Netanyahu had no charm.”

Swinging round to him, Henry put a finger to his lips.  I wanted to be different from the others.  More to talk about that way.

When he turned to look forward again, Henry found Becky smiling.  The tension that had suddenly got a grip of him melted away.

“I have another question here,” said Becky, tucking the paper on the top of her thin pile to the bottom.  “What do you think Jesus Christ will say to you, personally, when he comes back to Earth?  Let’s start with Henry and go back the other way.  Henry?”

“Oh, what’ll he say to me personally?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.  ‘Hello’, I suppose.”

There was a ripple of laughter and Leon’s brows unknitted momentarily.  He drank some more of his brandy.

“Tom?  What do you think Jesus will say to you when you meet?”

“I’m rather hoping he’ll say I’ve been doing a reasonable job representing Him here in our town.  Of course, I hope he will also be pleased how we have all cast aside the Antichrist.”

“I hope so, too.  Ajeet?”

“I’d like Him to say something reassuring, like, you’re a good and holy bloke, Ajeet.  I don’t want to end up in Hell!”

“I’m with you there, Ajeet.  Laurel?”

Drawing in a deep breath, Laurel’s back was straight and her bosom thrust outwards.  “I intend to tell Him how glad I am to see Him, and I’d be most pleased to hear him say the same back to me.”  Her serious sentiment was followed by a wide smile.

“Very good, Laurel.  Yes, we want Him to be pleased to see us and to want us on His side.”

Another flutter of laughter and Leon almost smiled.  He topped up his glass from the brandy bottle he had on the floor beside him.

“Now let’s see what the Sceptics would like or expect Jesus to say to them when He comes back.  Gillian, what’s your answer?”

“Well, I don’t expect to meet Him, because I don’t think He actually exists.  Although, I suppose it would be nice if He did and He said something like, ‘Here I am, Gillian.  All will be well now.’”

“I like that answer,” said Becky.  “How about you, Florian?”

“If He said anything to me, I’d say ‘I’m hearing voices!’”

That brought the best laughter of the evening so far.  Leon even paused raising his glass to his lips, the corners of his mouth a fraction further out than normal.

“Very good.  Liam?”

Twisting his mouth to one side, Liam’s gaze wandered off a moment.  Then he looked back at Becky.  “If someone told me He was there, I think I’d say, ‘Is there anybody there?’”  His voice sounded like a character out of a ghost story.  It had the desired effect and produced more laughter.

Something akin to a grunt came from Leon’s throat.  His features were definitely more relaxed than anyone had seen them in a long time, perhaps ever.

“Sue, what would you say?”

Sue took in a breath and let it out as a whistful sigh.  “I don’t think I’ll still be walking this earth when he returns, but if I’m wrong and He is on His way, I think maybe I’d…  Give Him a hug!”

“That’s a lovely answer,” said Becky.

Amid more laughter, the Rev Tom Tweed said, “Spoken like a true believer.  It’s wonderful to have you in my church every Sunday, Sue.”

“Oh aye,” called somebody from the bar.  “You two got that sort of relationship, have you?”

Amid guffawing amongst most of the men in the room, the Rev Timms looked at the joker and scowled.

Leon started to choke on his brandy.

“Hey, guys.  We’ve got people talking to us in the chat on YouTube.”  Gavin Whittaker’s broadcast of the event to the world was obviously getting some attention.

Turning to him, Becky asked, “What are they saying.  Have any of them got questions for our team members?”

“There’s some idiots being rude about people believing in Jesus and the Apocalypse, and some complaining that people aren’t taking the matter seriously enough.  They like you, Sue, and your comment about giving Jesus a hug… And there are quite a few laughing emojis at ‘Is anybody there?’”

“Oh, it’s wonderful that we can reach out across the world at such a time as this,” said Rev Tom Tweed.

“Hey, love, it’ll be making us famous,” Bill called across to Becky.  “Maybe we’ll have people visiting from the other side of the world.”

“Your fortunes will be made,” said Charlie.

The vicar smile broadly, then caught himself and mumbled, “God’s love shouldn’t be something to profit from.”

“Don’t profit from the Prophet, eh, Tom?” said Ajeet.

The laughter was flowing freely by this time, and Bill was busy at the bar.

Gavin called out, “There’s a question for the panel here.  Paul from Sydney asks, ‘What do you think will be said when Jesus meets the Antichrist?”

“’Bugger off’, I should think,” said Mick from the Queen’s Arms.

“What’d the Antichrist say back, eh?” asked Henry.

“Hello, I’m your aunty,” quipped Charlie.

The laughter was very hearty, and there was no sign that the Apocalypse was on its way, unless anyone looked out the window.

Suddenly the front door burst open.

The people standing near the bar swiftly backed away.

In came a white horse.

A chestnut one somehow managed to squeeze in next to it.

“It’s the Apocalypse Horses!” declared the pub’s goalkeeper.

Leon passed out.

“What do you want now?” demanded Henry.

The rider of the white horse, in his grubby robe and oddly effeminate tiara looked in his direction.  “Oh, hi.  We met the other day, didn’t we?  Sorry about what happened to your football nets.  We’ve been learning about this planet and understand what your game is now.”

The black horse managed to get its head and neck in, but there wasn’t the width for its shoulders.  The head moved around, the eyes taking in the scene.

Bill folded his arms across his chest.  “Now look here.  We don’t have room for horses in this pub, not when we’ve got a special event on.  There just isn’t the room.”

“So sorry old chap.  We needed to find the football players.  An angel told us they’d be here,” said the rider of the white horse.

“Have you come to give us the money for the goal nets?” asked Charlie.

“No, I’m afraid we don’t have money. We’ve come to speak to you.  We’re concerned.”

“You’re concerned!” Laurel boomed.  “It’s our world you’ve come to end!”

“Well, that may not actually be so.”  The tiara-clad Horseman said, avoiding the gazes of all present.  He stroked his horse’s main and patted its neck.  “There may have been a bit of a mix up.”

“A mix up?  You scare the daylights out of us then you say there’s been a mix up?  Is the Apocalypse coming or not?” demanded Florian.

“Not.”

The rider of the black horse looked across to where the debating teams and their supporters were.  “It seems Satty, Satan, was having us on.  He told us the seals had been opened and the trumpets sounded.  Then he said to look at the colour of the sky here and said it was a sign.  But none of it was true.”

“What?” yelled Henry.

“He’s like that, old Satty.   A right trickster.  We bumped into Jesus earlier and Death asked Him when he planned to put in an appearance on Earth.  He said when the Apocalypse happened, so we said it’s happening now.  And he said, ‘Oh no it isn’t.’  I said, ‘Oh yes it is.’  Hades said, ‘Have you looked at their sky recently, and seen the people they’ve got in charge of their countries?’  Well, Jesus just laughed.  ‘It’s because of the nutters they’ve got in charge that the sky’s like it is.  They’re common or garden warmongers,’ He said.”

The room was quiet a moment.  Leon lifted his head up, looked around, saw the Horsemen and fainted again.

“How is Jesus?” asked the Reverend Tom Tweed.

“Very well, thank you.  He enjoys your prayers, Tom.”  The White Horseman looked around.  “He’s very grateful when any of you pray to Him, especially as it doesn’t happen often.”  The rider looked around and spotted Sue Hope.  “He’s very grateful for your worship too, Sue.”

Sue blushed and a hand went to her heart.  “Really?  Oh, I’m so glad.  I do my best.  Send Him my love, won’t you.”

“I certainly will. Anyhoo, we’d better get going.  Sorry to have messed up your debate.  Perhaps you could have a quiz instead or something.  Toodle pip.”

The chestnut horse’s head disappeared, the black horse backed out and the white horse followed.

“Cheerio now,” one of the riders called out.

The room was quiet again apart from a few feet shuffling to look outside.  Becky topped up Leon’s glass with brandy and gently tried to stir him by rubbing his shoulder.  “Leon.  Wake up, love.”

By the time he raised his head the pub was more or less back to normal, although fuller than usual with the Great Debate having been on.

“I think you were having a dream, Leon.  You were asleep, and you seemed worried.”

“I thought the Apocalypse had arrived.”

“The Apocalypse?  No, pet.  Everything’s fine.  Have some of your drink.”

With the little amount of blood in his veins diluting the brandy, Leon was almost content.  Not enough to make him smile widely, but relaxed as he ever managed.