12:19…The time has been set…
Violet and Johnny Dotson pull up stakes and relocate to the beautiful countryside near Asheville, North Carolina in an attempt at starting their lives over after series of miscarriages. Unbeknownst to them they have actually been summoned there by a higher power.
Locked away in a mountaintop mental institution, J.C., a mysterious man who was the only survivor found at the scene of a brutal murder/suicide, will only utter five words… “I am the son of God.”
Strange events centered around the unknown patient spur Detective Tom Drayton to connect several bizarre deaths to the time of 12:19.
Armed with an old priest’s advice and a touch of new found faith, Tom follows a path that could very well lead him to the destruction of all mankind. But is he doing God’s bidding, or could he in fact be the dreaded serpent himself?
12:19…The clock is ticking….
As she approached the pie on the counter, its crust moved, bulging upward like some air had been pumped in beneath the top layer. Startled, she took a step back, wondering what could have caused it to rise. The only explanation she could come up with was that the pie might still be in the cooling down process.
She watched for a few seconds, waiting for more movement, but the crust remained still. Taking her knife, she plunged the sharp tip into the center of the pie. Instantly, a high-pitched squeal resonated from beneath the golden brown pastry. Thick, scarlet liquid oozed up from where the blade had penetrated. Violet gasped, dropping the knife on the floor as the crust pushed upward. There was something alive inside the pie. She screamed at the sight of a tiny, doll-like hand breaking through the top layer. It was covered with what she had once thought to be cherry juice. Another hand broke through, and at that moment, the odor of decaying flesh filled the room.
Aside from her nonstop screaming, Violet didn’t move a muscle. She stood frozen in fear, realizing the gruesome dessert before her was not a cherry pie, and that the sticky red substance bubbling up around the tiny arms was actually blood.
The two miniature hands grabbed onto the edge of the deep-dish plate, and with one strong pull, the half-developed body of a human baby broke through the crust and fell onto the counter. The scene resembled a boil erupting, only on a much larger scale. The fetus continued to squeal as it wiggled around on the Formica, inching away like a blood-covered snail.
Violet closed her eyes, hoping to rid herself of the bad dream. When she opened them again, the premature baby still writhed on the counter, its umbilical cord stretched tight from within the pie shell. The fetus squealed like a pig a few more times and then the high-pitched noise slowly took form as complete words.
“Save me, Mommy,” it shrieked.
Pressing her hands to her ears, Violet screamed louder than she ever had before. She turned and tried to flee into the living room, away from the bloody baby pie, but something hampered her movement. Her legs felt heavy, as if weights had been attached to her feet. She glanced downward, instantly prompting her to let out another bone-chilling cry. Two children sat on her feet, holding onto her legs like they were playing a common kid’s game. The girl was wearing a white dress and her throat had been sawed almost completely through. The youngster’s head flipped backward with every step Violet tried to take. The other child appeared to be a little boy, his blue-green skin riddled with dime-sized holes, a gruesome accompaniment to his half-missing face.