The Prophet & The Unseen: Reckoning

Genre: True Story

© 2025 Glen Munro. "The Prophet & The Unseen: Reckoning." Published by The Media Glen. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author or publisher.

Chapter 1

The year was 1977. Not a year of particular note in the grand sweep of history, but in the quiet Canadian town of Sainte-Marie, Quebec, it marked the beginning of a strange and terrible saga. Roch Thériault, a man of no particular distinction, a failed cabinetmaker, a sometime handyman, found himself adrift. He'd tried his hand at various trades, none with any lasting success. Now, he was drawn to the pronouncements of the Seventh-day Adventist Church, their sermons filled with the fiery promise of Christ's imminent return.

The Adventists, with their strict adherence to the Sabbath and their focus on the apocalyptic prophecies of the Bible, were not your typical churchgoers. They held a certain fascination for Thériault, who, despite his lack of formal education, possessed a keen, if somewhat erratic, intelligence. He devoured their pamphlets, lingered after services to pepper the pastor with questions, his eyes burning with a growing intensity. He saw himself, not just as a believer, but as a chosen one, a vessel for God's pronouncements in these end times.

Thériault, however, was not content to simply follow. He began to twist the scriptures to his own purposes, weaving a narrative that was part biblical prophecy, part his own bizarre invention. And he had a way of delivering this message, a raw charisma that drew others to him. Lost souls, the disenchanted, the simply curious – they gathered around him, mesmerized by his pronouncements, his certainty in a world that seemed increasingly uncertain.

This was the genesis of it all. The seemingly innocuous beginnings of a cult that would, in time, descend into unimaginable darkness. But for now, in the crisp autumn air of Sainte-Marie, there was only the promise of something new, something different. A promise that Roch Thériault, with his fiery gaze and his twisted interpretations of scripture, was all too eager to exploit.

In 1978, a biting wind whipped across the bleak expanse of rural Quebec, carrying with it the seeds of a most unusual harvest. Roch Thériault, a man of intense gaze and even more intense conviction, had decided it was time. Time to leave behind the clamor of the world, the temptations of the flesh, the creeping rot of modern society. He gathered his followers, men and women yearning for something more, something true, and led them on a pilgrimage into the wilderness.

Their destination: a desolate mountainside in Saint-Jogues. Here, amidst the stunted trees and unforgiving terrain, Thériault envisioned a sanctuary, a fortress against the encroaching apocalypse he swore was coming. He called it "The Ant Hill Kids," a name as curious as the man himself. Like ants, he told his disciples, they would toil together, building their own salvation brick by agonizing brick. And toil they did.

Shelters rose from the barren landscape, gardens were coaxed from the thin soil. Every swing of the axe, every drop of sweat was an act of faith, a defiant gesture against the coming darkness. Thériault, their Moses, their prophet, watched over it all, his eyes burning with a fire that could illuminate – or incinerate.

The Ant Hill Kids weren't just surviving; they were flourishing, a testament to their unwavering belief in Thériault's vision. But even in this isolated haven, shadows were gathering. The isolation that had once seemed a refuge was beginning to feel like a prison, and the line between devotion and something far more sinister was blurring with every passing day.

The Ant Hill Kids weren't just drawn to the commune; they clung to it. It was a life raft in a world they saw teetering on the brink, a refuge built with their own hands under the looming shadow of apocalypse.

Roch Thériault, the man at the helm, was more than a leader. He was their Moses, guiding them through a wilderness of their own making. His words, steeped in scripture and conviction, filled them with a sense of purpose. His unwavering gaze, that almost hypnotic intensity, reassured them even when doubt gnawed at the edges of their belief.

But Thériault was a man of stark contradictions. To some, he was a prophet, a beacon of hope in troubled times. To others, he was a tyrant, a puppeteer pulling at the strings of their lives with chilling precision.

He had a way about him, a magnetism that drew people in. He could spin tales of a world gone wrong, of a chosen few destined for salvation, and make you believe every word. He'd offer you a place, a purpose, a sense of belonging you never knew you craved.

And once you were in, escape was almost unthinkable. He controlled every facet of their existence, from the clothes on their backs to the very thoughts in their heads. Meals were dictated, marriages arranged, and any flicker of dissent was met with swift and brutal retribution. It was a control so complete, so insidious, that it slowly eroded the boundaries between devotion and fear.

The air within the commune crackled with a tension thicker than the northern Ontario winters. Roch Thériault, the self-proclaimed prophet they called Moïse, ruled not with an iron fist, but with a whispered threat and a chilling stare. Disobedience wasn't simply discouraged—it was dangerous. One misstep, one stray thought, could bring down his wrath, a tempest of punishment that left none unscathed. His followers, bound by fear and a desperate hope for salvation, walked a precarious tightrope between faith and terror.

But fear wasn't his only weapon. Thériault possessed a magnetism that drew people in, a charismatic pull that defied reason. His words, spun from scripture and prophecy, painted a vivid picture of a world teetering on the brink of apocalypse. Only he, he claimed, could guide them to safety.

Among those ensnared by his web were nine women, each drawn to his fiery intensity and convinced by his twisted pronouncements. They became more than followers; they became his wives, bound to him in a bizarre, polygamous arrangement that defied societal norms. Each bore him children, adding to a growing brood that would eventually number twenty-six.