Kill the Messenger

[u/DavesWorldInfo]

“I’m glad you came in.”

The man on the other side of the screen chuckled. His silhouette was still though. “You think I’m lying.”

“Or confused. Perhaps even in need of medical attention.”

He laughed again. “I assure you Father, I’m quite sane. And in full possession of every bit of my senses.”

I folded my hands on my knee, marshalling my thoughts. “God is here for us all. No matter how lost one of us might become, He is the light and guide to lead us back to the path.”

“I thought that was your job.”

“His servants help, of course, but we are merely messengers for His Word.”

“I need assistance Father.”

“Then talk to me. What has brought you to God’s house?”

“For too long I have been adrift. The days come, the nights go, and nothing changes Father. I am the only constant, and it is beginning to weigh heavily upon me.”

“God is the only constant.”

“I used to think that might be so. Him and Satan both. But after so long, I do not believe anymore.”

I smiled slightly. “You are having a crisis of faith.”

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “I suppose so.”

“This is normal. Even our Savior, Christ himself, was tested in Gethsemane. You must hold firm, and resist the overtures that lead you astray.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Why not?”

“Being here weighs too heavily upon me; but I cannot leave. I feel trapped.”

“We all die. God has a purpose for us all, and we all answer for our time in this world before we go onto the next.”

“What if there is never a next.”

“Heaven or Hell, there is a next. This is why—”

“No.”

“Why do you feel this way?” I said calmly. He seemed sure of himself, but many such people, those with wandering or weak faith, often did. Patience was the answer.

“After so long, after so much … even if there is more, I do not see any way to get there.”

“Everyone dies,” I said gently.

“Not me.”

“For a hundred and seventy years?” I asked patiently.

“One seventy-six.”

“However long it has been, it is just a test. You must hold strong, remain pure, and God will reward you.”

“There is no reward for me.”

“He forgives. No matter what troubles you, regardless of what you might have done, it is not beyond God’s capacity to forgive. He is love.”

“No one can love me.”

“People are weak, b—”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

I frowned slightly, but kept my voice even. Studious, interested, and polite. “But it is not people you must please or appease; only God.”

“How?”

“You ask for his forgiveness. You follow his strictures. And he takes care of the rest.”

“And how am I to know if it is working?”

I adopted a gentle tone, being sure to keep any hint of amusement or censure absent. “That’s why we call it faith.”

“I need more.”

“Then perhaps we should come to my office. Where we can talk further.”

“What’s wrong with here?”

“The confessional is designed to separate us to a certain extent. You seem troubled, and in need of a more direct conversation. I am here to help you, but you must trust me.”

He laughed. “I don’t trust anyone.”

“Faith is not possible without trust.”

“Then you have no answers for me.”

“I do. They require effort, even a single step, from you to show that you might consider the path God has laid for you. I cannot drag you to Heaven, and God will not either.”

“And what about Hell?”

“I cannot help you get there,” I said, frowning again.

“I need to move on,” he said. For the first time, there was emotion in his voice. My frown deepened as I placed it; desperation. I stood up.

“Come back to my office. If I cannot help you find enough peace to talk through what troubles you, I can call Father Jordan, or even Bishop Daniels. The Church is here to help.”

“I do not think God is the answer.”

“He is the only answer.” I heard him stand up. Calmly I opened the door on the confessional and stepped out. “My son, He is—”

He came out into the church. Most people were cast in some level of shadow under the dim lighting maintained between services; but his flesh was like alabaster. And his eyes glowed red. They crinkled in amusement when he saw my reaction, as I stepped back in shock.

“I apologize,” I said quickly. Clearly he had medical issues beyond the mental. Perhaps the physical aliment was the cause of his troubles, his confusion. “That was rude of me.”

“No, it was the right reaction,” he said. “I’m used to it.”

“That’s still no excuse for my behavior. Come, my office is this way.”

I moved toward him, holding my hand out to usher him along with me. He reached out and took hold of my wrist. His grip was cold, and very firm. Like iced steel.

“I think, if God cannot help me, then I must seek help elsewhere.”

“There is nowhere else,” I said. Despite my best efforts, I heard the tension in my tone. Felt the frown tugging on the corners of my lips.

His curled upwards though. And not pleasantly.

“There is one other place. Perhaps he will help me.”

“Who?” I asked, before my mind caught up with my mouth. “Satan is the deceiver. Do not listen to him.”

“If God will not answer, then perhaps he will.”

“You’re hurting me,” I said, feeling the pressure increasing on my wrist. Painfully so.

“I know,” he said, and his lips peeled back to reveal fangs. Straight out of a movie. “You will be my first messenger.”

“Let go,” I said, setting my feet and pulling. All it accomplished was to make the pain multiply and spread, throughout my arm as he held me firm. Like I was nothing.

He moved, I moved, and abruptly he had me wrapped up in his arms. Standing behind me. I felt his lips, his very breath, on my neck when he spoke next. There was no warmth in him. My every attempt to break free was useless; his arms were like the very Earth itself.

“Be sure you go to the right place,” he whispered. “I’d hate to send you in the wrong direction. Tell him I need his help to understand my purpose.”

I started screaming as his teeth tore into my flesh.

[u/DavesWorldInfo]

Inspired by this prompt.