Window Pain

I always though the colorful windows of our town’s local church looked so beautiful. The priest, Father Mathieson, would always comment on how he’d constructed the windows himself, showing the struggles of Christ and depicting the commandments. He even began to put up windows depicting the images of local missing persons in the area. He believed that this would help guide their souls to safety, wherever they may be, while keeping them in our thoughts and prayers. It was in this light that, Father Mathieson shined as a beacon of hope for all.

One day after a terrible fight with my husband, I sought refuge and guidance in the house of God. It was Wednesday, and as everyone knows, the church is always briefly closed every other Wednesday. I could not wait and stormed in, asking for forgiveness as I wiped the tears from my eyes and performed the sign of the cross before entering. As I came into the church I took note of the emptiness and startlingly arid atmosphere. I called out for father Mathieson, but he did not reply.

My curiosity got the better of me as I made my way to Mathieson’s living quarters. As I entered the farthest room of the chapel I noticed a chalice of red wine sitting on a dark wooden table, which bared the sign of a pentagram. The longer I stared at the red liquid the more I began to realize that it wasn’t wine at all. I stepped backwards and swiftly felt a presence behind me. I turned to see Father Mathieson,  with widened black eyes and a twisted grin taking up his face. There was blood seeping from his mouth. 

There was no place for me to run as I dropped to my knees, begging him for forgiveness, having intruded in his quarters. He put his hand on my head and spoke in a clam voice, his grin never fading. He said I was forgiven and that this “ritual” of his was a personal imperfection which he’d been attempting to cleanse himself of. He told me he harbored no ill-will towards me. Yet, if word of his “ritual” were to get out, he would be pulled from his position as a priest and asked if I would want that, rhetorically.

Before I could reply he stood me up and with a wave of his hand I felt a cool transcendent rush all over me. He told me I would no longer have any worries, as I was forever allowed to dwell in the peace and tranquility of the house of God. I must say, I’ve never been more at peace. Every Sunday I see my friends’ and neighbors’ hopeful, smiling faces as Father Mathieson gives a tremendous mass.

I only wish I could talk to them just one more time. I must say, I look so beautiful since Father Mathieson made a place for me to the right the church doors. I only hope the local children don’t accidentally throw stones at any of the church windows. Father Mathieson say’s we shatter easily.