The Dark- Keeper Profiles #-3

From the Short Story-series created By Frank F. Atanacio

 

His Burdened Chest

 

 

 

The town was called Petersburg, without the Saint. For the demons from Hell who sought refuge on earth after God’s wrath meant their world would be a place of the past. They intended to live in a society where they can mingle with humans and go undetected. They would live healthy, and happy, where the demonic behavior would flourish. Angels in Heaven would ignore the evil doings because they would simply blame it on mortal sins.

Unfortunately, when they crossed onto the surface of the planet, they took with them a Dark-Keeper. This evil presence could make any sin a disaster. It would steal dreams away from people who aren’t even sleeping. The struggles that the demons would have would show in magnitude in the evil they would do. The mortals would be aware of their presence, and try to cast them out with the help of divine power. The demons had to think of other ways to commit sin so the blame wouldn’t be on them.

The demons had to live amongst the mortals as best they could. They knew it was going to be a challenge, but it was one challenge they would certainly take on. God had destroyed Hell, but they knew deep in their cold hearts, that God would not destroy the mortals. He had a soft spot for them. He cared about them. That was certainly some news they could live with. If they commit crimes against humanity, they would have to keep it low-keyed, because they knew that the Dark-Keeper would triple the horror.

Long, long years, and many grinding sorrows. Was this the reward for devoting your life to God? No, this was the melancholy life of a priest. No greater job in the world to have. Everything he did was to support the Divine ruler. Everything he did was to bring God back into people’s lives. It was the simplest thing to do. God did the rest.

However, corruption crammed his inbox, and he felt it spiraling out of control. Feeling as if his burdened chest were turning inside out, Father Carter rumbled a sigh. The moment he had long regret was at hand. It was time to end the corruption. It was time to put God first. That was what he wanted to do, and that’s what he had designed.

The church rattled around him as if the walls could feel his pain. He felt the Angels leaving him and he wished he were an Angel too. He sat in silence almost as if he were waiting for God to give him direction. He knew what had to be done, but he wanted some sort of guidance. He wanted something tangible. Something Divine.

He caught a thin reflection of himself in one of the water glasses on a near by end table. He looked aged, and tired. It was as if youth abandoned him overnight. What aged him even more was this humiliating voyage he was about to embark on.

It would have been much easier to run away, but he had to stay, and not bothered to be more humiliated. A priest who served Petersburg for nearly twenty years could only be bruised. After so many blows, there was no feeling left in the nerves of his heart. He just sat at his desk like a stone carving with no hope.

He saw spirits flicker away like a candle flame blowing lightly in the wind. They were mislead, and cheated. He knew it, and they knew he knew it.

He then saw the images of the people of Petersburg who trusted him. They wanted to believe every word he spoke. He was there direct connection to God. He was there beacon of light. To look at these images was a pain in his heart. He wanted to help, but to look at them suffering was hurting his eyes. He saw too clearly all they had been missing. His lies created a gap between reality, and fantasy. He promised as he cheated, he used, as he guided. It was something he had never expected to do.

But he did.

"God, forgive me," he begged.

Then he remembered the young boy’s life being ridiculed by his behavior. He had to do what evil instructed, because of the weight his failure held. It was weight he wanted to shed, and it was all he needed to do to make peace with God.

Suicide was the only way humiliation could be scrubbed clean and Petersburg could live again. He had to end his life for the evil he deliberately caused. It was what darkness wanted, and he saw no other way. He had turned his back on God, and he simply had to pay. He was once a trained leader, one would find only agony in living. Agony he did not want any part of. He knew exactly what he had to do.

" Father Carter?" someone called.

He ignored the call.

Father Carter would commit suicide hoping that the church would have a clean slate. Could God ever forgive him for it? Would the slate be clean?

A shock filled his mind as tiny Angels were praying before him. They were on their knees looking for savior. Stunned in the truest sense of the word, the priest stared and stared until his eyes began to water and he had to look away. With his head bowed there and one hand steadying him with a grip on the chair, he seemed to have been punched in the heart. The praying angels was in itself an excellent method of torture. Seconds later, the gun goes off and the room was covered in blood.

Three months later...

"Father Brinkman," said the nun. " Your chambers is ready."

" So four priests committed suicide here in the past three months?"

She nodded.

" No reason?"

" None whatsoever," she replied. " It’s an odd thing, but we hope with you on board, the trouble stops."

He smiled.

But deep down he heard a dark laughter. It was ripping at his insides. It was something he had never heard before.

Laughter... dark laughter... demonic laughter...

End.