Forgive Me FatherA Story by BrentleyFather Vinci has a confessional that ends up being more than he expected.“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” a little girl’s voice rang from the other side. “It has been two weeks since my last confession.” Father Vinci heard the confessional door open and shut; he sighed an old man’s sigh. Today was a terrible day to be honest. It was the day when most people decided that they were going to tell confessions, so he had heard lots of stories. Sixteen affairs had come through the other side, and there had been only twenty people. He knew this was going to be a long day, but only the Lord knew exactly how long. Father Vinci felt a burden lift from his shoulders. Children were always great to listen to. They did bad things, but nothing terrible. He often heard, “Forgive me Father, I’ve insulted my mother,” “Forgive me Father, I’ve hit my sibling,” or “Forgive me Father, I haven’t been praying that often.” So it did his heart good to hear the voice of an innocent child. “Speak now, child, tell me your sins.” The little girl’s voice went very quiet, “I’ve done a very bad thing, Father. I shouldn’t tell you, but I know I must.” Silently the father chuckled. This was of course what little children thought. They were bad and the worst people in the world. Bless the young ones. He was about to tell her that she had nothing to worry about, when she started to sob. “I killed a man, Father.” The father was caught off guard with this statement. He lost his breath and felt sweat father on his brow. This can’t be? Obviously the child is delusional and doesn’t know what she is talking about. Again he went to comfort her, but she cut him off. “I watched him die, his body giving in to my will. I just told his body to let him die, and it did.” “Now, now, child,” the Father said, attempting to comfort her, “I’m sure this is all one big misunderstanding.” The sounds from the other side of the confessional were intangible, but it sounded as if the girl was chanting. The Father then heard banging and thrashing; it sounded as if someone were throwing the girl around. “Please!” the girl shrieked, as if she were being tortured, “HELP ME!” Then a scream filled the air. The Father had been biting his lip, and when the scream happened, he bit down too hard and broke the skin. A single drop of blood landed on ground next to his feet. The screaming immediately stopped. The Father would have expected the end of the screaming to be a positive effect, but it happened to be the opposite. The father was taken back. What was he supposed to do? A chilled voice answered his statement, “I’m sorry for the incident, Father, I guarantee that you won’t hear that from me ever again.” The room seemed to be frozen in morbid ice. The chilling tone in the girl’s voice was so calculated, so precise, so utterly evil. The Father crossed himself, waiting for the child’s response. He had heard a voice like that once, and only once, and it happened to be at an exorcism. Almost as if she were reading his mind, she decided to talk again, “I feel terrible, and a boy told me he’d give me ten dollars if I’d scare you. I apologize Father, if I did.” To anyone else, the apology would have been taken for what it was, but he knew better. There was only melancholy in the voice of this young one, no sorrow had ever or would ever be there. “You won’t tell anyone,” she asked, attempting to convey eagerness in her voice, though she failed. “Will you?” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Father Vinci looked around in this mahogany wooded confessional. His life was devoted here, and yet this little girl was trying to scare him. Why? He was a man of God, this was his battlefield. He would stop her. Then a peel of childish laughter filled the air. It carried an ominous tone, and it immobilized the air. A chill went down his spine. The air was turning cold, as darkness from every corner of the room seemed to seep toward him. “Father, isn‘t it said that thinking of sinning is just as bad as sinning itself?” A cold sweat broke across Father Vinci. She couldn’t know what he was thinking, it wasn’t possible. He needed to say something; he needed to tell her that she was wrong, that he wasn’t anything like that. The pit of his stomach turned, as if he were looking at a dead body. “Well, just the same, you won’t tell anyone. I know.” Laughter filled the air again, leaving the Father clutching his chest, attempting to slow his rapid heart beats. She left the confessional letting her little heels click behind her. The Father should have said something or even been worried, but he was too busy for that. His heart was moving at an immeasurable speed. His thoughts were too scattered to call for help. He needed to do one thing first. He dove out of the confessional and caught a glimpse of the back of the girl. He didn’t see anything except two black eyes. The eyes seemed to be suspended there, though nothing held them up. There was no white in those eyes; there was no iris, just blackness. The coldness enveloped Father Vinci, as his heart pounded against his chest, threatening to burst. Blood rushed from his brain, as all he could see was blood. A scream, that no one but he could hear, filled the church. Then all was silent The medical examiner, in the end, couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation. As far as he could tell, the man was perfectly healthy, except for being dead. The stress of the day weighed heavily upon his shoulders and the prospect of an evening at home loomed in his mind. After all, he had to tell his young daughter that she had given her last confession to poor Father Vinci.
© 2008 BrentleyFeatured Review
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29 Reviews Added on March 11, 2008 AuthorBrentleyCoatesville, INAboutI'm an 18 year old high School student who lives in the middle of no where. I'm a dork. I've been technically writing for about 6 years, but I didn't really start writting until about two years ago. M.. more..Writing
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