Vigilante Priest

A weary Priest stops waiting for God to do the right thing, and takes care of a series of murders haunting a poor Long Island town.

The air was a blue gray tone that clutched the stripped down buildings of the small Long Island town. Circumstances rout on yellow signs of faulty plat. The tall man cleared his throat, while adjusting his clerical collar.  He smiled adjacent two small dark skinned boys, who scrambled sprightly amidst the docile ghost of a town. His worn soles crunched and tapped over pebbles and cement. Passersby kept their attention on the destination. The man walked along, wistful of the days these same people would nod a morning greeting. A tall empty building lay rot as he stroll past. Bells rang of memories of the use-to-be Bank, run by the Jews who held civility for his address of Father Jacob. 

Peering the building across the street, now characteristically cloaked in months long neglected garbage, and rusted cans. Felicity ruptured. An unheard warning of bells silenced by slow moving twin glass doors of Joes’ Mart. Jacob’s distracted wonder peaked up to the small dark skinned boys of before. Rife with smiles, and a single plastic bag with candy and soda cans. The first boy’s hands were stuffing what seemed like leftover change into his puffed blue winter coat. Beaver-like teeth unraveled through the disconsolate second, who tore through a large peanut butter candy bar. Something brewed dark in the air. The two boys froze at the site of the blue crystalline Cadillac, streaking loudly up the curve. Hanging lofty out the passenger window was a hard looking Italian man. Glass shattered, sprawling and damaging the cheap electronics that hung in the store. The man turned like a sentry, launching 600 shots a minute. The first boy’s head exploded, followed by his right hand, which was catapulted yards away, and his torso was punctured. 100 bullets conversed through the second boy’s bones, and splattered the pavement. What was left of his right eye blinked and twitched. The silence was pierced by a terrible ringing in Jacob’s ears. His young eyes grew fifty years. The trembling Father stood with thinly squeezed shoulders. A bolt of blue shrieked and dashed into the drifting afternoon where it disappeared into the twilight.

A black sleeved arm swayed in the stale liquorice felt air. His tear ducts dry up from the rancid gun smoke. In that nightmarish moment, his prayers fell toneless. 

Their soul’s needless journey, fabricated to the small gathering of impecunious family. News employers scour factual space to the hundreds of people, who never have intentions of listening. 

Left built upon dying brown grass, a ruinous House of God, set aside from our preferred sorority, there is a gathering.

“It is within God’s plan, that his children were to enter the Golden Gates.” Father Jacob professed, forging his improvised signature as Priest. 

That night, he would see several nourished of faith. 

“Why would God sit and do nothing?” Asked an old dying wrench. 

“Where were the cops?” sounded an annoyed blue collar man, who wiped dried blood flakes off his yellowish-white prickly beard.

More questions demanded answers. 

Jacob knew the dangers of humoring the poor sickley crowds interrogation. Demand for answers will explore the materiality of the very thing the Church told him was a fallacy. It would evolve.  

That night, Father Jacob prayed…

It wafted through the clouds, aiming towards the town. It’s contradictions would heat up anyone it touched, but blithely froze it’s target. Soaring through the gray scale buildings, taking over this once colored town. Gone are the days of smiling patrons with milkshakes, and booming family businesses. Now mummified beneath corporate mail away’s that fake their booming presence by exaggerating their importance of technology and system data over personal relationships. From these pillers below is an ant named Carl Riggs. A real estate agent who did not expect the day after his birthday, to have his important, and porky frame, swept away into a van, and found months later in 8 percised pieces by a couple enjoying there winter break.    

The Church stood indifferently by the new modern establishment. Jacob would preach to the bereaved in his Lord’s corroding home. On and on, he preached his Master’s righteous plan against the wicked.

“NO!” screamed an old woman. Her veins protruding through her hands to her fingers as she sat slumped in her wheelchair, pointing.

“Nothing is getting done!” yelled a man.

“The cops say they can’t find anyone!” said another.

“I heard they don’t want to.”

“It was some Italian man in a blue car.” The old woman said. 

Jacob stood in silence as the annoyed crowd spat at each other like children. 

“Everyone.” the Father spoke low under the shouting. “Everyone please - it - it is God’s plan.”

“God’s Plan!” A loud powerful voice called, silencing everyone. Walking along between the Church benches, came the boy’s grandmother. Her hands shook as they clung helplessly to her walker.

“Father, you have spoke of God’s plan for months.” Her voice shook as she tried to control her weakening legs. “God acted out before. He sent plagues! He drowned the wicked. Father Jacob.” her voice desperate. “God has taken lives before! What does he expect from us? Innocent children are murdered! People found dead on beaches! DO something about it.” Her old watery eyes expanding from her magnified glasses. Aided by an equally impoverished man, she broke. Her speech shook the room silently. The necessitous grandmother’s sadness echoed. Some tears had fallen among the crowd. And Jacob prayed, and prayed. 

The following week stunk of sin. Father Jacob sat in the confessional patiently. It seemed too long a stretch of the day before someone finally came in. They were loud, and large. A terrible scent of gun smoke, and cologne slid through the vent that separated Jacob with this newly approached sinner. 

“Evning Father.” The voice said sardonically.

“Hello my son.” 

“Yeah whatever.” The tone was dark, and trailing. “I guess I’m here to discuss some things I’ve done.”

“Please.” Jacob said assuringly. “Speak freely.”

“Well, first things first, you know the saying, “Let he without sin cast the first stone?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s get this straight.” The voice said irruperbly. “I killed some people.”

Jacob’s eyes stared ahead of him, where he focused on a splinter of wood by the crease of the door.

The father said “Well, that would certainly be a sin.”

“Nahh Father. It was fun. Tell me, how can fun be a sin?”

“It is not fun to hurt others.” Jacob trembled.

“Then explain my f****n delight when I blew those two black boys apart. I think I shot through my sheets when I got home!” There was obnoxious amusement in his voice. 

“I…” Jacob had lost his voice. There was this sudden twist in the air, a pale chill that filled the small confessional. His throat closed up.

There was a long silence before the voice spoke. “You hating on me Father?”

A death silence followed.

“Isn’t it a sin to hate Father?” The voice asked with a light mock.

Jacob’s palms leaked through his clenched fists. 

The voice continued. “That isn’t very “Priest-ly” of you Father. Very HUMAN though. Don’t feel bad. It’s normal to feel anger, and hate. Even Blood lust.”

Though Jacob could not see it, he knew the voice was smiling.

“Ya know what I think Father?”

The silence continued to answer the questions.

“You still there? I really think you should hear this.”

“Yes.” Jacob finally replied. “Yes my son - what - what is it?”

The voice got closer. Even behind the screen, it was as if Jacob could feel the presence of this force breathing on his neck. 

“I don’t think you believe in God Father.”

There was a loud bang on the screen. Jacob’s eyes grew wide with disease. The room seemed to spin, and the cool air was replaced quickly by a drenching heat. He padded sweat from his forehead. His hair, damp. Jacob grabbed at a small wood cross that he held hung around his thin veiny neck. It snapped in half.

A long while passed, and Jacob found himself alone. There was no way the man could have left. It’s impossible he left without a sound. Jacob squinted through the dark screen. Finally, the doors burst open. He examined the second seat, only to find it cold. Not a single sign of entry. He looked around. The day lost light so Jacob had dimly lit candles he used to save on electric. There was nothing. Jacob was alone. 

That night, the tethered priest took a walk. The air fell to 15 degrees, and yet he still felt hot. The town at night was eveloped by darkness, with the street lights spot lighting small splots of sidewalk. A sharp pain of cold air felt like it was closing in on him. He could not get the mysterious voice out of his head. You don’t believe in God, the voice rang in his head on and on repeatedly. The echoing fused with the screaming wind. 

Screaming… Jacob’s stomach tightened. Though he knew it was pointless to look, he still acted on his instinct to master the mysteries recently plaguing his life, and town. The scream started again. His vision moved, sporadically. Uncomfortably. His pupils shrank as the glass in his eyes almost liquified. The scream became constant and horrible. Rhythmically moving along the magnetic waves like a ship with the tide.

Suddenly the sound’s pitch changed. Jacob followed the now tiny sounds over to a street light. His eyes automatically traversed downward to the grisly scene. A young girl, 6 years old, her long brown hair being pulled by the beefy crank of an arm. The stranger was slapping her repeatedly. Jacob started towards them.

“Hey!” 

The strange beast ignored him. The more and more he hit her, the more she screamed.

“Hey!” His tone grew. The soundwaves etched a repeat of demand in the distance. 

The hits kept coming.

“Sir!” Jacob grabbed the man’s large shoulder. His fingers barely able to get a tight squeeze, and for that brief second, felt fear for his actions. The strange man turned and looked right in the eyes of the angered servant. The man’s face expressed no regret. The only emotion Jacob could recognize from this large fat cheeked man was mirth. This fueled Jacob with an anger he has never known. 

“NO!” Jacob cried while wamming his tensed fist into the man’s fat ugly nose. The hit seemed useless. The man barely moved his head a centimeter. Jacob’s fist shook. His legs felt weak. He had never hit another person before, but he has had his fair share of beatings as a kid. 

The man’s face got closer. He could smell his terrible breath, like a blighted fungus resting snug below your nose. Then, the man started laughing. The pompous attitude danced rudely through his ears. Finally, Jacob went for another hit to his face. Then another, and another. Over and over, he went on. Anything to get the laughing to stop. Anything to save the girl. The man did not stop laughing.

Blood sploshed the light that hung hollow above them. Jacob’s knuckles started to peel, but adrenaline numbed the pain for him. Coursing through his body, he felt nauseous, but he never stopped. The man’s face began to crack. Jacob could feel he was hitting bone. The body finally dropped, and it took several agonizing minutes for the laughing to end, which it did, but oddly so abrupt.

Jacob weezed hard. Reality was starting to settle in. He brought up his fist, as it trembled uncontrollably. He tried to open, and flex his fingers, but the pain was too great. His hand dripped with blood. The body of the man lay there motionless. Eyes deadened. What have I done? He thought. The world came back to him, and he was reminded of the crying girl by her low sniffling whimpers. He moved down to her. 

“It’s alright.” he said to reassure her, but  even he seemed unconvinced.

The girl continued to whimper. Her back was towards him. Jacob placed his untouched hand to her shoulder, where he slowly spun her around. It was awful. Her eyes were small, and black, like little rocks of cole sitting on a molded face of clay. Her nose disappeared completely. Her small mouth grew in size, where sharded teeth like broken glass protruded through her gums roughly. 

Jacob landed on his a*s in sheer terror. The little girl’s voice grew deep in tone, and the laughing returned. The petrified Priest was frozen with fear. The tiny demon laughed until swallowed up by the darkness behind the lamp pole. Jacob was once again alone. Suddenly all the lights on the street turned off. All, except the one above. Keeping lit, a small island, surrounded by pitch black waters. Suddenly the darkened sea opened, spewing several men like sharks in hats, and blazers rising to land. Each one with a weapon of choice. Pipes, guns, chains. Then came the leader. The Italian man. Cradled in his fist, he clenched a sawed shotgun. The men laughed. Jacob backed away until the lamp stopped his retreat. 

“Nowhere to go, ey Father?” The italian man chuckled. “No God here Priest.” 

Jacob eyed the men. His gaze grew cold when landing back to the leader. 

“We’re gonna mess you up Priest!” An anchored gaiety of laughter from the one with a chain.

“Nowhere to go!”

“You don’t even believe!”

The men taunted, and started towards him slowly.

Their words spoke some truth about him. The questions of belief that plagued him unspoken, were now opening his heart. Something unexpected happened. The fear of loneliness he was promised all his life and priesthood of no faith, was instead warm, and comforting. The words, and faces of his congregation flooded in before him. Jacob closed his eyes, and sighed deeply. His bloody opened hand sized its shudder. The muscles in his legs gathered strength. 

“God…” He said with a shaky voice. “Is here.”

“Where?” the Italian man yelled, wrangling the Priest's words down.

“He is here.” Jacob repeated. “He is always here.” He reached into his pocket, where he pulled a small silver cross. He held it freely in his bleeding hand. Jacob said “Forgive me Father…for I have sinned. I have sat back, while this…Evil has taken your children. I lost faith. I lost my sight. I see now. I see your plan.” 

The men started chuckling to each other.

“He’s gone nuts!”

Jacob continued. “I will stand back no longer. I believe in you God.” Jacob held onto his words dearly.

“He’s desperate!” one of the men said.

“He thinks he’s real!”

“God is real.” Jacob said. “You are real. Pain is real.” He opened his eyes. “Justice is real!” 

Jacob ducked quickly, and slammed the Italian man in the gut. The hit took them all by surprise, and the shotgun left the large slumping man’s hands, where it skidded to Jacob’s feet. An anger of horrible metal whipped onto Jacob’s back. Regret ziplined through his mind as he fell to the floor. Another hit, now from a rusty pipe, followed by a pistol whip to the back of his neck. Jacob curled up for protection. His skin throbbed, transitioning to a purble blue discoloration. The large Italian man straightened up. His face was hardened and sore. He cracked his knuckles, and neck. He slumped over to the group of guys mauling the worthless feeble man. 

Blood and brains flew in the air, lacing the light above them red. The men including the leader stood gobsmacked. The chain wielder slunked down, while yellowish matter, like small bean pods dropped to the floor. Jacob recovered, shotgun in hand. To the Priest's surprise, the fallen body twitched, and contorted. Foaming, and melting. Charcoal colored mold was left behind. The air hissed where the body lay. Jacob was speechless. Suddenly, a pipe was flung. Jacob flinched, dodging it, where he shot the next man in the chest. His ribcage blew open, splattering his surroundings. The body, like the last, contorted, and melted to steaming molding chunks. The last man with the gun, aimed and shot. The bullet grazed Jacob’s shoulder. He crumbled down. Breathing through the pain, he heard the clicking of the gun.

The Italian man raised his hand, silently, and the pawn obeyed.

“You are full of surprises.” The Italian man said. He leaned down close to him. “You know what WE are, don’t you?”

Jacob starred at him, unsure of what to say.

“Yes you do.” The evil continued.

“You are Evil.” 

“We are one.”

Jacob froze. A tremendous word hit his stomach. LEGION.

“No not THAT!” The man laughed. “But close.”

“You are weak.” Jacob said.

“I’ll be taking my gun back.” It ignored his retort, and retrieved his weapon. “It’s special.” He gestured to his lackey, who stretched out his heavy arm. 

Jacob held his breath, and tossed his silver cross at the man’s face with a forceful grunt. The object’s immediate reaction was painful, as it stuck and melted into the demon’s face. Natural aggravation took place of his controlled firearm, with flying arms setting off multiple shots in the air. A powerful relife ended the gnarly exaggerated parasite. As smoke danced from the Italian man’s barrels, Jacob acted. Both fighters struggled for possession of the gun as they crashed to the floor. The brows of the Demon began to furrow low while large puffy pink gums fattened out. Broken shredded opaque colored bones effortlessly sliced through the sensitive soft tissue. The believer’s back tensed up. He worriedly strained through the pain of his neck where pistol whipped before, and leaned back to avoid the equally harsh chomping jaws of a snarling rabid St. Bernard. His grip loosening around the gun, while the Demon secured his.

“You will die here tonight Priest.” The voice said, double toned. “I will have your soul, and the souls of this town. I will have what I want!” 

Jacob’s eyes wrinkled tight. He could feel his grip weakening.

“Look at you! You have no faith!” The Demon chuckled. “Because you put your faith in an imaginary being, you WILL die tonight!”

Jacob’s eyes cleared. The dark lines and shiny glares met the Demon’s round glowing masses.

A shadowy form grew over the monster’s decaying face. The closer it got, the more clear it became. Swaying and crossing. The Demon’s eyes questioning.  

Jacob let out a strained howl. His hand flattened down. A thick trail of blood lay drawn on its forehead. A second rope of red matter crossed the first.

“Vade!...” Jacob’s voice grew distant as the Demon’s pained wailing overtook his words. The stamp began to smolder.

Jacob continued at the top of his lungs, feeling his vocal cords about to shred. “Retro Satana!” 

The roaring of the demon grew insufferable. It’s body shook with great speed. Jacob grabbed the gun with haste and ease, as Hell’s servant lost its hold completely. The sounds from its mouth pulsated with strange indescribable notes. 

The trigger was squeezed, and while yellow pith squirmed, and slushed in every direction, the cries of a long tortuous misery culminated in a quiet resolution. 

A much needed crease in his lips, deservedly crossed the tired Priest's face. He lay, warmed up in his bed, ready to experience an uninterrupted sleep he hasn’t had in years. The cold temperature was ignored by his victory. He is God’s plan, he thought, and no matter where he goes, Evil will never hide. It doesn’t have a choice. It is in its very nature to challenge the righteous, the light, and the virtues. He lay, never to awaken until morning, while two yellow floating globes staring through his window, watched over him. A sharp smile splits open through the dark.

END.