The Praying Well

Prologue iii-2

"No! I will not sit down you monster. You’re an evil person -- I sensed it the first time we met. My poor dear wife Dorothy, may she rest in peace. She sensed it on you the very first time she laid her eyes on you. I know you were the cause of her death, Sandoval, I know you were. She didn't mean anything she said to you that day, she wasn't gonna cause any problems for you, no sir, but you killed her! You killed her you evil man!” Mr. Johnson cried as he spoke, shifting his gaze to both the crowd and to Father Sandoval.

"Now, now Mr. Johnson, that is quite enough. Now I am demanding that you take a seat or I will be forced to seat you!" Though the Father spoke in a forceful voice, there was nothing behind it. His was a voice of conversation, not worry or fear. He felt rather amused at Mr. Johnson’s actions.

With that, Mr. Johnson reached back into a hidden holster on the inside of the back of his pants. From there he pulled a large hunting knife and held it up in the direction of the priest, waving it back and forth in the air. The twelve inch blade loomed large in the church, the people gasped in their seats but remained still. Mr. Johnson took another step towards Father Sandoval, but turned to face the crowd and addressed them with his words:

"Some of you must know what's going on here, some of you must sense something...or are you all blind to the evil that stains us all in this place? This ain't no church of God, I don't feel any goodness here! Are you all blind that you’ll give up your very souls for a quick fix? I thought you were all religious folk, I thought I knew you all.” He lowered his arm at his side, the knife hanging low.

“Sure the war goes on, our children die, we are miserable here at home unable to do anything about it. But this is the time we need to show our true faith, not believe in magic or quick miracles. This war will end when God wills it to end, not when this fellow here, Sandoval says it. The fates of people, of us all is in the hands of God, not this…this creature who stands there among us." He pointed the knife at the podium.

Father Sandoval was surprised by the knife, and it would have kept his attention a little longer, but time was ticking away. As the man continued his rant, explaining the situation of his first meeting with the priest, the Father let out a long and loud yawn and patted his mouth with his hand. He looked at his watch. "Are you quite finished with your speech, Mr. Johnson?"

Mr. Johnson simply ignored him and grasped the knife tighter in his grip. He now addressed the audience through tears and a trembling voice. “That night right before she died…my Dorothy…though it’s been a year and I still feel like it were yesterday… We were sitting in the kitchen… She told me that all she could think of was his face.” He pointed at the father with the blade. “That monster’s face…it flashed before her and she couldn't get it out of her mind. She kept crying and crying. She said it was a mistake to confront him like that, and that now he was trying to get to her. It was as if he were penetrating her mind or something. But she could not stand it.

“She said she knew our son was dead, and he was. Though I didn't find that out until a few days later, he fell just like you said Sandoval, just like you said he would!” His voice grew as he made a move to the priest but stopped still a few feet shy.

“Just like you said, he died, you monster! I couldn’t do anything for her; I couldn’t calm her down with anything. I thought about taking her to the hospital, but deep in my heart, I knew they couldn’t do anything for her. I hoped that she could sleep it off -- we would say some prayers and maybe that would help. Finally, a little while later, she took some sleeping pills to give her mind a rest…she said she felt a little better, that sleeping it off was a good idea. But a minute later, she fell dead on the bathroom floor. I knew at once who had kil’t her.”

The crowd bore no reaction; he faced the Father head on, tears falling to the ground. "You know what I mean to do with this here blade? This was my son’s knife from the war, it was sent back to me along with his coffin, after he was killed. I will now take total vengeance for him, for Dorothy, and for me!”

All this time, the rain never ceased one bit. What was previously torrential was now an official downpour. The drops hit the fragile windows with increasing force, each drop now seemingly an explosion ready to burst through the thin glass. Then finally, nature won the battle. An explosive sound erupted; the largest window came crashing down into the church in a million pieces. Little slivers of red, blue, and yellow glass flew throughout the pews, spraying over the parishioners like confetti at a New Year's ball.

As it sprinkled down, each piece splintered small enough that it posed no real threat to anyone. However, there was chaos everywhere as people ducked for cover; hiding down on the ground in between the rows of pews covering their heads with their hands or purses. A crowd of people ran from their seats and went for the doors, but to their horror, the doors were locked up tight. They began pushing and screaming against them, clawing and grabbing at the locks. Another group joined them, and the crowd from behind began to push into the door, crushing and slamming others in the process.

The opening where the window had been now provided ample opportunity for the rain to flood the marble floors. Huge droplets of water bashed against the sill and splattered 20 and 30 feet into the crowd. The elderly were pushed to the side as people made their way to the entangled crowed gathering at the front doors. Others were pushed and mangled from the oncoming crowd, and others who lay on the ground, unable to help themselves up were stepped over like old rugs.

Yet in the pandemonium that followed, a few souls continued to sit calmly in the pews – they stood huddled together in groups around the church. Mrs. Villaches and her family were one such group. However, another horror was about to unfold right before their eyes.

Although most of the glass from the window had sprayed harmlessly among the crowd, a single large shard, about an inch wide and a foot long had made its way through the air. It was a single piece surrounded by a lead outline, shaped like a dagger. At some point earlier, it had flung towards the front of the church and somehow found its target.

Mr. Johnson, who had stood his ground in the wake of the events, looked on at the priest almost in a serene fashion. He tried to raise his hand but could not find the strength. Something held it down. The knife in his hand dropped to the floor with a hollow clang. His face was puzzled at the actions of his body, which he could no longer control. Father Sandoval calmly stood at the podium, his face slowly growing into a smile.

Mr. Johnson mustered the strength to make it to the first step of the raised platform where the priest stood, but that was all that would be. His energy drained quickly, his mind went numb. A warmness ran over his whole body; then a burning heat. He reached up to his neck and found a piece of glass embedded in his neck. He took one last glance at the Father, his eyes fading, his mind fading, but he still saw the smile. Then he fell to ground like a rag doll in a puddle of blood.

"Peter, close your eyes, close your eyes!” screamed Mrs. Villaches to her son huddled along with her husband in the pews. The loud screams continued behind them, as the crowed witnessed the scene at the front podium.

Mrs. Villaches cried on her husband’s shoulder, moaning loudly to him. "What do we do, what do we do!” Her voice was broken by a slam of thunder coming in through the open window. The sound was deafening.

The crowd was still chaotic pounding on the front doors, uncaring for the bodies now scattered along the floor beneath them. Water was coming in and splattering everywhere, raining down on the beautiful architecture of the pews. The marble floors were soaked and as slick as ice.

Father Sandoval observed all of this, but did not make his way towards the front door. From the podium, he finally addressed the crowd.

“Here me…here me…”

His voice thundered over all other sounds, and the crowd was silenced. Even the rain seemed to have been turned off like a faucet.

He continued. "You've made your covenant with the Lord through my church. You came here for one thing and one thing only: Yourself. You came here with your woes and your sorrows; you came with your fears and your needs. My friends… all of you have forgotten your true faith, and you should be ashamed." He paused for several seconds, as the crowd now listened in obedience.

"Now that your prayers have been answered, it is time to pay up. Now all will get what they deserve!" His voice rumbled in the room. The crowd stood still and confused, mumbling to each other ignorant of their surroundings and of the human litter on the ground beside them.

A rumble like no other was felt from the earth under the church. The building shook to its roots. The huge timbers that held up the roof trembled, and pieces of plaster fell from the 30 foot ceiling, smashing whatever stood beneath it. The marble floors cracked in places and rose and fell, like waves on the seashore. The people were tossed around, some as high as ten feet high, landing on the hard flooring like broken puppets. The rumblings continued underneath, the people were panicked and tried to make their way back to the front door but were thrown about even further. People were landing on pews, with sounds of broken bones as they landed. A few continued to struggle with the door, which remained eternally locked.

From above the church, seemingly forming out of thin air, a dark cloud descended downward. Slowly it filled the entirety of the length of the church, covering the light from the windows as it moved. The blackness encompassing everything, and the terror it brought forth to the parishioners was final. The wailing and shrieks that followed as it reached the crowd were smothered in the blackness, and cut off of existence as soon as they erupted. Slowly, slowly, the church was completely engulfed. Slowly, slowly, the church was devoured.

At exactly 9:30AM, everything was quiet in the church.