Reaper

The seeds of evil

The world outside slowly merged into the shadows and the street lamps lit up in an orderly sequence. As the city descended into darkness, the clubs and bars came alive with bright neon lights. The city streets, still abuzz with fast cars and flashy bikes, looked intoxicated with an overdose of blinking billboards and screaming hoardings. New York City was abuzz with partygoers and revelers who breathed life into the dying night.

Away from the hustle and bustle of the crazy city crowd, a lonely church on Vanderbilt Street stood as the only beacon of hope for the sleepy St. Anderson parish. Located on the outskirts of the city, it was a quiet and secluded place backed by sloping green hills on the north. The church had been built by the founders of the parish in the 1900s and it had been renovated recently. It was fenced on all sides along with the adjoining churchyard which was dotted with shrubs. As the tower clock struck 12, the iron gate of the fence swung open and a charming young man dressed in a green suit and tie walked up to the main door of the church which was always left ajar even at night. Father John believed that the house of God should never turn away one who sought refuge in it, even during the darkest nights. And so he was always there to perform his priestly duties. The handsome young man had a clean shaven face with peachy lips suppressing the pain which bled through his moist eyes. His blonde hair was combed back and set in place with an expensive hairspray that gave his tresses a glossy appearance. He walked down the mosaic floor in his shiny black boots, filling the hall with the sequenced tapping of his foot.

“Welcome, my son.” Father John, a man in his late 70s greeted the young man with a smile. “Is there something troubling you at this late hour?”

The young man forced a half smile and politely replied, “Yes Father, I am in dire straits. I have come to make a confession.”

“Then I shall hear all you have to say, my child.”

“Oh, Father, you really are a savior. But I am afraid my sins are unforgivable. It tortures me to look at my own past. I cannot even sleep in peace.”

“The Lord shall help you find peace, my son. Join me and unburden your heart.” Father John led him into the confession box and drew the curtains.

Most people from the parish usually made their confessions after the mass or sometimes in the evening. But the Reverend knew this troubled young man was not from here and probably had no one else to talk to. And so he allowed him to speak his heart out in the solitude of the night.

“Go on, my child. Open up to your heavenly Father.”

The young man loosened his tie and wiped away his sweat. He seemed nervous and deeply troubled by his thoughts. Clasping his hands together, he began in a solemn tone.

“Father, I have sinned all my life. I have done terrible things and I am afraid God will never forgive me for my misdeeds.”

“Our loving Father forgives every sin if only you repent, my son. He guides even the stray sheep homeward. In his eyes all are equal and worthy of his boundless love.”

“Does he truly forgive all sins?” There was a sense of impatience in the young man’s quivering voice.

“Yes, he does, my child.”

“Even if I have tortured hundreds of innocent?”

“You need to repent and all will be forgiven,” whispered the Reverend.

“Does he forgive all sinners, dear Father?”

“He does, my son.”

“Even if I have r***d and murdered dozens of men and women?” The young man’s voice suddenly became deep and serious.

Father John was dumbfounded by the young man’s words. He had heard many confessions over the years but nothing so horrifying as this. His fingers started trembling and he clung on to the Holy Bible in his hand. 

“Answer me, Father!” he demanded. “Will your Lord forgive me for murdering you?”

The Reverend turned cold in fear. He barely managed to eke out his words from his drying throat. “Who are you?”

“I am Leraje, the great Marquis of hell!” came the answer from the other side of the box.

Father John now realized that he had allowed a demon from hell to enter his church. He held up the silver cross hanging from the chain around his neck and began chanting Latin incantations. With the name of the holy saints on his lips, he slowly stepped out of the confession box and looked into the pitch black eyes of the gallant youth, who now looked as pale as death.

“You dare to set foot in the house of God! Be gone, demon! In the name of the Father, I command you!”

Leraje laughed at the Reverend’s threats, revealing his chiseled teeth. “You invited me yourself, Father.”

“You have no power here, demon! All evil beings cower in His name!”

“I am afraid things have changed. The old days are gone. This world will soon belong to us. And everyone who dares to stand in our way shall be ripped to pieces!” Leraje immediately changed into his true demonic form, sprouting two fleshy wings from his back and transforming his slender fingers into long black claws. “Your service is at an end, Father!”

The Reverend rushed past him and ran towards the exit but the doors slammed shut at Leraje’s command, trapping the old man inside the church.

As soon as he turned around, he found the demon standing right in front of him.

Leraje opened his jaws and spread out his arms, tearing open his clothes which could no longer contain his massive demonic body, towering over 8 feet high. A dark aura engulfed the church, swallowing up the white lights.

Father John closed his eyes and uttered his last prayer.

“Goodbye, Father!” Leraje growled in his dark demonic voice.