The Deep Blue Sea

A man stumbles into a church

The Vicar lit the candles, ignoring the thunder that continued to tear lumps out of the sky. The rain belted down on the tiled roof with such force that it sounded as though stones were lashing against the slate tiles. The lightning illuminated angels and prophets trapped inside of the stained glass windows. Their presence flashed and momentarily came to life, as the roaring elements suffocated their warnings. In a warm glow, the holy man kissed the crucifix around his neck and bowed to the altar.

The oak doors from down the hall were blown wide open to the Vicars’ fright. Peering over his shoulder, he could feel the gust circulate through the church. He casually strolled down to the entrance of the church, knowing the town was under the storms watchful gaze. The wind played with the thin strands of grey hair that usually covered his long ears. With both hands on the solid wooden door, it took all the Vicar’s strength to fight against the power of the wind.

This already difficult task was interrupted by a scream from outside the church. The cry was so intense it managed to silence the wind. The darkness, although thriving, was interrupted by a man who suddenly became engulfed in flame. The high pitch screams grew louder and more uncomfortable as the man flailed his arms around like a headless chicken before stumbling up the staircase and onto the church floor.

The Vicar stumbled backwards and placed his old wrinkling hands over his mouth. All he could do was watch the man helplessly squirm and roll around the ground, as he tried to smother the flames. The fire was licking away at the man’s clothing and began to melt and fuse with his skin. Snapping out of this trance, the Vicar scoured the room and found a bowl of water he blessed hours before. He poured the contents onto the man and watched as the fire fizzled out.

The smell of burning flesh and the blistering of skin around the man’s neck seemed to spark the Vicar into life. He helped the whimpering man to his feet and slowly escorted him to the front pew. Without the Vicar’s knowledge, the large oak doors slammed shut on their own accord.

Making his excuses to leave the man to mumble and grumble in agony, the Vicar went out to the kitchen and brought bottles of water and a medical kit to treat the victim. Despite using more than two bottles of water to cool him down, the heat seemed to radiate from the man who the Vicar recognised from years before. The man’s slow and jagged movements revealed that he was severely injured.

“What in God’s name happened, Danny?”

The Vicar watched the man he had known from a child raise his hands to his face. There he sobbed and failed to usher the words to explain his ordeal. Droplets of rain dripped from the black strands of hair that concealed large sections of his face. Shaking his head and looking up to the statue of Christ, he managed to compose himself and catch his breath.

His dark eyes were so intense they were swallowing up the light from the candles on the table by the altar. Without warning, the candles blew themselves out, as though something or someone had passed by them without being seen. A trail of smoke streamed into the air and ghosted out of existence.

“This is a punishment from God! I didn’t ask for this….” The man shouted, shaking in terror.

The church remained firm against the bombardment of hailstones that pelted against the glass windows. The room was lit up in neon blue as the men’s silhouettes danced along the church walls.

“It is okay, son, you are sheltered and protected. No one can get you in here.”

Danny managed to control himself and spied on the Priest through the gaps between his fingers.

“Tell me your confessions, and God will forgive you. It wasn’t some fluke or accident; it was a divine intervention that brought you here, to me.”

Dropping his hands slowly, Danny peered up and gauged the vast space between the domed ceiling and the ground. The flashes of lightning gave objects a more frightening and sinister complexion. The dangling chandelier’s slender and elegant glass tears seemed to be falling from the neck of an elongated beast.

“Nothing can get me in here” Danny whispered, quoting the Vicars words back to him, before breaking down once again.

“Why are you crying?” The concerned Vicar asked, placing a hand on Danny’s shoulder. Breaking cover, the man wiped away his tears and presented the holy man with a cunning smile. Unable to control his emotion, the man belched out a deep laugh that lingered over the stools. In one quick movement, Danny bolted out of his stationary position and aimed a gun he had concealed at the Vicar’s face.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind… I am here to help you!”

The Vicars deep voice became scratched and high pitched in his desperation.

“Danny, please don’t hurt me, I am sorry for everything that went on between us. My feelings for you spilt over, but know my love for you was pure. You were special to me, Danny, a special boy.”

The Vicar bumbled his words; despite his tongue working at rapid speeds, his hand movements signalling submission were slow and steady.

“I don’t know why you keep referring to me as Danny. I could have worn the face of one of your other victims, but then again, it is difficult to commandeer a body that has no pulse.”

The Vicar’s mouth gaped open as he tried to piece the words together.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?”

The man the Vicar assumed was Danny, shook his head and smiled, anticipating the question that he knew would follow. The man holding the gun smirked, delighted he would reenact the scenes that played out in his deepest and darkest fantasies. It was now time to deliver a message to an audience he never thought he would have the opportunity to perform before.

“Oh, I have gone by many names during the centuries. Depending on the time and the place will heavily dictate the label hung around my neck. In the Arabic world, they refer to me as Al-shaitan. The scribes in Israel call me Satan. But you, Father, you can call me Lucifer.”

The Vicar felt his heart race; it quickened as he tried to make sense of this madness. Despite not seeing Danny over the years, he spoke to his Mother often during mass and weekly sermons. The poor woman couldn’t make head nor tail of his behaviour after nurturing her son with unconditional love and kindness. The heavy medication they subscribed to Danny didn’t help rid him of the dark thoughts that swirled around in his head.

“Therefore, rejoice, O heavens! And you who live in the heavens, rejoice! But terror will come on the earth and the sea, for the Devil has come down to you in great anger, knowing that he has little time.”

Lucifer sniggers and shakes his head as the lightning flashes in harsh and sporadic intervals.

“Although I come here with great anger, you pathetic creatures were wrong about one thing; I have all the time in the world.

“Please, Danny, you need help. I know, let me call your Mother, and we can iron this situation out.”

Lucifer edges closer to the Vicar and presses the barrel of the gun into his forehead. The man of cloth can’t stop his eyes from wandering skyward to gauge the length of the barrel. Unable to calm his breathing, the small heart pulsating in his chest inflames and bulges as the fear takes hold.

“You asked me for a confession Vicar. Tell me, how do you expect to wipe away the sins of humanity when your paws remain stained with dirt?

The Vicar closes his eyes and begins to recite verses from the bible, first in his mind and then out loud. This unorthodox prayer raises a rye smile from Lucifer, who shifts his body weight down onto the Vicas shoulder. This act causes the Vicar to kneel, falling to the ground like a baby lamb that has had its hind legs chopped off.

“The God you have spent your entire life worshipping has discarded you — all of his good work undone by a herd of grovelling delinquents. There is nothing more upsetting to him than watching his messengers cause so much pain and misery to others. After all, I would know…”

Lucifer shakes his head and allows his tongue to touch the roof of his mouth repeatedly. There is silence for a moment as the Devil gets lost in thought. Despite the Vicar begging on his knees, he can’t help but reminisce of a time long since past.

“You wouldn’t have recognised earth in the beginning. It was enchanting, majestic, and wonderful; even I found myself appreciating its beauty. Heaven was the sky, mountains, and the forests. Earth was the mirror image that shimmered in the lake’s reflection. Today the water no longer shines, for it has been muddied and polluted. Now when God looks down at himself, all he sees is a mutilated delinquent staring back.”

Returning to the present, he acknowledges that time is indeed short, and he has other clients to see.

“After pulling the trigger, I will leave Danny’s body and allow him to see my handiwork close up. No doubt, he will be extremely confused when he sees your old and useless corpse lying in a heap. Don’t worry Vicar, Danny will be following you shortly.”

The gun jerks back suddenly as the force of the bullet burrows deep into the Vicars skull. His body follows the direction of his head that violently snapped off from its hinges. Lucifer takes one last good look at the Vicars’ gormless face that will live long in his memory. Before he leaves, he turns his attention to the statue of Jesus nailed to the cross.

“And to think you sacrificed your life for these worms. Please do give my regards to your Father. I love what he has done with the place…”

The Church doors swing open as an invisible force escapes out of Danny’s body. The absence of colour drained from the man’s iris to reveal ice blue pigments. Feeling weak, Danny felt his stomach wretch as though he was about to vomit. The confusion clears, and he found himself back to where all his trials and tribulations began.

The candles that were no longer producing a flame flickered back to their normal state. Their bright presence brought a feeling of calmness back into the vicinity despite the dead body that leaked over the upholstery. The panic serged through Danny’s body as he realised what he was holding. The gravity of the situation subsided into confusion as he gazed down to see the gun he can’t seem to let go. Danny could hear the droning of police sirens as the storm ferocity appeared to subside.

Lifting the gun to the side of his temple, Danny sensed that he had finally run out of road. Petrified of the danger he posed not only to himself but those of around him, he decided this was the only way to escape his ordeal. Hesitating, Danny told himself he could not spend the rest of his days lying in a cell waiting for death to take him away. In Danny’s last moments, he believed he would be free of life and all of its demons.

Dean Middleburgh is a writer that has had the good fortune to write for P.S. I love you, The Junction, Invisible Illness, ILLUMINATION, The New North, and Storymaker. Join his Facebook Group here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/shareshortstories/

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