The Minister
Vicar of the Devil
Sam entered the cathedral on a balmy Sunday morning. The congregation murmured in the cavernous sanctuary and slowly made their way to the pews. Father Delmonico stood at the altar, preparing the gifts with reverence. He lay the thin and tasteless wafers on a large tray and left the good stuff, the red wine, in a large silver chalice on the altar. His straight white robe made him look like a specter. He raised his eyes to the congregation, eased his lugubrious expression into a tight smile, and addressed them.
“Those of you who are a member of the Roman Catholic Church may come to me and take the Eucharist. Those of you who are not can pray silently for God to lead you in the right direction.”
About half the people hurried toward the altar.
“Slowly, now, and in an orderly manner,” said the Father.
Sam went up. When it was his turn, Delmonico placed a bony hand on his shoulder. The Priest was tall, so Sam had to look up, and when he looked up, Delmonico’s eyes seemed to darken. Is there someone behind those eyes, thought Sam; is that really a man?
Delmonico placed the wafer on Sam’s outstretched tongue and chuckled deeply. What was that? He tipped the chalice toward Sam’s lips and roared within himself. The wine tasted like molten iron. Sam walked back to his seat stricken with disgust, and something like dread.
Once everyone returned to the pews, the minister spoke. “The flesh was real flesh, and the blood real blood.”
Someone stood. “You mean the Lord’s, right?”
“No — no, much more real than that,” said the Father. He let out a cathartic sigh and sat down in a chair, staring blankly at the congregation. “Not much longer, now. Let it sink in; feel your bloodstream absorbing it.”
Half of them began to feel sick. Sam put his hands over his abdomen and wretched on the person in front of him. People panicked. Someone in the back screamed.
“All right,” said the priest. “The communion service is over; leave now. Everyone, get out!”
The group dashed and tumbled toward the wide doors. Sam stayed. He could hear people wailing and throwing up in the halls and down the front steps. Delmonico rose and turned to go back to his office. Sam stood up, sweating and shaking at the knees.
“I want confession,” he said.
Delmonico growled. “Fine, come.” He waved his hand toward the box and sat down inside it. “Confess to me your sins and I will absolve you on behalf of the Lord.”
Sam struggled for air. “I don’t want confession, Father, I want to know what the Hell just happened.”
“Hell,” said the Father, “It’s a wonderful place. You’ll go soon.”
“Wuh — ?” Sam’s vision blurred.
“Oh, Samuel. They think it’s the breakfast, the humidity. Pork sausages in the summer heat, that’s all. They’re clueless about the flesh and blood of the last congregation they just ingested, no doubt still full of poison. It will kill them. You as well, Samuel.” He laughed toward the vaulted ceiling, and his eyes turned a glazed black. “I’ll harvest your still warm body and feed it to the next sorry devoted scum that walks through those doors and sits in those pews like a good animal.” He pressed his face against the grated window dividing them. It steamed. “Humans, so docile. So delicious. Look at me, Samuel. Look at me!”
“You, you’re eev — eev — .” Sam’s speech slurred because of the poison. He knew his life was over and couldn’t understand why. He closed his eyes under the weight of it all and let his head droop.
“Evil?” Delmonico said. “Well, suppose I am.” He grinned. “What should I do with you, then?”
A rigid gray tentacle exited the priest’s mouth and punctured Sam’s torso. He groaned. Delmonico sucked the life out of him. He got the tray and the chalice and began to make preparations. “A minister must earn his keep.”
