Martin Pernell directed his late afternoon stroll into Latrobe Park. He had walked about the streets of Locust Point aimlessly lost in his troubled thoughts and vaguely noticing his urban surroundings. It was a pleasant October afternoon and escaping the confines of his tiny one-bedroom apartment was long overdue. He had stayed hidden away in the cramped, bare apartment ever since he came to Baltimore three weeks ago and some fresh air and a little exercise would ease his mind, if only slightly. In another week, he would pack up what little belongings he possessed and continue on his way to some other town in another state. Virginia sounded like a pleasant possibility.
As he entered the park, a group of children accompanied by two women passed him. The children were donned in costumes of fictional characters. He took notice of a few superheroes, two zombies and a princess from a Disney cartoon he could not recall. As the small procession made their way past him, it jarred his memory, reminding him that today was Halloween. He forced a tight smile as he thought of how much he enjoyed that specific day of the year. One day out of the year where you could be anyone you wished. His smile was short lived as it brought back the memory of his own self-proclaimed Halloween where he was able to become anything he wanted.
Martin spotted an empty bench along the paved pathway beneath two trees and took a seat on the green painted wooden bench. He sighed as he sat. He must have walked the streets for a good couple of hours trying to sort out his continuing dilemma. It felt good to rest his feet. Even though he was only in his late forties, he was not used to being on his feet that long and all the walking had taken a toll on the soles of his feet and knees. He leaned against the back of the bench and took in his surroundings. It was a beautiful day, without a doubt. A warm sunny afternoon complimented a slight soothing breeze. As he surveyed his surroundings of green grass and scattered trees with their autumn colored leaves, he noticed a church in the not too far distance. It sat on the opposite side of the street at the park’s perimeter.
It wasn’t one of the larger churches you would find nestled on one of the street corners throughout the city. No, this one was small and quaint. A steeple and the main body of the church were all it consisted of. Comprised of a red brick face and a gray slate roof, the peak of the steeple proudly displayed a white cross high above the smaller buildings constructed around it. If only such a place could offer Martinthe comfort and sanctuary that he sought. He exhaled deeply and scratched at his stubbled face. Yes, those days were long behind him now. Not even a house of God could shield him from the fate that stalked him.
As he stared out at the scenery of manicured landscaping and their colorful floral arrangements, a voice interrupted his deep thoughts.
“Is this seat taken?”
“Huh?” Martin looked up to see a figure in black standing next to the bench. For the briefest of moments, his heart froze in his throat until he saw that the figure was nothing more than a priest. The priest was a tall man dressed in a black cassock and white clerical collar. The typical appearance of a man of the cloth except this man wore dark sunglasses and had a large beard of black hair with the jet black hair on his head slicked back..
“May I sit down?” he asked politely, gesturing to the empty portion of the bench.
“Uh, yeah. Of course, Father,” Martin replied and slid over more toward his end.
The priest nodded and sat on the opposite end. Martin thought he smiled, but the hair from the man’s beard covered most of his lips. The two sat in silence for a good minute before the priest spoke.
“A blessed day it is. Simply beautiful.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
As the two stared out onto the expanse of lawn, a youthful woman walked past, pushing a stroller. Inside, an infant no more than two years old was dressed as a clown. Martin again forced a smile and said aloud, “Ya know, I almost forgot today was Halloween.”
“Is that so?” The priest kept his gaze fixed in front of him. “Besides Christmas and Easter, I enjoy Halloween very much. Something about all the children being dressed up and out and about.”
Martin turned to the man. “I feel the same way.” His smile was no longer forced.
With his face still facing straight ahead, the priest said, “So, if I may be so bold to ask, What troubles you?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry, but I saw you sitting here alone, and you looked very worried. I just assumed something was troubling you.”
Martin’s smile faded, and he turned his head to face straight ahead, too. He did not reply. The man was prodding into a taboo subject.
“I meant no offense. It’s just that sometimes it helps to talk about your troubles, especially to a stranger and also a priest who has no desire to gossip your confession to others. It’s only a suggestion.” He then shifted on the bench and angled himself more toward Martin. “My apologies. Where are my manners? I am Father Kinsella.” He held out his hand.
Martin, noticing the gesture, angled himself also and shook Father Kinsella’s hand. “I’m Martin.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Martin.” Again, Martin could only guess if the man was smiling.
Martin sighed and actually felt a twinge of relief interacting with another person. He hadn’t done so in close to two months. “I’m sorry, Father. You are right. I do have a lot on my mind. Unfortunately, there is nothing you can do to ease my worries.”
Father Kinsella leaned in closer. “Are you sure about that? Try me. I’m an excellent listener. If you feel awkward speaking out here in the open, my church is right there across the street.” He pointed to the church that Martin had been looking at earlier across the park.
“That won’t be necessary, Father,” he said as an older couple strolled by hand-in-hand.
“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be right here.” Kinsella began to turn back and face front.
Martin chuckled. “I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, Father, but even though my troubles are of a spiritual nature, there is really nothing you can do to help my situation.”
“Is that right?” He turned and faced him again. “Well, I can tell you with fortified certainty that spiritual guidance is right up my alley. Give me a try. What can it hurt?”
Martin nodded to himself as he agreed. What could it hurt? Worst-case scenario, the man would laugh at him or think him certifiable. He could live with a total stranger who he’d never see again labeling him as insane. “Okay.”
This time, Martin thought he saw the priest’s cheeks rise in a smile but the beard and the shaded glasses hid any expression.
“Do you believe someone can be cursed, father?” he finally blurted out.
“Cursed how? You mean with poor luck or a chain of unfortunate events?”
“No. Not quite. I did something in my past. Something wrong on so many levels and now, the consequences are following me. Does that make any sense?”
“Not really. Are you in trouble with the law? Did you commit some crime?”
“No. Nothing like that.” Martin sighed as he thought how to present his predicament understandably. “I guess you can say that I’ve fallen from the grace of God and into the fire.”
“God is forgiving, and those who lose their way can always find their way back into his good graces if they so please.”
“Father, my soul is damned,” he finally blurted out. A young woman in yoga pants and long brown hair pulled into a ponytail happened to jog by from behind Martin and threw him a bizarre glance as she passed.
Martin bowed his head until the woman was well out of hearing distance. “Father,” he said much softer, “Do you think we could speak somewhere more private? I direly need a confession. I must speak to someone about my actions.”
Father Kinsella gestured to the church in the distance. “You could confess in the church, if you wish?”
Martin shook his head and with a worried look, glanced over his shoulder as if someone might’ve been watching the two interact. “I was hoping that you would be able to possibly hear my confession at my place? I know it sounds odd, but I would feel more comfortable being in familiar surroundings. I only live a few blocks away on East Clement Street. I could make us some tea.”
Kinsella thought for a second then shrugged. “Yes, of course. Plus, I haven’t had a cup of hot tea in a long while.”
Martin’s worried mask now shifted to a worried look with a smile. “Really? That’s great. It’s not far, I promise.” He stood from the bench and thanked the priest again.
The two departed Latrobe Park and made their way to Martin’s apartment while engaging in brief discussions. None of them touching on the sensitive subject matter that Martin wished to confess. As they walked and chatted, Martin realized how the priest may just prove useful in another way besides a spiritual shoulder to cry on. They arrived at the old brick faced apartment building just before 2pm.
“Please, take a seat, Father,” Martin suggested as they entered his apartment, gesturing to a lone table in the main room with two simple chairs at each end. “I’ll start the water.”
“Thank you,” replied Kinsella as he pulled up one of the chairs and sat.
“I know this isn’t much, but I don’t plan on staying long so it’ll do. It’s one of those pre-furnished apartments,” Martin stated as he moved into the tiny kitchen. “Thanks again for coming here.”
“Home is where you should feel secure and comfortable.”
“What’s that?”
“Just a saying,” Father Kinsella said as he eyed the apartment’s interior and its basic arrangement.
After filling a kettle from the sink, Martin set it on the stove and turned on the front burner where the kettle rested. Once the flame was adjusted to his liking, he moved back into the main room and sat across from Kinsella.
“The water is on. It should be heated soon,” said Martin as he adjusted himself on the wooden chair.
Kinsella nodded. “So, would you care to elaborate on what you said earlier back in the park? Regarding your soul being damned.”
Martin sighed heavily and ran his hands over his stubbled face. “When I was younger, I lived a rough life, Father. I was barely getting by in life. It felt as if life itself was this massive stone weighing on me, and it never seemed to get any lighter. Instead, it grew heavier and heavier until I felt that it would ground me out like a used cigarette.”
“There are many people who go through life feeling the same way, Martin.”
“True but, I didn’t have the strength to fight back like some do. Over the years, I became weaker and weaker until my weakness became desperation, and in that desperation, I took the naïve way out to solve all the problems life had burdened me with.”
“And which way was that?”
“I turned my back on the God that I prayed to for help every night. Prayed that maybe, just maybe, he could lighten the load I bore and point me in the right direction, but things continued to worsen with no change. It was then I turned to the other God.”
“Other God? There is only one God, Martin.”
“No, Father. There is another. For every positive, there is a negative. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and I turned to Lucifer for help. And you know what, Father? He answered me.” Martin stopped there and eyed the priest, waiting to see his reaction to the candid statement, but there was none. The man’s face, what could be seen behind his beard and black glasses, remained unfazed. Martin continued. “I immersed myself, body and soul, to his service and believe it or not, my life improved. Yeah, things gradually got better for me. It was like these unbelievable opportunities would fall into my lap, and I praised him for noticing me and answering my call.”
“If what you say is true, Martin, then no good can come from whatever benefits you believe to have obtained. Satan does not give without taking.”
“Yes! You are right.” Martin leaned across the table. “There was a price to pay but at the time, I did not care. All I knew was that I always had my pockets filled with money and my life was taking a 180-degree turn. The stone that I was burdened with my whole life was lifted from my shoulders. I felt like I mattered again. I was someone again.”
“We are all someone special in the eyes of God. I’m sorry your life was not what you wanted, but the Lord does not place obstacles in someone’s path that he cannot overcome, Martin. The Lord does not want you to fail, only challenge you and make you a stronger person.”
“No offense but-” His words were cut short by the sudden high-pitched whistle from the kettle. “Excuse me, Father.” Martin stood up and made his way back into the kitchen.
The kitchen was angled so if one were seated at the table, they could not see in. He pulled two plain coffee mugs out and set them on the counter. “Milk or sugar, Father?”
“Sugar, please,” he called back.
After inserting the tea bags inside the cups, he tilted the kettle and filled each mug with the scalding hot water. Reaching up into another cabinet, he pulled out a box of sugar cubes and a tiny brown glass vial. He looked over his shoulder as he unscrewed the vial’s lid. “How many lumps, Father?”
“Three, please. Thank you,” Kinsella replied from the other room.
As Martin sprinkled a portion of the white powder into one mug of tea, he quickly added the three sugar cubes and stirred the contents with a spoon, making sure the powder dissolved completely. The unexpected encounter with the priest had been a blessing in disguise. Out of all the people to initiate a conversation with him out of the clear blue sky, it was a priest. What were the chances? He smiled to himself as he continued stirring the tea. He would not disclose his entire predicament to the man but simply throw him scraps of his doings until the drug took the man’s life.
As he had told the priest, there was a price to be paid at the end of his service to his master. A price in flesh. A price that Martin Pernell had no intention of delivering. As he had stated, he was a weak man. The dark one’s generous offerings had come to a close a little over a year ago after a deal of fifteen years was struck. Fifteen glorious years of a worry-free life. The time had flown by before he had realized it, and it was now time to pay the piper. It was then that he fled.
Through various spells, he was able to mask his whereabouts, making his presence virtually invisible to the infernal forces that sought him out. And to make matters lean even more to his favor, he had discovered that by murdering someone, it enhanced the spell ten-fold, causing the powers that be to become misdirected even further away from his location. After the drug was administered, he would pack up his belongings and be far away from Baltimore by the day’s end. He shook his head and smiled. The priest truly was a blessing in disguise. “Coming right up!” he shouted into the next room as he brought the two mugs out.
Martin set the appropriate mugs in front of the correct person and took his seat. With a smile and a nod, he brought the steaming mug to his lips and sipped.
“Martin, I was thinking while you were preparing the tea–thank you by the way–that you should not weigh on your past actions. Instead, you should accept Jesus Christ as your lord and return to the church or at least attend. As I had told you earlier, my parish is right down the road, and I would encourage you to attend. You will see that through Christ, not Satan, all things are possible.”
Martin shrugged and set his mug down. “I don’t think I can do that, Father. You see, I am in debt, and the devil is coming to collect. And with all due respect, I don’t want to be around when he shows up.”
“The devil has no power over you when you believe in the one true God, Martin. His faith cloaks you like a suit of armor. Give me a couple of hours a week, and you will see what I say is true.”
The man almost sounded as if he were pleading. Martin sipped from his mug again and looked to the untouched mug sitting in front of Kinsella. He mentally urged the man to drink.
“I wish I could oblige you, Father, but hell hounds are on my heels, and I must keep moving. Dodging the bullet, so to speak.”
Father Kinsella leaned back in his chair, still not reaching for the tea. Martin felt a twinge of agitation and eagerness. “The devil is not some tangible supernatural being, Martin. He is only an individualized concept.”
“I beg to differ, Father.” Again, he eyed the mug.
“Do you know what today is?”
“Yes. Halloween.”
“Yes, or as older, more ancient cultures refer to it–Samhain. The first and most important of the four days regarding the festival of the dead. It’s a day that the souls of the dead are at their strongest. A day most celebrated by those who practice witchcraft and the occult. A day where the forces of evil are easily harnessed. But you knew all of this, correct?
Martin pulled the mug slowly from his lips. “Yes. Well, no. I must confess. Not until now.”
“Yes. I’m surprised that for someone who accepts Lucifer as his savior, you weren’t aware of that.”
“And how, may I ask, Father, are you?”
“Oh, the study of ancient religions was one of my majors in college before being accepted into the priesthood.”
He could hold his impatience back no more. “Father, your tea. You should have some before it gets cold.” He hoped his voice wasn’t as eager as he felt.
“Oh, yes. Thank you again, Mr. Pernell. But first I need to undo this.”
Martin sat up rigidly straight. “I…I never told you my last name.”
Kinsella reached behind his head as if adjusting the back of his collar. It was then that the man’s face collapsed into a mass of fleshy wrinkles and the synthetic mask was pulled from his head, revealing the true horror beneath. Martin shook uncontrollably as spittle dripped form his quivering lips. His body stiffened in a grip of frightful paralysis. He could feel his sanity being drained at the very sight of the thing sitting before him.
“And for the record, Martin Pernell, I will have the flesh owed to me,” the inhuman thing said as it rose from its seat, its lipless mouth of long, sharp teeth almost appeared to be smiling.
About the Author
Frederick Pangbourne is a short story horror author with 5 of his own anthologies in publication with a 6th, Shadows of Death, coming out soon. He has stories featured in various magazines, audio podcasts and other anthologies. Find him on Instagram (@frederickpangbourne) or Facebook (@frederick.pangbourne).
