I'm back!

Back with a new story. This isn't a story involving romance or love or sexual experiences - No!
Its a story that talks about the supernatural - yes, that means witches, demons and priests.
This is a story that will open your eyes to the spiritual, because let's face it - we are first spirits before we're physical beings.

So I dare you to come on this journey with me.

I dare you!

                                                         CHAPTER ONE
THE CONFESSION

The sun shone on the magnificent church set on the hill. It was a sight to behold, a place revered by many pilgrims who came from far and wide. They went to see its beautiful architecture and the treasures within which included medieval statues erected by Michelangelo, Raphael, Bernini, Caravaggio, and many more masters of mosaic art, fresco painting, and stonework from medieval and earlier eras.

It boasted of many spires and steeples made of the finest coloured stones with geometric designs. The floors were covered with delicate intricate drawings of angels made from the finest marbles. The drawings characterized the whole of the frontage and led straight into the church to the altar. Legend had it that once a tourist had stepped on one of the angels wings, he was struck with heavenly visions.

Once inside the church, you couldn't help but admire the stained windows filled with different pictures of saints as well as the tall statues strategically placed at corners of the church. These statues were rumored to date from the fifteenth century.

The church boasted of five aisles and large columns all around in pure bronze. The altar itself was completely bedecked in gold and stretched from one end of the vast church to the other. To the right was a life size sculpture of the mother of God in a white free flowing long dress covering her feet with a sash around her waist. A blue cape was draped round her shoulders and fell down her back, while a white long scarf covered her head. A crown of pure gold sat on her head with a halo around it. Her hands were outstretched, beckoning on people to come to her.

To the left was also a life size statue of her son, Jesus Christ. His left hand was lifted in the air, while his right cradled his open heart, set in thorns. He was dressed in a red garment with part of it hanging out from his left arm.

Around the walls, were scenes from the old and New Testament, with the tree of life from the Garden of Eden. The saints and ancient symbols were not left out either.

In the middle of the altar, was the tabernacle where our lord Jesus Christ was truly present under the appearance of bread and wine.

The tomb of a bishop lay beneath the church and it was rumored he had aided many people in answering their prayers through his intercession.

Suddenly, bells began to toll in the church, resounding throughout the area as the hour of twelve was struck. People inside the church stood as well as those outside. It was a tradition they stopped whatever they were doing and recite the angelus, a prayer in honour of the annunciation, when angel Gabriel appeared to Mary with a message from God saying she was to become the mother of his only begotten son.

Once the angelus was over, they all made the sign of the cross and confession inside the church continued. People sat on the pews facing the altar, waiting for their turn to confess their darkest, innermost secrets.

Some could not stop staring in awe at the gold coffered ceiling, while others simply closed their eyes and meditated on what they would confess to the priest.

Even though they knew he was Christ's representative on earth, what they saw when they knelt before him was a human being like themselves.

Some were of the school of thought that baring one's innermost desires or sins to another human being - even if that being was a priest - always proved difficult for them to do.

It got to the turn of a man. He was dressed casually in a plain white short sleeved shirt and brown slacks. On his feet were leather slippers. As the man knelt before him, the priest raised his hand in the air and made the sign of the cross. He said a prayer, and waited for the man to begin his confession.

A second passed and then another, yet the man said not a word. Compassion welled up in the priest as he turned to peep through the holes of the confessional. Sweat had pooled on the man's forehead and he seemed agitated as he wrung his fingers in front of him.

"Bless me, father, for I have si . . ." but he didn't get very far before a grinding sound emanated from his mouth, stopping his word flow. It was obvious to the priest he was agitated.

His eyes were closed and ridges dotted his forehead. He looked strained. It was the same look on a few people who came for confession, except the man before the priest was exhibiting signs of inner distress.

This gave the priest pause for contemplation. He knew the man was finding it difficult to bear his mind, so he made sure to paste a genial smile on as he opened his mouth to speak. "You can speak your mind plainly; there is no condemnation for you in the house of God."

That did not seem to do the trick, as sweat continued to break out on the man's face as if a tap had been turned on internally. It dripped down his sides and pooled at the center of his chest, making it look like he had just run a marathon. It seemed he was swallowing a bitter pill as his Adam's apple bobbed furiously.

The man tried again to speak. "Bless me fa . . ." but he didn't get very far as he jerked up. Like a marionette just learning how to use its limbs, his left hand made its way to his throat and clutched.

Anyone watching would think he was having a mental breakdown. It was yet to be ascertained what the problem with him was. The priest half-rose from his seat, watching with an expression that had shock stamped all over his face.

Say the words.

The thought infiltrated his mind, leading him to the belief it might not be a mental issue after all. He stood and moved away from the confessional. As he began walking towards the man, a thought popped into his head again, giving him pause for thought and making him take an inch back. He needed to make sure it was what he was thinking before he could release those powerful words. He decided he would watch the man keenly.

Patience never hurt anyone.

The man opened his mouth to speak once again, but the priest did not expect to hear what he said.

"Help . . . me."

A gagging sound followed those strangled helpless words as his hand continued clutching his throat. His mouth went slack, and spittle dribbled down the corner of his lips. The priest was shocked into immobility as he kept watching the man struggling with himself. He waved his hand helplessly, beckoning on someone to help hold the man who had begun tilting to the left. Just as he did, the man's hand left his throat and hung limply at his sides, while his head slumped on his shoulders.

Where before, soft murmurings of counseling could be heard from the other priests hearing confession and the soft murmurings of prayers from the few people present in the church, it all seized, as everywhere became deathly quiet, reminiscent of the one experienced at the grave yard.

All eyes turned towards the man who, from all indications, was in a comatose state. His head lolled to the side, agitation a thing of the past.

From the corner of his eyes, the priest saw the catechist approach the man, his steps sure, his posture confident, showcasing a man well vested in the ways of his duties.

Someone once said there was a thin line between confidence and pride. Perhaps the catechist was a little of both.

As he got within an inch of the man, the lights within the massive chandeliers above flickered. It lasted for only a few seconds, but it was enough to stall the catechist in his tracks. He looked at the man, unsure of whether to take the next step that would put him in his direct view. Visibly shaking his head, he took another step towards the man, when the lights began to flicker once again. This time; they lasted longer, discordant static that caused the tinkling of the chandelier lights.

The overall effect sounded like a million flies buzzing around.

This continued for almost one minute, with the catechist, unsure of what to do. It was crazy thinking, but it was steadily seeping into his mind that the flickering of the lights had something to do with his movement towards the man.

Making a final decision, he moved backwards, fear, palpable in his eyes and every step.

He was confident, yes, but not stupid.

It seemed the elements wanted in on the drama as well, because daylight did not recede stealthily like a thief in the night, darkness took over violently, as the last vestiges of the sun were snatched away, plunging everything outside into a darkness so thick, it would be several weeks before anyone could get accustomed to it.

"IT'S THE APOCALYPSE!" Someone shrieked. The hysteria was clear in her voice. Still, not a word could be heard from any other person. It seemed they were scared to move, and rightly so, after all, it wasn't every day they saw darkness come upon them suddenly.

Outside, an owl hooted, and another, yet another one, until the hairs on everyone's skin stood on end, and goose pimples erupted on their skins, from the chorus of a thousand . . . probably a million hoots.

Something was coming, that much was felt by everyone present in the church. What it was, no one knew, but there was an ill at ease feeling that settled like a bag of rocks on each of their chests. In the stillness of the church, a bird flew in through an open window, startling the woman sitting close to it. She lifted a hand laden with stringy veins and pointed.

"Look there!'

Her voice carried weighted surprise and something close to relief. Perhaps, she expected something more instead of a harmless looking bird.

As expected, everyone turned and gaped.

Without removing her eyes from the bird, the woman dipped a shaky hand into her pocket and brought out a long blue chaplet. Even with the absence of it, her pocket still dipped to the side, weighed down by several other chaplets she kept in her pocket for a time such as this. She lifted the blue beads to her lips without taking her eyes off the bird as her lips moved wordlessly.

The doctor had mentioned to her in that annoying bland voice of his, that her cataracts would make her go blind at the end of the year, but she wasn't so blind that she couldn't see the bird was startling white in colour.

A sign. A very good sign.

Her nerves which were as taut as a knotted rope, returned to their naturally relaxed state, as she sagged against the pew and exhaled noisily. Something else caught her attention, making her clutch her chaplet more tightly to her chest.

Sharp plumes of air escaped her parted lips.

What wonder is this?

But . . . we're still in the summer.

The thought swirled around in her head as she contemplated the mystery of winter in the peak of summer. She was still asking herself how this was possible as the bird flew around, circling the domed ceiling painted with figures of saints in different ancient attires. As it swooped close to the statue of Mary the mother of Jesus Christ, a strange thing happened. It let out an ear splitting shriek, shattering all the stained glass windows and rendering everyone in the church deaf for a few seconds.

The next few minutes proved that something supernatural was indeed at work.

The man who was in a comatose state, was thrown like a rag doll, across the church by an unseen force, and landed in an ungainly heap at the foot of the altar with a sickening crunch.

No one needed to be told he would have quite a number of broken bones, that is, if he even lived to tell the story later.

At that juncture, no one moved. No one dared say a thing, not even out of fear, lest they exacerbate the ongoing situation.

Then suddenly, without any forewarning, the lights in the church went off, plunging them into darkness, save for the lights coming from the myriad of votive candles in front of the statue of St. Joseph, the foster father of Jesus Christ.

It lit up only the area of the alter, plunging everything else in an inky darkness.

The priest found his feet moving of their own accord to the alter, needing to be closer to it, probably to remove himself from the dark and be in the light, but most probably to take action. He knew he couldn't waste any more time.

"Brothers, come here quickly before it manifests."

His voice was strong, his steps measured as he approached the man. Two other priests joined him, as did the catechist, who didn't seem to be as confident as before. His face carried the look of someone who had seen a ghost. In his right hand, he held a pitcher of water, and in his left, a small bowl.

There was no time for preambles, no time to play around. The priest took the stole from around his hand, kissed it and put it around his neck. As he approached the man who was still prone on the floor, he dipped his right hand inside his pocket and brought out a silver crucifix.

As he raised his left hand, forefinger, poised, lips parted, ready to speak, the man lying prone on the ground stood. He did so painfully, slowly, like he was learning how to stand for the first time. He looked at his hands, as if seeing them for the first time, and then looked up, and the priest confirmed what he had suspected all along.

The man's eyes were pitch black, probably as black as the being that currently inhabited his body.

"You wield your hand like it's a weapon, priest." His voice was deep and gravelly. It reverberated everywhere, causing echoes and putting grave fear in the hearts of everyone present. It sounded like a beast was speaking and not a human being.

"How many of you are in this poor man's body?" The priest knew it was more than one demon that possessed the man. If he found out how many, he could use that as leverage to expel them.

The demon laughed, and it sounded like a thousand beings were within the man. As he did, shadows danced, and something leapt across the walls of the church, looking like nothing anyone could put into words.

"Not today, maybe not in a long time will anyone be able to rid us of the earth. We were invited, and we are here to stay." The demon flexed the man's hand, trying to affiliate himself with his host as he continued speaking. "You humans have so much power at your fingertips, yet, you chose to pray to a god that loves adulation."

The man stopped speaking and fixed his glare on the priest and began working towards him. His right leg was bent at an awkward angle. It was obvious to everyone that it was broken, and so he dragged it with difficulty as he moved closer to the priest.

As he got close, the fetid smell emanating from him made the priest almost wretch, but he stood his ground as he looked into the vacant black holes that were the man's eyes.

They were full of hate and a touch of envy.

The other two priests scurried away, their steps sounding like those of rats. They chose to face whatever lurked in the shadows, than to be anywhere near the demons that currently possessed the man.

The man opened his mouth, and the demons spoke from within. "Worship me, priest, and I will give you whatsoever you wish." The stench that followed his words were of things decayed and long buried.

A light lit up in the man's dark eyes as the priest nodded and smiled. The demon's army was growing, and with such a formidable ally as the priest, his army would only get stronger.

Anticipating success, the demons moved the man's body even closer to the priest. With a courage that belied what he felt, the priest, as quick as lightening, removed the stole from around his neck, and hit the man on the face, making the man stagger back and let out an enormous roar like that of a lion. Clutching the crucifix in his right hand, the priest raised it in the air as he began to mouth words that would expunge the beings within the man.

"I exorcize thee, most vile spirits, the very embodiment of our enemy, the entire specter . . ."

"I know about the boy." The demon's voice boomed out, cutting off the priest, "The boy who died because of you. The one you could not save. I rewarded my servant for a job well done by promoting him to a general. Don't make the same mistake today. You shall never win."

The eyes of the man changed to a crimson red, as the demons within him roared. The whole church shook to its foundations, as the wooden pews that were stuck to the ground, mysteriously got removed from their fixtures and began sailing in the air.

Air, like a whirlwind, grew in tempo, creating a division between demon and priest.

The shadows on the wall, leapt and grew higher, but that didn't deter the priest, as he resumed speaking, his voice rising several octaves until he was shouting. "IN THE NAME OF JESUS CHRIST, SAVIOUR OF THE WHOLE WORLD, CREATOR OF ALL THINGS VISIBLE AND INVISIBLE, ALL POWERFUL, ALMIGHTY GOD, I COMMAND THEE, ENEMY OF THE FAITH, FOE TO THE HUMAN RACE, PRODUCER OF DEATH, THIEF OF LIFE, DESTROYER OF JUSTICE, ROOT OF EVIL, BETRAYER OF NATIONS, INCITER OF ENVY, ORIGIN OF AVARICE, DESTROYER OF JUSTICE AND SEDUCER OF MEN, TO GET OUT OF THIS CREATED BEING, GET OUT, AND NEVER RETURN AGAIN TO HIS BODY. BE EXPELLED!

Something seemed to leap in the man's eyes. A change was taking place before everyone's eyes. The man clutched his head, and with a loud roar, bent his head. From his body, thick black smoke emanated; it smelt of burnt clothes as it hovered over his head.

Later on, the recount of people varied. Some said the smoke formed a horned beast. Another recount was the shape of a priest. Other recounts from people said the smoke was in the shape of a reverend sister, complete with a habit.

As the demons hovered over the body of the man, different voices boomed out, struggling for prominence. Finally, they melded into one and a voice spoke, different from the one the priest had heard.

"Don't for a minute think you've gotten rid of us, priest, it was one of you who invited us, and now, we can NEVER be stopped."

Laughter boomed out of the smoke, as the wind picked up in earnest. With a loud bang, the black smoke vanished through the windows, and light was immediately restored in the cavernous church once more.

Something landed on the priest's shoulder, it was crusty and burnt. When he looked closely, he noticed it was the shirt of the man. It smelt strongly of ash.

"BREATHE! JUST BREATHE!" Someone shouted, bringing his attention back to the situation at hand.

Everyone seemed to crowd round the man who lay shaking his head furtively on the ground. Blood spilled in a trickle from the corner of his mouth. He kept trying to say something, but was clearly agitated.

The priest rushed to him and respectfully, everyone moved away, having seen him in action a few seconds ago. He lifted his right hand in the air and murmured some words of prayer, his lips moving wordlessly.

When he was done, he turned round, beckoning on the catechist who handed him the pitcher of Holy water. He sprinkled some of it on the agitated man, but as he made to stand, the man clutched his hand and in a single moment of clarity, looked at the priest with eyes that had returned to their usual blue colour. "Thank . . . you."

The priest was about to reply when he felt the clutch on his hand loosen. The man's eyes had lost focus and had begun to close.

A second later, his hand completely slipped from around the priest and fell to the floor beside him.

He was dead!

A/N:

Hi guys, I'm back!

So what did you think of chapter one?

Let's see them comments and votes rolling in.

❤️