Eye Bleach

by Paul E. Creasy

  Father Ted’s face beamed as he heard her speak the words flawlessly. He winked again and whispered, “Excellent job, Sylvia. Diana Prince could have done no better.” He stood up straight and bellowed out to the crowd. “From the mouths of little children, our Lady maketh her will known to all!”

  With his left hand, Father Ted reached down and removed the bowl balanced between the idol’s fingers. With his right, he picked up the knife lying at its feet. Turning back to the crucified hog, twitching, and screeching out its final death yowls, he paused. In one quick flash he slammed the knife deep into the groin of the beast. He held the bowl beneath the foaming jowls of the pig while simultaneously dragging the blade down the suffering animal’s stomach and chest. Blood gushed out of the wound and filled the bowl. Now brimming with the profane offering, he lifted the bowl high and drizzled the gory contents onto his forehead. The crimson baptism flowed down his face and across his bare body. As he coated himself he laughed and shouted, “Glory! Glory! Glory!”

  Sylvia was nearly knocked to the ground as others rushed forward to the center of the torches. All around her was a frenzy of scrambling and scratching, all clamoring to find a place at the feet of Father Ted. He smiled as he refilled the bowl and began anointing the supplicants. One by one, all were coated with thick, hot, blood.

  Sylvia flinched as she watched the last person anointed and felt all eyes turn and gaze upon her. She alone was unbathed, and she felt dizzy, like she was falling down a well, everything swirling and swaying as she tried not to pass out. Her nostrils were filled with the acrid, coppery stench of death and she coughed back a gag. Her flesh broke out in an icy blanket of goose pimples when she watched Maw Maw and Father Ted approach.

  Maw Maw, her thick rolls of belly fat dripping with fresh gore, smiled and said, “Your turn now, Sweetie. Come on. You need to be washed in the blood, too. There are no exceptions.”

  Sylvia stood rigid. Her mouth was open, but her voice gone. The scream that struggled to erupt from her throat was stuck. Boiling bile rose in her throat and she gagged once more. She choked it back down, and with all her willpower forced herself to nod.

  Father Ted grinned and stepped forward. He raised the bowl over her head and tipped it, pouring the still warm blood over her scalp. The wafer-thin robe clinging to her body was splattered with thick red streaks as the blasphemous stew ran down her face.

  With the entire Circle now baptized in gore, each began to run their blood-covered hands over their naked bodies, smearing the sanguine mixture into their skin in an increasing frenzy. In a joyful and ecstatic howl, they screamed in unison, “Glory! Glory! Glory!”

  Father Ted stepped back into the center of the circle and turned towards the crate set off to the side. With his bare foot, he reached over and kicked open the hatch. He then stretched his legs wide and held his arms out straight on either side. His body stiffened as he stared blankly ahead.

  “And they shall take up serpents,” he whispered before chanting, “Come Spirit, come. Come Ashtaroth, come Baphomet, wreak vengeance in the name of the burned and tortured. Come Pan, come Bacchus, restore thy temples that hath been destroyed! Come Ishtar, come Marduk, mighty Babylon shall rise again! Come Isis, come Set, the Nile shall flow red with the blood of the children of Joseph! Come Baal, come Moloch, the plains of Megiddo shall be filled with the bones of thy enemies! Come most dazzling one of all, come Angel of the Morning Star! Come forth and make thy choice!”

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” the crowd shouted in response. “Come forth Spirit and make thy choice!”

  Sylvia was transfixed. The crate, the object of such juvenile curiosity earlier, was now open and something was emerging from the hatch. At first, in the dim light, she could not see what it was, only that it was moving and appeared to be stark white. Once it fully arose, however, she saw it in full, and a cold rush flowed over her body. It was a snake, only, it was the largest she had ever seen — at least five feet long. Her eyes were transfixed as she watched the serpent slither over the grass, flicking its forked tongue until it found Father Ted’s bare calf. Its red eyes glowed like tiny burning coals reflecting the torchlight.

  Father Ted remained motionless as the snake licked his leg. He continued his chant as the serpent glided up his body, coiling its tail around his stomach before coming to rest on his shoulders. Once in place, Father Ted began to spin, chanting, “Spirit shall make his choice! Spirit shall make his choice!”

  All the women, including Sylvia’s mother, Darlene, rushed forward and knelt before Father Ted in a circle. They too were chanting, swaying their bare, blood dripping breasts in time to the beat.

  “Spirit shall make his choice! Spirit shall make his choice!”

  After five or six revolutions, Father Ted stopped, and the serpent slipped off his outstretched arm and onto the neck of Darlene. Father Ted raised his arms to the sky and shouted, “the choice has been made! It is the almighty Moloch, and he has chosen his Altar!” The women all screamed in unison, “Glory! Glory! Glory!”

  Father Ted reached down and took Darlene by the hand, bringing her to her feet. He led her to the table set up in the middle of the torches. She climbed on top and lay down, stretching her legs out wide and exposing her bare womanhood shamelessly to the crowd. Sylvia flinched and looked away. No daughter should see her mother like this!

  Father Ted knelt before Darlene, the newly anointed altar of Moloch. He reached towards her, running his hands over every inch of her exposed body before stopping and gently massaging her protruding belly. As he caressed her flesh, he chanted, “Virtus enim estis gloria nostra fiet Kingom vester venturus sit infernum terris!”

  Darlene moaned and thrashed as Father Ted ran his hands over her and continued to chant his prayer. Suddenly, she went silent. Her legs stretched out wide as her muscles stiffened. A final ear-piercing shriek exploded out of her lungs as sweat poured off her blood caked skin. The crowd knelt before them chanting, “Glory! Glory! Glory!” Darlene was now limp, her arms and legs dangling lifelessly over the sides of the table. Father Ted slowly stood up and lifted something into the air. In the dim light, and through the flailing arms of the crowd, Sylvia could not make out what it was. She could see it was small, and red and…, Mommy! Mommy! NO! NO! Mommy!

  “Take! Eat!” Father Ted shouted as the crowd bolted forward in a mindless frenzy. “The Feast of Moloch has been given for you!”

  Click… Click… Click…

  Chapter 25

  April 21st, 2017 - St. Sebastian Catholic Church - Mountain View, California - 8:30 PM

  Father Hector Morales pushed his chair back from his desk, removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. They were tired and blurry. For five hours, he had not left his office once; his full attention focused laser-like on his studies. There, on his incredibly messy desk, amongst his prized pictures of the 2002 championship Saint Sebastian Boys Boxing team, an old faded photograph of his long-dead parents, and a newly emptied carafe of coffee, were his books. Dozens of them were scattered haphazardly across the surface. All were worn with age. Their pages were yellow and crumbling, their jackets torn and faded. Most he had not looked at since seminary, and that was ages ago. Tonight, however, he was making up for lost time. He sighed as he took out his highlighter and began to mark another significant, and gruesome, passage in the text. It was not his first. Sadly, these obscure long forgotten works were all too relevant now.

  They were all written in an earlier age; a pre-Vatican II era when talk of demons and black masses, satanic rituals and blood sacrifices were still subjects to be taken seriously. Now, however, the church was far too sophisticated for such Medieval talk. The modern, enlightened world had advanced well beyond such primitive Dark Age superstitions. But…, perhaps the evolution has been premature. Perhaps the wisdom of the ancients still has something to say. Mankind never truly progresses, it only shifts. The move is not up or down but back and forth. A tidal shift was taking place in the world and Hector could feel it. He could see it
and most of all, he could smell it. A roaring tide of evil was rising fast and his gut wrenched at the thought that Alyssa was caught in the undertow — a fresh new face to satisfy the appetite of an age-old horror.

  He had been reading one book in particular for quite some time. It was riddled with his post-it notes, highlighting the many passages he found useful, as well as chilling. As he turned each page, some new unspeakable horror was revealed. The current chapter was the most disturbing yet. It filled him with a soul-crushing dread more than any he had read all afternoon. It was entitled — Dark Rituals used at the Feast of Moloch. He put his reading glasses back on and resumed his studies. When he heard a soft knock on the door, he jumped.

  “Father Morales,” an aging female voice said from the other side of the door. “Are you sure you don’t want me to make you dinner? It is quite late, and you have been in there all afternoon.”

  “Sister Margaret,” Father Hector said as he sighed before smiling, “You always take such diligent care of me. Let me just finish this chapter, and I will be right down. And maybe, instead of you making dinner for us tonight, I can order pizza. I could really go for a Pepperoni-Lovers right now.”

  The door swung open wide and Sister Margaret marched inside. “Have you lost your mind, Father?” she exclaimed. “You know you have high blood pressure. In fact, the doctor said you should be having mostly salads now.” She shook her head and said, “Pizza is completely out of the question. You know you need to cut back on meat — Pepperoni-Lovers indeed!”

  “Salad? Ugh,” Hector said. “Is that what you were planning to make?”

  “Yes!” Sister Margaret said as she crossed her arms in front of her. “And that is what we are going to have.”

  “I am a man, Sister, not a goat,” Father Hector said. “If the Lord had intended us only to eat vegetables, then why did he make animals so delicious?”

  Sister Margaret huffed. She smiled and said, “You are impossible, you know that? Well…, you have many dietary sins to atone for, you know. So not only are you going to have salads for the rest of the week but there will be no dressing.”

  “No dressing?” Father Hector said. “This seems a rather harsh penance.”

  “Yes, it is, and you deserve it,” she said. “I know where you went out to eat last night, Father. Honestly…, Chalupas? Burritos? Are you trying to have another heart attack?”

  “And just how did you know that?”

  “The same way I keep track of all my students,” she said with a grin. “I have eyes everywhere — including a couple of very observant busboys at Café del Sol.”

  “Those little Judases,” Father Hector said with a chuckle.

  “Yes. You see, they may be afraid of you, Father, but they are terrified of me!” she said.

  “Smart boys. I always did say we have the brightest kids at our school.” He held up his hands and said, “OK, OK, salads it is.”

  “Good,” Sister Margaret replied. “You need to eat right for a while, to make up for your transgressions at Café del Sol.”

  “Correct,” Father Hector said. He grinned and added, “especially since I am eating lunch there tomorrow.”

  “Father!”

  “Sorry, can’t be helped, official business,” Father Hector said. “And…, while we are on the subject, can you help me with the copy machine? If you can just get me started, I can make the copies I need.”

  “You do remember you have to lean on it, right?” Sister Margaret said. “The cover always pops open if you don’t lean on it.”

  “I never can do it right.”

  “What do you want me to copy for you?” she said with a sigh.

  Father Hector lifted his book from his desk and Sister Margaret leaned forward to look at the title. He pointed at the post-it notes and said, “Sorry, but there are a lot of passages I need copied.”

  She read the title of the book and said, “A treatise on the Black Mass and other Satanic Rituals — Oh, my!”

  “Yes! And, I hope you don’t mind, but, I will need it for my lunch tomorrow. Regrettably, I had all of my suspicions confirmed today.”

  Sister Margaret crossed herself and said, “I will be sure to say the Saint Michael prayer twice tonight at Vespers.”

  “Always a good idea,” Father Hector said.

  *****

  Fifty minutes later, in the church office, Sister Margaret was finishing the last of the copies while Father Hector struggled with the stapler. They both looked up when the internal alarm bell rang. Since Father Hector lived in the rectory next door and Sister Margaret lived in an efficiency apartment in the church basement, between the two of them, someone was almost always on site. They never locked the doors, wanting the house of God open to all. They did have a motion detector installed in the chapel, however, and this was the alarm that sounded.

  Sister Margaret glanced at the clock on the wall and said, “Who on earth could be in the sanctuary at this hour of the night? It is nearly 10 o’clock!” She walked over to a small window that looked out into the nave and pulled back the curtain slightly. The sanctuary was completely dark. At the back of the church, however, she saw light coming from under the door of one of the confessionals. She turned back to Father Hector and whispered, “it appears someone has come in for confession tonight.”

  Father Hector walked over to a closet and retrieved a purple stole. He placed it around his neck and said, “I wonder if it is one of our students? Well…, if someone needs to make a confession at this hour, my guess is it is pretty important.”

  She nodded and reached over to the copies Father Hector had been struggling to staple. It was a considerable stack of papers. She picked up the tiny stapler he had been using and said, “you know this is far too small for the job.” She pointed over to her desk at a larger model and said, “we usually use ‘Big Bertha’ for stacks this thick.” She shook her head and said, “I will just go ahead and redo all of this while you go hear the confession. Honestly, Father!”

  “You’re the best, Sister,” Father Hector said as he slipped into the hall that led to a side entrance into the church.

  When he entered the opposite side of the occupied confessional, he turned on his light. After a few moments of silence, he started to speak. A young female voice interrupted and said, “Bless me, father, for I have sinned.” The voice quickly added, “is that right? Is that how you start?”

  “Yes, just right. You are doing fine,” Father Hector said. “So…, how long has it been since your last confession, my child?”

  “I…, I have never been,” the voice said. “You see…, I’m not a Catholic.”

  “Oh? I don’t understand. If you are not Catholic, why do you want me to hear your confession?”

  “It isn’t really about all that, Father Hector.”

  “You know who I am? How do you know my name?” Father Hector said as he leaned forward and stared at the screen separating the compartments. He squinted as he tried to make out the details of the face through the thin slats of wooden mesh, but he couldn’t see clearly. It was too dark. All he could see was a dimly lit figure, obviously female, sitting alone in the darkness. She had turned the light off in her compartment.

  “I am a dear friend of Alyssa Brewster,” the voice said. “She has spoken very highly of you and told me how you helped her so much in the past. Because of this, I thought it best I come speak with you now, in person.”

  “Ah, Alyssa is a wonderful girl. But, if this is not a confession, I am not clear on why you are meeting me in this way. Why not just come to my—”

  “—You need to know about things that are going on, Father — dark and unspeakable things. Alyssa is in real trouble and really needs your help. I fear you are her only hope. I am very worried about her.”

  “Yes,” Father Hector said as he sighed. “Alyssa is quite troubled, but, apparently she has been fortunate in having a friend like you. I too am quite worried about her.”

  “You should be,” the voice said
. “We all are.”

  “But…, since this isn’t a confession, perhaps we should discuss this in my—”

  “—No! No, we must do this my way,” the voice said. “You see…, they are watching. They are always watching.”

  “They?”

  “Yes. They see everything. I read online they can’t see inside a church — especially when the sacraments are present, so this should be safe. Are the sacraments present here, Father? I saw the red light was lit on the altar.”

  “Yes…, but, just exactly who is this they you are talking about?”

  “You know exactly who they are,” the voice said.

  Father Hector paused as he felt an icy corkscrew crawl up his back. He said, “Maybe it best you tell me everything that is going on. For example, what do you know about her boyfriend, Darryl? I think he may have taken Alyssa down a path she shouldn’t go.”

  “Definitely! She and Daryl have both been playing around with forces they do not understand, and now the bill is due. Neither seem to understand the fact some doors, once opened, can never be closed.”

  “You are so right,” Father Hector said. “You seem quite knowledgeable about this sort of—”

  “—What are you wearing, Father?” the voice interrupted.

  “Excuse me? Why are you asking me that?”

  “Are you wearing one of those little purple scarves around your neck?”

  “You mean my stole?”

  “Yes, I guess that is its proper name,” the voice said. “I have seen priests wearing them on TV shows, but I didn’t know what it was called.”

  “Uh…, yes…,” Hector said. He lifted the edge of his stole up in his hand and looked at it before adding, “I don’t know why you want to know about my stole, though.”

  “I know priests sometimes wear it, right? Like at confession.”

  “Yes…? But I don’t know what this has to do with Alyssa.”