Sunday Service

She was kissing him like she would never see him again and he wanted to get into the moment but there was an obnoxious buzzing that he couldn’t seem to ignore. She placed her hand on his thigh and this was usually dynamite to his teenage libido, but the buzzing persisted until he sighed and gave her that sort of kiss that says, “I need to put this on pause”. She retreated back to the passenger seat of his pickup truck as he fished around in the console in search of his beat up flip phone.

“It’s my mom” he frowned and his girlfriend let out a sardonic laugh. He ignored her and glanced at the blocky orange links of the truck’s digital clock. They connected to read the time of 8:20 am. “Shit!” he swore, “Service starts in ten minutes.”

“Good, we can still fool around for another five minutes” his girlfriend murmured, and she looked like a cruel temptation; she was dressed in her Sunday best but the hem of her dress was pulled up near her hip and he could barely see the edge of something lacey that did not match the rest of her church girl attire.

“No, my mom said she’d meet us out front and she’ll be pissed if we’re late… hell, we’re already late.”

She rolled her eyes. “Honestly Brian, why are you so scared of your mom?”

“I’m not” Brian responded defensively and she gave him a skeptical look. “It’s your Dad I’m scared of, and if you don’t get yourself straightened out he’s going to kill us both.”

She laughed at this but checked herself over in the rearview mirror, fishing in her purse for her lipstick to reapply that which had been sufficiently smeared from their makeout session. He straightened his tie, swigged the last of the beer they had been sharing, and then gurgled some mouthwash, spitting it out into the bright green grass of the cemetery in which they were parked. 

They both hopped out of the truck and walked quickly past the aged granite headstones towards the massive white shingled church that was a fixture of the town’s center. It was springtime in suburban Massachusetts and the sky was a perfect shade of blue that made for a picturesque contrast against the church’s spire. Baby birds chirped, the scent of blooming flowers was abundant, and men in suits and women in dresses rushed about the adjoining parking lot to herd their troops of children towards the chapel.

His mother had found religion after his father had passed away a couple years before. Brian found church to be dreadfully boring, but he had met his girlfriend in Sunday School and despite being the Reverend's daughter she was far from pious, and so he figured church wasn’t all bad. His mother was standing on the sidewalk in front of the church’s front doors, and dressed in all black she looked like an omen of death. She was tapping one expensive high heel against the concrete, and she was staring at her son and his girlfriend with a look of what could only be described as contempt.

“What took you so long?” she hissed between her teeth when they were close enough to hear. She would never deign to be overheard by the rest of the lovely parishioners that were passing by.

“We just got busy talking” he said, unable to make eye contact for more than a split second.

“Sure” his mother huffed, giving his girlfriend a pointed look. “Talking. I swear you’re just like your father. You might recall that he died of a heart attack while ‘talking’ to his secretary. Well, let’s hurry up then, if the good Reverend sees us coming in late he’ll never let you pick his daughter up for church again.”

Feeling concerned about a lot more than carpooling privileges he followed his mother without remark and they stepped through the front doors and were submerged into a darkness that required his eyes a moment to recover from. In history class he had learned that some churches had been designed with massive stained glass windows in order to let in the light of God, but the protestants who had designed this place a couple centuries ago clearly did not have the same romantic notions. Most of the building was notably windowless, save for the chapel itself, which had a few pragmatically placed square windows that had been warped with time and thus offered little view to the outside world.

As they entered said chapel, the Reverend was greeting each parishioner as was his tradition and so they were forced to wait a few minutes in tense silence until their time came. His mother greeted the Reverend with a bit too much bright charm, her red lipstick lips curling into a wide grin that bordered on sinister, and her black gloved hands grasping his in an aggressive handshake. “Lovely morning Reverend” she said, her eyes wide with what was possibly meant to be joy, but came across as mania.

The Reverend, a grey haired man with incredibly plain features, returned her handshake with equal fervor and with a soft smile he said, “that it is, spring has sprung!”. He then turned his attention to Brian, who shifted his eyes to the ugly thick carpet on the floor, and mentally speculated that it had probably been installed some thirty years ago, perhaps in the early ‘70s. “Thank you for giving my girl a ride this morning” the Reverend said, and there was something in his tone that was so stiff that Brian felt he had to meet the man’s eyes or elsewise look like a coward. The Reverend seemed to have a dark look in his gaze, but Brian supposed he could be imagining it.

“Happy to help” Brian responded, forcing a smile on his face even as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. The Reverend wasn’t a physically imposing man, and he seemed quite gentle in nature. His sermons were far from fire and brimstone; in fact, he tended more towards tales of Jesus and his love for all of mankind. Yet there was something beneath the whole “lamb of God” persona that made Brian nervous.

“Well in that case, I have one more favor to ask you” the Reverend said, his thin, pale lips stretching into an expression that was supposed to resemble a kind smile, but reminded Brian of two dried worms stretched out dead on the summer pavement. “Could you go down into the basement and retrieve our spare coffee dispenser from storage? The one we keep in the kitchen seems to have been misplaced and if coffee and doughnuts aren’t put out after the service I’m afraid we’ll have a revolt on our hands.”

Brian’s mom laughed much too loudly and the Reverend chuckled as well. “Um, sure” Brian responded, not sure he had much choice either way. Besides, he supposed he could drag the chore out and maybe even sneak back out to the truck for another quick beer. He was willing to do just about anything to skip some of the dull sermon the Reverend was bound to deliver. “Do you need me to make the coffee?”

“Oh heavens no” the Reverend laughed. “Mrs. Jones would be beside herself if you robbed her of the opportunity to make her perfect post-service coffee. Just drop it off in the kitchen and then you can join us. I’m sure my daughter will save you a spot in the pews.” He looked to his daughter and she nodded stiffly and Brian couldn’t help but note what a sharp change had taken place in her disposition from just moments prior.

“Okay then” Brian shrugged, and he headed for the nearby staircase without so much as a second glance. 

As he descended the stairwell there was a faint mildew smell and he felt a slight chill pass through him. He had been in the basement before and he knew what to expect, but the place still gave him a distinct feeling of discomfort (even more so than the rest of the church). The basement was vast, but fully finished, with hardwood floors and panel walls. The space was used for various functions, usually the sort that involved hordes of small children and messy crafts. Well-used folding tables were piled against the far wall alongside stacks of dented metal chairs. He moved past these to a non-descript door that he knew would lead to a massive closet where the church stored just about every odd and end. He knew this because his girlfriend had once tried to convince him to slip into said closet for a makeout session, but after less than a minute his skin began to crawl and he made some excuse for escape.

He sucked in a deep breath before turning the tarnished metal doorknob. Don’t be a baby he admonished himself. It’s just a frigging closet.

He pushed the door open quickly and reached for the light switch on the other side. For a brief, panicky moment, he was submerged in utter darkness, but then he found what he was looking for and a dim, yellow light poured into the room. Still standing in the doorway, his eyes scanned the room, hoping the coffee dispenser would be within grabbing distance. He saw a few sagging cardboard boxes stacked to the left, the topmost box not quite able to confine a mass of plastic pine garlands.

When he looked to the right his heart jumped to his throat as he set eyes upon a horrific baby Jesus doll, its face a jaundiced yellow and its eyes too large and too pale. It was perched in the usual feeding trough, as seen in the yearly Christmas pageant, but the hay had been removed so its chubby arm stuck out at an alarming angle. Brian let out a harsh laugh, realizing that a doll had nearly made him shit his pants.

“Stupid” he muttered, and he walked into the closet in his continued search of the absentee coffee dispenser. He passed a shelf of ancient looking kitchen appliances and riffled through an unmarked box that only held half-melted candles. 

He was beginning to grow agitated by trying to find the damned thing when he heard the door behind him slam shut, and the flickering light above suddenly went dark.

The fear that seized him seemed disproportionate to his circumstances, but logic had fled his mind entirely. He ran towards the door, but as he was in a cluttered room with no light to find his way he tripped and fell hard to his knees, cursing aloud before scrambling to find the doorknob on all fours. He turned and yanked it with all his might, but it was unmoving, and he was barely able to clench down on the scream that threatened to rise up within him.

He took a few steadying breaths, holding the doorknob tightly to center himself. He realized it was quite likely that his lovely girlfriend had slipped away from her father’s boring sermon and decided to pull a bitchy prank on him, so he gritted his teeth and hissed, “Not funny, open the door!”.  When no response came he tried another approach saying, “I really have to piss, so unless you want me ruining all these lovely Christmas decorations you had better let me out.”

There was still no response. That is when he noticed a faint sound from the other end of the long closet and he turned quickly, pressing his back against the door. To Brian’s ears the noise was nothing more than a slight rustling, and he tried to convince himself it was just a mouse scuttling through one of the many boxes. Yet as the silence deepened around him, Brian realized it was the sound of breathing.

Slow and raspy breaths grew in volume and he stood rigid in pure terror, his mind going blank with fear. The sound of dragging footsteps accompanied the labored breaths and Brian knew with a sinking certainty that whatever was trapped in the closet with him was drawing closer.

Snapping out of his trance, Brian tried to escape with renewed vigor, pulling at the doorknob with all his might and pounding against it with such fury that he would later find bruises along the side of his fist. The rising of the hairs on the back of his neck alerted him that whatever was behind him was now just inches away, and as he felt fingertips lightly brush the fabric of his shirt the door flew open and he nearly fell backwards, straight into the grasp of the thing that was creeping up on him.

Instead he managed to fling himself out into the light of the basement hall, as though the glow of fluorescents  would keep the predator from escaping the closet. In some sense that turned out to be true, because when he turned back to the dark opening from where he had escaped, there was only a silhouette in the doorway.

Brian backpedaled, staring at the shadowy figure, shocked that there actually had been something real in the closet with him, that it had not just been a figment of his frightened imagination. The figure stepped out towards the light and Brian nearly bolted for the stairs, but slowly he realized that a tall, thin man who stood before him was holding out the missing coffee dispenser.

“I believe you were sent to get this Brian” the man said, holding the object out in offering, but not fully coming into the light. As Brian stepped forward to receive the dispenser he realized that the man was dressed in a long, black reverend’s robe, and against the darkness of the unlit closet the man’s sallow face appeared to be floating, as though disconnected from his body.

“T-t-thanks” Brian stuttered, and he attempted to take the coffee dispenser from the man’s grip, but the man did not immediately let go, and at this proximity Brian could now see that the man was rather old, with sparse white hair and thin lips set in a sort of scowl. In the man’s dark eyes, Brian saw a cold anger and so he tore the coffee pot from the man’s hands and ran to the stairs, expecting to hear the stranger follow or at least yell out, but when he reached the top of the steps and looked back, nobody was there.

Shaking from the frightening encounter, Brian directly to the brightly lit kitchen and tried to sort through what had just happened. Had the old man been hiding in the closet like some sort of creep? Was he some sort of pedophile? And why had he looked so furious?

That was when it struck him; The Reverend must have sent him to scare me!  Brian would have laughed if he was not so instantly furious. It made sense; the old guy was likely a friend of the Reverend given that he was dressed as preacher himself. The Reverend must have seen Brian getting busy with his daughter in the parking lot and figured he’d get even with a mean spirited prank. It was utterly juvenile in Brian’s opinion and it only made him feel more rebellious; if that jerk saw something he didn’t like he should have just scolded us like a normal parent, not sent his weirdo friend to jump me in the closet. He thought about the beers waiting in the truck, and how maybe later on he and his girlfriend would have to kill the rest of the pack and do some getting even of their own.

As Brian turned the corner to the hall in the kitchen, he noticed a framed black and white photograph mounted on the wall. He must have passed it every Sunday since he and and his mother had started attending services, but he had never noticed it. This time it was impossible not to notice, because although it was an old picture and somewhat blurry, the tall figure standing in front of the church was unmistakable as being the same man he had just met in the basement.

Below the photo a small plaque read, “REVEREND JAMES WOODWARD. BORN 1793. DIED 1868.”