Confession (Horror)

"I have a confession to make," I said to the shrouded figure on the other side of the lattice.

There was a miasma of old paper and body odor in the booth. I wondered how many lost souls had been in here, sweating profusely, trying to seek forgiveness. The smell wasn't anything as bad as what I was about to confess to.

I was never a good Christian. The whole pomp and circumstance of a Sunday visit to the Church seemed like a waste of time if I already had a direct line to God. So, I quit going when I could and found I was praying less and less. It is funny how praying and preying sound the same.

That didn't mean I wasn't a good person. I always tried to do more positive things in my life than negative ones. I even worked nights helping out at a mentoring program for kids without fathers. It was usually rewarding work.

The man on the other side of the booth cleared his throat as if to encourage me to hurry up. He shuffled a little bit, and I could hear him lean against the side of the wall. He must have pressed against it with his feet because the old church wood creaked and popped with his motion.

I was always a good listener.

As if on cue, I dutifully chimed in, "Father, forgive me for I have sinned."

*At my work, Max, god forbid you called him Maxwell as it was listed on his application, was a fireball of a child. He was smaller than most of the boys his age at the program, but he kept his brown, groomed hair spiked straight up as if to close the gap. He was always dressed in what appeared to be hand-me-downs of hand-me-downs, but usually of some stylish brand.

If there was trouble to cause, he would jump into the eye of that maelstrom wrecking havoc on anyone in his wake. I couldn't decide if he was bored, angry, or just in desperate need of attention. I could, though, see his eyes brighten and sparkle right before he committed whatever petty crimes and meanness he had latched onto.

"Wait," I commanded him the last time I saw that look. "Just think about what you are about to do and think of what problems it is going to bring you."

The thing he was about to do was throw a basketball at some of the girls who were seated facing in the opposite direction.

He shrugged his shoulders, dropped the ball, and huffed, "whatever man."

"Max," I exclaimed. "You did great! I am proud of you. Controlling your..."

"Save it, old man." Max had already turned away and was walking off to find what I assumed would be his next bit of mischief. The basketball has rolled its way next to the girls. They turned around to see it, giggled, and went back to their intense conversation about shows I had never heard of.*

"I have been thinking a lot about death lately."

"That is perfectly normal, son. We all think about it, but rejoice that we have a place in Heaven after this life."

I waited a pregnant pause before talking again. "I have been thinking a lot about murder."

*It wasn't a half an hour later that I saw Max sobbing at the bottom of a stairwell. I had never seen any inkling of frailty from him before. I had to double-check to make sure this was the same kid.

"Max, are you ok?"

Tears immediately shifted to rage. I am sure he was furious any one saw him like this. "All of you bastards pretend like you want to help, but then just hurt us."

I tried to de-escalate by lowering my tone and speaking slower.

"Have I ever done anything that would hurt you? Be unkind?"

Max's face furrowed. He seemed to be trying to process my logic in the same way he might eat a firey hot wing. He was fighting it, but it was still going down.

In a slightly softer voice he said, "Maybe you haven't, but others have. The god damn church on 2nd street..."*

There was a silence on the other side of the partition. Apparently, the priest hasn't heard this type of confession before and didn't have a canned answer ready to give. Instead, he made non-commital noise such as ahhh and ummm.

I figured I'd help him along.

"I have been thinking a lot about your murder."

I could hear a panicked gasp from the priest as he bolted up from his reclined position. The priest fumbled for the door latch, but it was unresponsive. The chair I had quietly pressed up against the other side of the door held in place.

*I didn't need to coax Max at all. Once his protective wall came down, he told me of a story that was horrendous and vile. For once in his life, Max wasn't trying to cause trouble, he was trying to run from it.

I seriously doubted the law was going to side with a criminally mischievous child. I tried to think of ways to make this right. I had always tried to do more good than bad, so I think I had balanced the scale enough to hold off on being good for a bit.*

I rammed my shoulder against the lattice and it easily collapsed on my first strike. In between shards of wood and cloth, I found myself on the same side as the priest. As I pulled a blackjack from my back pocket, I spoke through my teeth, "Is there anything you want to confess?"

It is funny how praying and preying sound the same.