The Host

Terrible things happen on warm spring nights. At least that seems to be the pattern in my life. For whatever reason, God---or whatever force there may be that runs the universe---has decided that all my life's tragedies and mishaps should come on nights in April or May, when the world has finally beaten the chill of winter, and everything should be going just right. Perhaps that's why I turned from him in the first place.

I sat in my chair, gazing half-heartedly out my window, as I always did on nights when the weather would allow. Naturally, my mind began to drift. It always does. I wish it wouldn't. For every pleasant memory I have, there are twenty evil ones lurking in the recesses of my mind. But appearances can be deceiving. I appear to be wealthy, in good health, and kindly---if a little eccentric---but deep inside, I am a broken woman, completely destroyed by pain and more so by the lengths to which I went to stop it.

I was lost in another horrifying flashback when, suddenly, I heard the doorbell ring. At first, I admit, I wasn't sure what it was. Visitors so rarely called that, at first, the noise only registered as curious bells with which someone was playing nearby. A second ring filled me with a mix of excitement and dread. Who is it, and what do they want? I asked myself as I lifted by cracking bones out of my chair.

When I answered the door, I was shocked to see a priest standing there. He was Father Michael who had just come to our parish. I remember'd having enjoyed his sermon the weekend prior. His passion, youth, and excitement were exactly what our tiny parish church needed. But why was he here?

"Father Michael," I said, not attempting to hide my confusion. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

'I'm sorry if I'm interrupting your evening, Mrs. Lind," he began, "but may I come in? I'd very much like to speak with you."

He flashed his blue eyes at me and gave a charming smile. He reminded me so much of my Albert. What can I say? I melted.

Moments later, in my kitchen, the tea had been poured and the conversation began in earnest.

"Mrs. Lind," Father Michael began, "I must admit that I'm concerned about you."

"Concerned?" It was the last thing I expected to hear. "About me? Whatever for?"

"Well," he hesitated slightly. I could see he was trying to be as polite as possible. "Every Sunday, I see you at church. In fact, you're perhaps the one parishioner who has come every single Sunday since I've joined the parish."

"Well, of course," I said. "Attending services is very important to me.  I never like to miss a sermon."

"Of course," Father Michael smiled. "And that is certainly admirable, but I've noticed something about you." Another pause ensued. He took a breath and continued. "For all the times you've been to church on Sundays, I've never seen you approach the alter to receive the Host."   

"Father Michael," I said, stopping him before he could go any further. "Did Father Brendan approve of this visit?"

The young priest shifted in his chair. "I didn't tell him I was making this visit.  Did I need to?" He looked suddenly worried. "If I've overstepped without gathering all of the available information---"

I stopped him again. "It's all right, Father.  It's all right." I forced a smile to try and calm him, but it didn't last. I knew I'd have to explain myself.

I took a deep breath, and began. "Father Brendan knows things about me that you do not, Father Michael.  Things you couldn't be expected to know, as you're still new. Although, if I'm honest, I would have expected him to have told you by now." I sighed, disappointed, and continued. "There is a reason why I don't get up to receive the Eucharist. It's not that I don't want to.  I do want to.  With every fiber of my being, I want to.  But I may not.  I cannot." Despite my best efforts, I felt the emotion rising in my body, taking my words from me and pushing them out without my desire or permission to tell the rest of the story.

"At the risk of sounding cliche, it was on a night quite like this one that I made my most horrific and regrettable mistake.  In my youth, Father, I was prone to fits of jealousy. I was spoiled.  I wanted what I wanted, no matter who I had to take it from or how little I deserved it.  And, if someone ever had better than I had, I took it as a personal insult that had to revenged at once." I fought to keep back the tears that begged for release. "That was my aim when I sealed the fate of my poor sister."

I turned to the young man. His eyes, filled with sorrow and concern, begged me to go on.

"Delilah was such a lovely child.  She was younger than myself by only two years, but the differences between us were like night and day.  I was dark, stout, graceless, and angry with the world. She, on the other hand, was an angel by comparison.  I remember watching her run through the fields.  The way the sunlight and the summer breezes seemed to play in her hair and love her just as much as my parents did... it made me hate her.  I considered her my enemy.

"Naturally, everyone loved her, especially the men in town.  The poor girl practically had to beat them away with a stick, but soon one in particular came along, and she took to him like no one else.  His name was Albert Lind."

"Albert Lind?" the priest repeated. I could see he was beginning to piece things together.

"Yes," I said. "The man who would become my own husband came into our family as my sister's suitor." I paused again, and looked directly into Father Michael's sweet eyes, so full of compassion. "You must believe that I am not proud of what I'm about to tell you. I do it only so that you can know the truth and understand my actions."

"Of course, ma'am," he said, and gestured for me to continue.

"As you may have guessed, the second I saw Albert, I wanted him for myself.  Whether it was because I had a genuine attraction to him, or simply because he was my sister's, I cannot say.  I'm sure I never even questioned my desires until it was far too late. But there we were.  She had something I wanted, and I simply couldn't let that stand.

"I tried every earthly means I could devise to steal Albert away from Delilah, but he was a good man.  He saw and wanted only her. I knew that, if I wanted to win the game---for that was how I saw this whole thing, as a game---I would need to find some alternative means of persuading him.  I needed help, you see, and I knew that praying to a just and loving God would not advance my cause."

I watched as the young man grasped my meaning. His face went pale and, with a shaking hand and whispering lips, he crossed himself.

"I don't remember where I found the book," I went on. "It was as if something knew what I was up to and contrived to lead me to it.  In any event, as I stood flipping through it, a piece of folded parchment paper that had been stuck between two pages suddenly fell out.  The significance of this was unmistakable, though how I knew, I couldn't begin to tell you. So, I picked up the paper, unfolded it, and marveled at what I saw.  Detailed there was a ritual of some kind, a sort of recipe which promised to produce exactly the kinds of results I wanted.  I knew that I was meant to find this information, and to put it to use.”

You will forgive me, reader, if I omit a brief section of what followed in my explanation. It was at this time that I explained the exact nature and method of the ritual, including the day and time it was to be performed, along with a list of what items and substances were required and how they were to be used. I have opted to leave this information out of my narrative because, for as long as I live, if I can keep anyone from ever performing the same deed and therefore stop the spread of my fate and its attendant consequence, then that is what I intend to do.

I explained to the clergyman what happened upon completion of the ritual. "At first," I said, "all was silent. It was a crushing sort of silence, such as can only be experienced just after the cessation of some great, loud noise.  I found it almost unbearable, but a feeling stirred inside me, telling me that this was all somehow part of the process.  As the silence dragged on, the darkness of the room seemed to become... darker somehow.  It was as if it ceased to be only the absence of light, instead taking on a kind of substance and mass.

“It was then that the sounds began. The only way I can think to describe what I heard, Father, is that it was the sound of a mouth and throat opening and suddenly finding that they can function again after years---possibly centuries---of inactivity. I have since become quite sure that this description is hellishly accurate. For a while, I sat still, frozen with terror, just listening to the parting and closing of unseen lips, and the gasping and wheezing of a body returning to life. After what seemed like quite a while, a new sound interrupted all the others.

"'Speak,' a raspy voice demanded.

"Bear in mind, Father, that I still could not see whatever it was that was now in the room with me.  This heightened the fear I felt, now worse than anything I'd ever experienced before. I must have hesitated, because it commanded me to speak a second time.  This time, the impatience in the voice was clear.

"'Speak!' the voice insisted.

"'Forgive me,' I said.  'I am frightened.'

"The voice began to laugh.  'There is no forgiveness,' it said.  'And those who fear too much should not seek.'

"I took this as a warning that, if I did not state my purpose and desire at that very moment, I should lose my chance forever.  Fighting to stop the quiver in my voice, I explained my situation to the entity. I explained that what I wanted was Albert.

"'And,' I heard the voice say, 'are you willing to make any sacrifice necessary to receive the thing you desire?'

"By now, I did not feel as strong in my convictions as I once had, but my head was reeling.  I feared what might happen if I were to say no. I had already gone too far, and it was too late to stop now.

“'Yes,' I said.

"The room fell silent again.  The darkness still hung all around.  Suddenly, I felt a strong unseen hand grip me by the throat.  It forced my mouth open and tilted my face toward the ceiling.  I choked and gagged as I felt something invade my mouth and slither down my throat.  I could not see or taste whatever it was that I was being force-fed, but I felt every disgusting, violating moment of the entire assault.  The thing I had swallowed sat inside my stomach like lead, and still does to this day.

"Once the ordeal was over, the voice came again.  'You are now a vessel,' it said. 'Through your desire, that which is now within you will be brought forth upon the world.  You shall have what you have asked for, and much, much more, but know this: should any food or drink that has been blessed even come close to crossing your lips, the consequences will be dire.'

“I agreed. This seemed to please the entity, for it made a kind of purring sound. Though it may have denoted a positive emotion, it was no more a comfort to me than anything else I had heard since the ritual began.

"At last, the voice came again.  'Go walking with your sister tomorrow,' it said, 'in the woods behind your family home.  Travel as far into the woods as you have ever dared before, and then go farther. Do this, and you shall have what you desire.'

"And then, just as if I'd been dreaming and were now opening my eyes, everything in the room suddenly seemed quite normal.  I was alone in the room. The darkness seemed to be just that.  It was as if the ritual had never been done.

"Naturally, I did as the voice had instructed, for I dared not disobey a force I didn’t understand.  My sister and I set out the next day in the morning, under the pretense that I wanted to hear all the details of her upcoming wedding in a place where we should be alone and anyway from prying ears.  Every word of hers was like a dagger plunged straight into my heart. It made me glad I had gone through with the ritual, and I suffered through it, knowing her husband would soon be mine.

"When at last we were as far into the woods as we could go, a sharp pain seized by stomach, and then my temples.  The last thing I remember is hearing the concern in Delilah's voice. Then, all was black.  Or at least I think it was.  I'm not sure.  All I know with certainty is that, when I awoke, Delilah was dead.

"The scene was as gruesome a thing as ever I saw.  She had not merely been killed. My poor, beautiful sister was utterly destroyed.  The clothes had been ripped from her body.  Her flesh was torn, chewed, and mangled.  Severed limbs with bones protruding littered the forest floor.  It was the stuff of nightmares.

"I ran screaming through the woods until I finally found my home again.  'Something's happened,' was all I managed to say. ‘Something's happened!'  I knew in my heart, even in my panic, that this was the fulfillment of one part of the entity's promise.  Perhaps I should have expected this, but I honestly did not realize that my sister would meet such an end.  I punish myself daily for my part in what took place.

"But, even knowing all of this, it was far too late to back out.  I was afraid of what would happen. If the being I had contacted knew how to do what it did to my sister, I thought, imagine what it might do to the person who summoned him, and would then betray him.  I could not take the risk, so I told anyone who asked that we had been walking together in the woods when a great bear suddenly emerged from the shadows.  I told them I ran and hid, and fainted dead away when I had heard Delilah's screams.

"At her funeral, Albert and I sat on opposite ends of a large sofa, weeping uncontrollably.  As the day wore on, we found that we were inching closer and closer to each other, until finally we were each pouring tears into the shoulder of the other.  Soon after, we began our romantic relationship. He proposed a year later, and then was my husband for a great many years."

As I finished, I looked over at the young priest. His eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open. He looked so clownish that I could not help but give a little smirk. "Shocked, Father?" she asked. "Astonishing, isn't it? It's no matter.  I don't expect you to believe me, but that is why I do not go up to receive the Host in Chruch.  I go because I long to feel human again, instead of like the monster I know I am.  I give to the church so that others might be saved, even if I cannot partake of the salvation being offered."

"But I do believe you, Mrs. Lind!" In a single motion, the priest leaped from his chair and knelt before me. "I wholeheartedly believe every single word you've said to me tonight." He shook visibly as he spoke.

"You do?" I asked, incredulously, not knowing at all what to make of his sudden excitement.

"Of course," he said. "I could not claim to be a man of faith if I didn't."

"Then you understand, Father, why I cannot receive---"

"No, Mrs. Lind," he interrupted. "I am now even more convinced that the Holy Host is what you need."

"But, Father---"

"Don't you see, Mrs. Lind?  Tonight, you have a chance to accept Christ into your heart once again.  There can be no room for what plagues you when Jesus finds his way in." His eyes pleaded with me.

"Father, you don't understand!"

"I understand perfectly!  This is divine providence!"

There was no getting through to the man. He had me cornered in every sense. I watched helplessly as he reached into his coat pocket and produced a small bag in which a communion wafer sat by itself. It was the closest I had been to one in years. Even in church every Sunday, I refused to go near them for fear of what might happen. And now, one was literally within my reach. I lost myself. Salvation felt close and I wanted it more than ever.

Father Michael removed the Eucharist from the bag and held it before me, just as he did in church before the faithful every week. "Body of Christ," he said, staring deeply at me.

I opened my mouth to speak the word, "amen," but no sound came. Instead, I felt a horrible burning sensation that roiled in my stomach and rushed up my esophagus. It forced my face skyward, and the continuous retching began. I could feel Father Michael fall backward as whatever had plagued me for decades made its violent exit from my body.

At last, it had vacated and, for a moment, I breathed a sigh of relief. Freedom at last, I thought. But my joy would be short lived. Whatever had left me was still in the room with us.

Standing before us was a towering figure with the shape of a man, but who appeared to be made entirely of black smoke. The sight of it paralyzed me. I watched helplessly as it turned its attention toward the priest. Father Michael did his best to slide away from it along the floor, but only managed to back himself up against a wall. I knew there was no saving him now. The creature appeared to grab him violently by the face and force his mouth open. Then, it was as if I were watching him inhale the being, though I knew that none of this was a choice on the part of the priest. Once the entity was inside him and completely out of view, the room fell silent.

Father Michael lay still, slumped against the back wall of my kitchen. I began to wonder if, in fact, he was dead. I was about to try and stand when the man suddenly coughed and sputtered back to life, startling me half to death in the process. Father Michael, or at least his physical body, regained his composure and then calmly and quietly stood. He looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time, finally spotting me, still sitting in the corner. He grinned and approached. I pressed myself even closer to the wall where I sat.

"Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Lind," the priest said. "I'll see you in church on Sunday." He then sniffed the air with a quality that was more animal than man. "Lovely night, isn't it?"

He smiled again. In his eyes, I could see a flash of something sinister. Then, he turned, crunching something beneath his foot, and headed for the door. As he let himself out, I looked down to see the communion wafer, trampled to pieces.