Fr. Jorge was watching the seminarians through his window.

He scanned the
entire congregation, looking for absent seminarians almost mechanically. Ten
years in the seminary and ten years of doing the same thing, he couldn't help
himself but to give in to his habits. He needed some distraction anyways. He
needed to keep himself from reopening the door he's avoiding in his brain. He
needed not to remember that memory, that memory of last night and the
diabolic scene he had seen.

It was the devil himself! He saw me. He's coming at me! He had known what I
had done. He knew everything!

He stayed awake the entire night, afraid that it could terrorize him even in his
dreams. Even in reality it was terrible enough, how much more in your dreams
where everything is in superlative. He prayed fervently all through the night
and yet he could not feel the divine presence.

An impenetrable darkness had covered me completely. The Almighty Father

can't see me now!

He's losing his faith.

He sighed. No, it's more like a breath of exhaustion mixed with fright. He
should report it to the proper authorities. He should report this to his spiritual
director, the bishop. Yes. That's what he should do. He's going confess to the
bishop and his faith will be restored. He hoped so.

But his thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. For a moment, his
heart just leapt to his throat. He was frozen on his spot. Fear had overcome
his body that no muscle dared to move. Is it the devil? Is he gonna take him
now?

"I shouldn't have done it! I shouldn't have done it!" he whispered while
gripping his remaining hair. Heavy beads of sweat came out from all of his
pores, instantly soaking his black cassock. His bulging eyes were glued on to
the door, looking at it as if it were a predator.
The knocking continued and became louder and harsher. But the priest had
the brains not to open it. His fear escalated making him to pray the Ave Maria.
But he was praying so fast that only inaudible whispering sound came out
from his mouth. He needed to do something. He needed a protection.

In frantic, he ran to the cabinet and quickly crouched and reached under it. He
felt for the button and pushed it. There was a click and a hidden drawer was in
ajar on the cabinet's left side. He pulled it revealing two pistols: a GLOCK 19
and a Browning Hi-power. He took the Browning and walked slowly back to
his previous spot. Facing the door, he raised his pistol.

"By the name of God, go away demon!" He shouted but he knew he sounded
hypocrite. God had abandoned him. He's going to take this battle alone

The knocking stopped at once and silence covered everything. It was so eerily
silent that he could hear his blood being pumped into his every vein.

Meanwhile outside, it was a dawn of November. The breeze had become a

chilling gust. It was already six in the morning but the sun hadn't come out yet.
The sky was still cold dark grey. The seminarians were all gathered in groups
as they walk towards the soccer field for their lauds. Even wearing two layers
of clothing couldn't keep them from shivering. They keep on rubbing their
hands together with their breviary tucked in their armpits.

"Urgh! If it will drop another degree, I swear my balls will fall off!" A round
faced seminarian said.

The other seminarian beside him chuckled as he put his hands on his
pockets, giving up on rubbing his hands.

Moments later, the whole congregation was at the soccer field forming a big
circle.

"Can we do our lauds in the chapel instead? It's freezing out here!" Another
seminarian said through chattering teeth.
"It's Monday. We're supposed to have our lauds outside. Besides, we'll do
the shibasi afterwards," the round faced seminarian replied.

"Yeah, but considering-"

The other seminarian started but the leader had started the lauds.

"God come to my assistance."

A thunder roared and Fr. Jorge jumped in fright and in shock almost dropping
the pistol. Minutes had passed since he was in this position. The knocking had
been long gone and now his arms were starting to ache. Just another minute
and I'll relax. He watched intensely the seconds hand of his watch until it had
completed it revolution. He then put down his arms but was still holding the
gun. No demon had barged in. Yet.

Maybe it was Karencita. She's supposed to clean my room today.

He then took comfort with this thought. He knew that deep down it's not the
best conclusion.

But sometimes we have to take comfort to the lies we tell ourselves to keep
us sane. He thought.

Bravery had operated his body. If he's going to take this battle, he's going to
take it head on. He picked up his stole first and draped it over his neck before
slowly walking towards the door and opened it.

Someone punched him in the face, knocking off his glasses. He turned and
his scream was drowned by the raging roar of the thunder.

It's the devil!

Another thunder roared and no sooner, there was a downpour. The

seminarians swore as they ran to every shelter nearest to them. Then their
Mayor announced that they'll just continue their lauds in the chapel. Majority of
them rolled their eyes.

"Told them so," the round faced seminarian muttered.

Detouring by the refectory, they ran towards the chapel. By the time they got
inside the sacred place, almost every one of them was drenched.

"Well at least we got ourselves wet," a pimply seminarian teased.

Everyone laughed except the Mayor.

"Watch your mouth Kent. You're a seminarian. You're supposed to be more

mature," the Mayor replied sternly.

"Relax Loyd, we all need to have a little laugh sometimes," the round faced
boy defended.

The Mayor was about to open his mouth when someone had shouted
somewhere near the altar.

"GUYS!"

"Go away! Go away demon!"

Fr. Jorge shouted as he kept on walking backwards while pointing the pistol at
the blurred silhouette standing on the doorway.

"What do you want from me!" he shouted but the silhouette didn't move. It just
stood there, as if it was just watching the old priest. He squinted and was
blinking furiously trying to make a clear vision of the silhouette. His slippery
sweating hands loosened their grip on the pistol. The silhouette moved
forward sending him to step backward.

"What do you want from me demon!" he shouted again but his voice caved in
with fear as the silhouette continued to move forward while Fr. Jorge kept on
stepping backward and backward until his legs bumped into the edge of his
bed.

This must be my punishment. Maybe God wants me to suffer. Maybe God

wants me to be in hell. I deserve it. I deserve this punishment.

The silhouette raised its arm but Fr. Jorge was faster. He had already pulled
the trigger into his brain.

God wants him dead.

For a second everyone was silent but the chapel was filled then with murmurs
and stomping of feet. Everyone was starting to run towards the altar, to see
what had happen. The Mayor was the slowest to react therefore, by the time
he got near his view was blocked by the backs of the seminarians. He then
heard someone crying.

"Oh, he loves animals," a seminarian told his classmate.

The Mayor was puzzled yet curious. More gasps echoed, wanting him more to
see it for himself. He shoved some seminarians out of his way and then when
he finally got to the front line, he froze. A lamb. A dead lamb with its insides
pulled out form its belly was lying on the altar table. The white linen was
soaked with its blood.

"Look!" Kent shouted, pointing under the table.

There were words scribbled under the table. The Mayor was convinced that
they were made with the lamb's blood.

The lamb had died for your sins. REPENT

Everyone was hushed. The deafening sound of the heavy downpour and
thunder replaced the seminarian's murmurs.

Then a lightning flashed.

A spine-chilling scream then reverberated through everyone's soul.

It was coming from the main building. All the men raced outside, not minding
now the storm. By the time they got at the Seminary Square, they met
Karencita on the second floor. She noticed them and she cried out loud.

"Fr. Jorge is dead!"

No. No. No.

Fr. Jorge cannot be dead! He knew him. The priest was healthy. They were
close enough to be sure of this. He's like a father he didn't have. He's a good
man. How can God take someone so good? How? No! He can't be dead.

Maybe he just need some help. He's still alive. Oh God! Please let him be still
alive.

He met Karencita halfway in the corridor of the second floor.

"Oh God! Oh God! It's so evil!"

Her words were muffled by her hysterical sobs. She was tightly grasping the
forearm of the Mayor. But he managed to break free and continued to run
towards the priest's room

He pushed his legs harder but the weight in his chest kept him from going any
faster.

He got at the doorway and his knees just buckled and his whole body just felt
like jelly. The numbness started from his legs then crept up towards his torso.
His ears began ringing, like they had the senses to shut themselves from the
reality. From this horrible reality. He just wished his eyes would do it as well.
He wished this was all a dream. He wished so many things. But he couldn't
get away with it. His wishes won't save the poor priest. He wishes won't erase
the image of the old man lying on the floor with a hole on his head. A pool of
blood was mixed with bits of his brain around the severed head. Some of the
blood and the bits were on the bed. A pistol was just inches away from the
priest's right hand. What was haunting was the priest's eyes. It was bloodshot
open, staring in horror, in agony, into the Mayor's soul, condemning him,
blaming him for what he, the Mayor had done.