Chapter 1: Merry Christmas Father
“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.”
The dark, sheer curtain separates the two people inside the confession box. The man is curious on the other side, such an unfamiliar voice yet he can see through the thin veil that she is a nun.
So peculiar, the father thought.
“Dear child, what sins do you confess for forgiveness?” A lighter flicks open, flames arise, and a light of a cigarette puffs out smokes inside this box. The father on the other side inhales the pungent smell of tobacco which makes his nostrils tickle; he scrunches his nose against the foul scent.
His stomach sinks into a bit of nausea.
A feeling of impurity tickles the skin of his flesh. Raising goosebumps on his flesh, warning him of this inherent danger that is near. A sign of Madeline smoking is already an offense to God in his house. She continues her disrespect as if she is above everything.
“I confess I have impure thoughts, father,” she blows smoke from her juicy ruby red lips. The cloud is of tobacco swirls inside the small box. The father pulls on his color feeling constricted in the confines of his robes and the confession ox together.
“What of these impure thoughts have you troubled, my child?” He asks, although his thought process had proceeded to make small protests against this woman that plays a nun. He senses that nothing is right with this woman, she brings an alarming presence within this claustrophobic space.
“I want to murder my father. I want to destroy everything he’s built and make him suffer. I also want to hurt others as well.” This fear that grew with suspicion has now become a blaring alarm that brings discomfort to the priest.
“How long have you had these i-imperfect thoughts, my child,” the calmness of his voice now waivers with nerves of distress. She inhales the cigarette that shrinks in size every time she sucks on her bud. As she inhales profoundly taking one last smoke, she lets the soft wisps of smoke blow out inside the box.
“Several centuries now, father,” she departs the small box leaving a confused and startled priest. He walks out of the box in nervous anxiety. He tries to find the nun that had finished her confession, but he could not see her. She was out of sight from the glory of the church. However, she was only a few feet away at the front of the building.
She takes a good look of the stature of the grand church and chuckles deeply.
One last smoke.
One last swirl of air.
She looks down onto the floor that reflects what she sees in the puddle of liquid. She smiles softly at the corner of her mouth to slowly rise in a satisfied smirk. Looking back at her reflection, slow memories come to mind as she remembers such bright blue eyes.
The eyes of a lost love from past trauma that will forever be tattooed on her heart. She feels the emotions tugging at the strings of her heart where it bleeds black. Dropping the little bud into the liquid that trails towards the church that stands in grand stature. It lights in flames, a swift movement of her hand raises in the air locking windows and doors shut completely.
No way of escape in anyways.
She gives a wicked simper as she hears the loud cries of agony. Smelling flesh being scalded alive. They plead to be saved by their god. At this point, when the singed flesh is smeared away revealing deep tissue and bone: they’ll commence praying for anyone who’s listening.
They always do.
“They’re not going to save you,” she whispers as she walks away with dark shades that cover her eyes.
Opening the car door of her black TransAm.
Raving the engine alive, she drives away as the distance of police sirens come after her escape. In the rearview mirror, she can see them attempt to open the doors, windows, anything that can help the people inside.
It’s no use.
They’re all going to die.
The day was not over yet, for she had plans for the night. She is going to finish a job she confessed to earlier. The darkness of the midnight glow succumbs Madeline in its divine glory as she walks through the deep trenches of the snow. Her dress drags behind her as she holds a small doll in the form of a little man.
She whispers of an incantation, a name she whispers into the air, one many will forever fear.
“Ut Vos die hoc est liberum, Hades,” she whispers softly as she twines the thread around the neck of the doll dressed in a black veil with crisscross thread for eyes and a stitched mouth.
“Sed cum venisset dies crastinus venisset, tu quoque porta scelus tuum a te manum tuam quasi male operans non plus aliis,” her eyes look towards the moon as it glows brightly in the night, for the night is the witching hour. Where curses can be performed with great ferocity. The howls of the wolves bellow out as they run across the mass forest. She watches them with great admiration, she has returned to the beginning of her story, of their history, their chaotic sacrifice.
“Squalent abductis et forment in oculis vestris sicut sanguis sanguinem iustum tuum quasi cor vadum,” as she finishes her curse, the twine begins to squeeze the doll to a vice-like grip. It encircles ’til the dolls head begins to dangle on the side of its neck.
She beams as it falls off to the snowy floor, the clouds begin to form over the lake. Soon afterward, the ground starts to roar underneath the soil. The waters ripples against the vibrations of sound. He’s angry, and this pleases her no doubt.
She burns the doll up into flames as she walks away from these lands, she was not supposed to return yet until the day of the first of Spring. She steps as if she dances on clouds, one leg in front of the other as her hips move from side to side, the emphasis of the woman that she is.
“Merry Christmas father.”
As the smoke of clouds forms encompassing her body. She reappears into the center of her homestead. No roof over the middle where a fountain stands with crystal clear water. She wipes her hands as if she’s had a good day at work. Unbothered by the act she has committed, she shuffles into the kitchen looking for a treat to serve herself.
“You will regret ever doing that Madeline.”
Oh that voice, she thought.
“Get the fuck out of my head,” She slams her fist against the marble counter. Closing her eyes shut, teeth gritting each other as her molars bite hard. She can feel her roam around her mind, leaving a ringing sensation in her ears. Sometimes leaving nicks and abrasions if the voice so chooses to punish Madeline.
“If I leave you alone, your father will come to punish you himself,” the woman continued to speak in her mind. Voice of such soft melody, it’s as if your ears are being blessed with such sanity.
“That’s the whole point, Selene,” Madeline grips the counter hard. Anger begins to course through her veins. She wants nothing more than to sink her claws in the blood of her kin that has wronged her long before time has even begun.
“Do you want to die!” Selene, such worrisome, she fears the worse for Madeline’s life. There is more to her god-daughter than meets the eye but she plays with fire even when she can get wickedly burned.
“I want him to die,” Madeline’s eyes begin to turn pitch black. The demon has awakened, and her wrath hath fury be done unto her sinners.
“We made an agreement or so help me Tartarus you will abide by our agreement,” such soft voice yet a feisty bite to her teeth.
“I know what I agreed to, but you can’t blame me for wanting a little fun.”
“Why can’t you leave things be, stop playing with fire.”
“You know fire is all I know, besides, I had to give daddy his Christmas present,” Madeline wanders to the living room as she brings a glass and a bottle of red wine.
“Bloody Hell Madeline, as much as I would enjoy seeing my nephew choke to death. I must implore you to stop these shenanigans.” Madeline rolls her eyes as she sits drinking her glass full. An oncoming headache forming if Selene does not leave the privacy of her mind.
“Must you always be a party pooper,” she gulps down the wine in one swift dunk.
“Must you always be vengeful,” Selene counters back.
“Leave,” And with that being said, Selene was gone.
She couldn’t help but wonder if her father did suffer just a little with her particular hex made especially for him. For she felt the spirit of Christmas within the marrow of her bones. She closes her eyes as she thinks of what else to use onto her father. Yet her mind had become mush once firm, strong hands begin to rub her down her body.
“Mm,” she moans as one hand slips into her blouse. Gliding into the valley of her succulent breasts. Pinching the already hardened tan nipple that points out her arousal.
“Hello love,” the man whispers into her, nipping at the skin of her neck.
“Now where have you been Nikolai?” What Madeline asks she can barely concentrate as hands roam freely on her body. The cold air was becoming hot as each breath she exhales, he inhales as if it’s his personal dope.
“Here and there, yourself?” Always cryptic as ever, barely ever divulging any details. Nor does she mind the secrecy, as long as he returns home in one piece to the family. He can plot and murder for all she cared.
“Here and there,” she opens her eyes to find the man looking down upon her with intense lust. A thirst that needs to be quenched and only the nectar between her thighs may just subsidize his desire.
“Why don’t we take this upstairs,” in a blink of an eye, he has her legs wrapped around his waist. Her arms clinging to his neck, giggling into the air as he leaves a trail of wet kisses.
“Please, allow me.” With a snap of her fingers, they’re gone from the living room only to appear into a bedroom where the night was filled hard, lustful fucking into morning day of Christmas.
1: “Ut Vos die hoc est liberum"- "To this day you are free, Hades.”
2: “Sed cum venisset dies crastinus venisset, tu quoque porta scelus tuum a te manum tuam quasi male operans non plus aliis," - "But once morrow comes, thy lewdness to cease from thee, Even thou also bear thy hand, as an evil doer, not more than the others.”
3: "Squalent abductis et forment in oculis vestris sicut sanguis sanguinem iustum tuum quasi cor vadum." - "Rot will form in your blood as your eyes bleed just as your shallow heart.”