Building 8 “The New Priest”

The local priest came to see me. He is relatively new, and not necessarily trusted. The man he replaced after all was much loved by the community, but one day he inexplicably received a letter that he was being called away to another church. I have spoken to most of the congregation, both before the priest left and after he was replaced, yet it seems to me that there is a great amount of confusion surrounding it. It is not surprising that many wonder what could really be the point of replacing the head priest, especially so close to the some of the most sacred holidays of Autumn. These are important times for priests, especially in Gnosticism. It is time to prepare their congregation for the coming of winter.

I have lived here for only a short while, but it seems that I have been here long enough for him to come and visit. I have his permission to speak of what we talked about, though I honestly would have documented the conversation regard-less...The things he said hit me like the worst of my nightmares. He has only been a priest here for a short while and yet he carries himself like man who has been preaching for centuries. He does not doubt his skills, and clearly dislikes detractors.

He came to me yesterday, wishing to speak to me on the matter of my attendance. In truth I have not gone to a service in many years. So I told him that I was not practicing and that I could not in good judgment attend a service of something I didn't believe in. He insisted, and although I was tired and simply wanted to rest I let him come inside to chat. After all, it has rarely served me well in my investigations to ignore a chance to talk. The following is the conversation I had, to the best of my recollection.

I started off by offering him coffee. He refused, stating that his heart wasn't good with stimulants,

“Tell me son, what was it that made you lose your faith.”

His voice was deep and hollow, well adjusted for carrying a hymnal or a sermon in a church.

“I didn't. I simply don't believe in religion. I have spent time investigating it, learning about different beliefs, but I have never been convinced by it.”

He seemed to ignore my explanation, continuing as if I hadn't responded at all.

“It was the death of your parents wasn't it? Such a sad, seemingly cruel thing to have happen to a young person. Especially when it is cancer. Many of my congregation are survivors and victims of cancer. Perhaps I could have you speak with them.”

His words hit me hard. I know that people read my reports. But a priest? The contents of these reports are often deranged and violent. I have met many religious persons, and they all seem to try and shy away from investigations of the morbid and perverse. Very few seek these elements out, and those that do usually have rather radical beliefs.

“So you have read my reports.”

“Of course. You write about the community of which I direct. The history of this place is old and difficult to gather together. So much of it lies in the day to day experiences of people. For an outsider looking in, nothing has changed here in generations. But you know differently. And you have caused quite a stir. Speaking on matters that others are too fearful to share, even with me.”

“Is there a point to this conversation?”

“Everyone here attends church regularly. Salvation cannot be found in a void after all. We must have a direction. We must have guidance...Yes I have read your reports, and I recognized that you need help. I trust that your symptoms have been subsiding since you moved here?”

“You tell me.”

He smiled at me, and then continued. “There is something about this place that draws people to it. Many of the families have been here for over a hundred years. Some may think it is a devotion to their roots, but I know different.”

“What are you getting at.”

“You seem to want to leave. But I must warn you, your symptoms will return when you leave this place...Even if you wanted to, you are well beyond the point of escape.”

He was silent, waiting for me to respond. I did not like his thinking, so I changed the subject.

“Tell me.” I asked. “The stone of the base of your church is different in color from the rest of the building. I suspect that the church was built on a preexisting structure. Which means something older than your faith was here before. Do you know what was there before the church?”

The preacher frowned, a deep set, toothy grimace.

“I will see you next Sunday.”

After saying this, the preacher stood up and left.

I had tried very hard to ignore my suspicions about this place. In retrospect it was short sighted. My actions were based on my need to find a solution for the nightmares, the fatigue. The paranoia and the headaches. But it has been months since my encounter at the bus stop, yet still I am sick.

Though I knew that visiting this place alleviated my symptoms, I did not know how or why. I just knew that it did. So I moved, ignoring the strange circumstances around all of this. Yet even if I tried to dismiss many of the things I have heard happening along this stretch of road, it is clear that this place has a very dark element. I cannot for a moment believe that being here is safe for me anymore.

I have contacted my friend and plan on staying with them, at least for a while. I have plenty of notes so my reports will not have to stop. But I have to get away from this place. There are...too many questions I cannot answer yet. I plan on leaving tomorrow. With any amount of luck, it will be uneventful.

I will continue to investigate the reassignment of the old priest, and I have begun by searching for the church he was transferred to. This has proven difficult, as no such church is listed. I would like to believe that this is caused by something innocent, but I have become cynical about this place, and can only assume I will find something terrible.