
12 Nov A Form of Malice
βA Form of Maliceβ
Written by Ryan Harville Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/ACopyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
π§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
β° ESTIMATED READING TIME β 13 minutes
Hugh stood at the pulpit, his hands loosely holding each side. Beads of sweat stood out on his wrinkled forehead despite the chill seeping into the old church. Errant drafts of winter wind entered from beneath the eaves and sporadically flowed over his balding head.
βWhat is it you keep in your heart?β he asked the congregation, drawing his sermon to a close. βWhatβs locked away there and weighing you down?β
Families lined the pews. Wives watched him, either from sincere interest or merely politeness he couldnβt tell. He liked to think the former, but he wasnβt that naive. The men were easier to read, surreptitiously glancing at their watches or phones, hoping that heβd end early so they could be home by game time. The kids were the most transparent, squirming in their seats and whispering to their equally impatient siblings.
Hugh didnβt blame them. He often bored himself.
βIs it regret? Grief?β he asked, letting go of the pulpit and raising his hands out to them. βOr even hate? I tell you now, that when you harbor that negativityββ
Someone laughed, the sound quiet yet obvious. Hugh stopped and glared out at them, his eyes sweeping the room. They all stared ahead, no one giving anything away.
He cleared his throat. βAs I was saying, when you hold on to that hate and let it take up residence in your heart, there’s no room for anything else. So where will you put Jesus?β
He paused, letting the question linger for a moment.
βHow can He enter your heart if itβs already full? You must ask yourself if your hate is more important than Godβs love. And I sincerely hope you know the answer without me saying it. Think on this during the week to come. Consider how best to empty your heart of things that keep Godβs love from filling it. Now, please stand.β
Hugh watched them all as they stood. Mothers reached out and grasped childrenβs hands. The children smiled unabashedly, knowing the sermon was over, and that they’d soon be playing away the rest of their weekend. The husbands shot glances at one another, their grins more subtle.
βLet us pray,β he said, and scores of heads bowed in unison. βLord, please bless usββ
Only one head was unbowed. A teenage boy stared at him, his close-cropped hair shining beneath the overhead lights, his face devoid of expression.
Hugh continued, his mouth on autopilot, the stale words dropping from his lips, leaving a taste like sawdust on his tongue.
* * * * * *
Hugh stood outside the vestibule, shaking hands as he shook in the cold, accepting well wishes and other insufferable compliments. But he suffered them all the same.
βVery nice sermon, Pastor Stephens,β someone said.
βGreat job today, Pastor,β someone else said.
βReally enjoyed it! Weβll see you next week,β other people said.
He pressed the flesh, squeezing each hand as it went by like they were on an assembly line. Eventually there was no one else, yet he stood, an automaton with no task, his hand hanging in the air. He turned and went inside, shutting the doors behind him. Walking the aisle, he stooped to grab a gum wrapper from beneath a pew. Lorena would be in tomorrow to clean, but he couldnβt just walk by and leave it sitting there. It used to upset him, the carelessness, the audacity really, of leaving oneβs trash in Godβs house. But nowadays it brought no anger, just a sigh.
Hugh stepped up to the pulpit, carefully replaced his bookmark between the thin pages of the Bible, then closed it. He ran his hand over the old leather cover. Itβs worn texture soothed him, but not in the way he needed. It was the comfort of nostalgia, not of faith. If his congregation only knew how little he heard from the Almighty lately theyβd pack up and head for greener pastures. God had stopped talking, or Hugh couldnβt hear His voice anymore. He honestly couldnβt say which was worse.
The sound of the front doors opening echoed throughout the church. Hugh listened to the approaching footsteps with a knot of dread tightening within him. He couldnβt do this today, just couldnβt. His mind was replete with his own worries, so how was he supposed to help someone else? He couldnβt even help himself.
But he could lie, and sometimes that was enough. Sometimes thatβs all people needed to get through the day. Just a simple lie.
The blond, unbowed teen from earlier walked through the vestibule. He dropped the hood of his red coat, and Hugh could see he wasnβt a teenager at all. Probably early twenties but no more than that. He raised his hand in greeting as he approached the pulpit.
Hugh stepped down and held out his hand. βHello, Iβm Pastor Stephens. Hugh, if you like.β
βHi, Pastor Stephens,β the man said with an easy smile. βIβm Caleb Barr.β
Hugh put on a smile that he hoped looked sincere. βItβs nice to meet you, Caleb. I havenβt seen you around. Are you new in town, or just new to our church?β
βBoth,β Caleb said. βI just got in town this week.β
βWell, it’s great to have you,β Hugh said. βAnd Iβd love to talk more but Iβm afraid Iβm quite busy with closing up now. My rectory hours are from two to four in the afternoon. Perhaps youβd like to stop by then?β
Calebβs expression changed, misery spreading across his face like the shadow of a passing storm cloud. βOh, yeah, Iβm sorry. Iβm just…Iβve been having some issues and was hoping maybe you could help.β
Hugh was about to gently remind him about the rectory hours, but there was something about his expression that stopped him. He found that he wanted to listen.
βOf course,β Hugh said, gesturing towards the front pew. βPlease have a seat.β
Caleb sat and Hugh followed suit, sitting down sideways on the pew and facing towards him.
βWhatβs on your mind?β Hugh said.
Caleb looked down to his hands, pausing for so long that Hugh began to worry.
βEarlier this year,β Caleb began. βMy…well, someone very close to me, took his own life.β
βIβm very sorry to hear that,β Hugh said honestly. βThe sudden death of a loved one is always tragic, but suicide is especially hard to come to terms with.β
βIt has been. Hard, that is,β Caleb said. βI knew something was wrong, Iβd known since we met. He carried, I donβt know, a weight with him wherever he went. Like he had his own internal gravity to struggle against. Like he was being held down.β
Hugh nodded solemnly. βThat is often the case. Whatever your friend was carrying was dragging him down. Something he let fester in his heart. Iβm not blaming him for his actions, heβs beyond any of our judgments now, but if you donβt let someone help you with the weight…well, you drown.β
βYeah, thatβs it exactly,β Caleb said, nodding. βAnd I tried so many times. Begging him to let me help, or at the very least let me find someone that could help. A counselor, a therapist, something. But he always refused.β
Calebβs eyes filled with tears, but he didnβt make a sound.
Hugh placed a hand on his shoulder. βYou did what you thought best,β he said. βBut some people wonβt get help. Not because they donβt want it, but because they canβt see past their own pain. It clouds everything, keeping them from moving forward. Please, donβt carry this guilt around with you. I promise you, that is not what God wants. Try to let it go. For your sake and for his.β
Caleb wiped his face and smiled. βI know youβre right. He wouldnβt have wanted it.β
Hugh returned his smile, and something incredible happened. For the first time in a very long time he felt something. He was helping, maybe even making a difference in this young manβs life. This was something more than the suburban squabbles and gossip that was the norm from the rest of his congregation. If he could give this person hope, then maybe some would rub off on him as well.
βOf course, he wouldnβt,β Hugh said. βHeββ
βI know what he wouldβve wanted,β Caleb said. βThe same thing I want now.β
βWhatβs that?β Hugh said.
βIβd like you to answer a question.β
βOkay, Iβll do whatββ
βTell me, Hugh,β Caleb said, leaning forward. βWhat is a man?β
The words galvanized Hugh, bringing him to his feet. βWhat did you just say?β
Caleb stared at him, his eyes cold and hard. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his coat and drew a pistol.
βSit. The fuck. Down,β Caleb said, pointing the gun at Hugh.
Hughβs knees shook, threatening to give way beneath him. He did as he was told.
βIβm going to ask you again,β Caleb said. βWhat is a man?β
βWhere did you hear that?β Hugh said, the words barely escaping his dry lips.
Calebβs smile was wide and humorless. βOh, I think you know.β
βLook,β Hugh stammered. βI donβt know whatβs happening here, but I assure youββ
βLet me tell you what happened, and then Iβll tell you whatβs happening. Deal?β
Hugh nodded. What else could he do?
βUp until six years ago, you ran Reclamation Through Scripture.β
βI donβt know whatββ
Caleb raised the pistol until the end of the barrel was directly before Hughβs eyes, black as death and wide as a train tunnel. Hugh moaned, the sound small and weak.
βLie to me and this conversation is over,β Caleb said. βAnd right now, this conversation is the only thing keeping you alive. Understand?β
Hugh swallowed hard; his nod so subtle that he barely moved his head.
βYou ran Reclamation Through Scripture. Now in your own words, tell me exactly what your organization did.β
βIt was,β Hugh said. He let out a shaky sigh. βIt was a therapy group, of sorts. We used Godβs Word to help people, men, overcomeβ¦to helpββ
βSay it,β Caleb said.
Hugh stammered. βTo help…to-to helpββ
Caleb pressed the pistol closer. βSay it!β he cried.
βTo help them overcome their homosexual urges!β Hugh spat breathlessly.
βHow?β Caleb said softly.
βWell, through prayer sessions, Bible studyββ
Caleb hit him, slamming the butt of the pistol right above his forehead. Hugh raised his hands to the wound with a cry. Blood ran from his split scalp, spilling between his fingers. He felt dizzy, untethered.
βWhat did I say about lying?β Caleb said, wiping the blood from the gun onto the fabric covering the pew, a crimson smear against the pale blue. βThatβs the last warning Iβm going to give you.β
βBut Iβm not lying!β Hugh cried. βWe didββ
βIβm sure you prayed,β Caleb said flatly. βBut I want you to tell me what else you did.β
βAll we tried to do was help, to save them, show them how to live a normal life,β Hugh said, wiping blood away from his eyes. βWe did what we believed was necessary.β
βWhat you thought was βnecessaryβ?β Caleb said, laughing. βHoly shit. Okay, so you thought it was necessary to feed him pills to make him sick, and then force him to watch pornography?β
Hugh winced. βIt was conditioning. To make themββ
βI know what the fuck it was for!β Caleb screamed. βYou wanted to make him vomit every time he saw two men together. You wanted him to feel disgusted by just being himself.β
βI donβt even know who youβre talking about!β Hugh said through clenched teeth.
βEthan Weber,β Caleb said slowly. βYou remember him?β
Hugh pictured a young man, eighteen years old, his hair so brown it was close to black.
He nodded. βYes,β he said. βI remember.β
Caleb sat back. βGood. Now Iβll tell you what I remember. I was fresh out of the Army, starting college at twenty-three and anxious as hell. Iβve been in firefights, watched friends die, but I was about to piss my pants just walking around campus. No friends, no family. Well, I have a family, but we havenβt spoken since I came out. Big surprise, huh? My first day Iβm so nervous I couldn’t bring myself to walk into the classroom, and there he was, sitting on a bench. He saw me looking and smiled, and all of my anxiety disappeared.β
Hugh said nothing but couldnβt help the feeling of revulsion at the thought.
βWe started dating,β Caleb continued. βBut every time we touched, every time we so much as hugged, I could feel his tension. Like his muscles were tying themselves into knots beneath my hands. We were together for six months before we even kissed.β
βCaleb, listen, Iβm sorryββ
Caleb kept talking, as if he were oblivious to Hughβs presence. βIt was another year before we tried to be intimate. I didnβt mind the wait, I just wanted him to be comfortable. He was so nervous, shivering like he was freezing.β
βYou donβt have to,β Hugh said, suddenly sweating. βI mean, I donβtββ
βHe didnβt want me to see the scars,β Caleb said, his jaw tightening as if he could bite down on the words and destroy their very existence. βHe had warned me ahead of time, but I still had to rein myself in at the sight of them. I had to keep a straight face, show him I was fine and that it was okay. But I wasnβt okay, I was furious.β
Hughβs eyes felt hot, and his pulse hammered along the sides of his neck.
βHow sick do you have to be?β Caleb asked. βHow fucking derangedββ
βStop,β Hugh pleaded. βPlease.β
ββto attach a generatorββ
βI said stop!β Hugh cried.
Caleb leaned in close enough that Hugh could feel the manβs breath on his face.
βYou drugged him,β Caleb said, his voice cracking. βYou brought him women, prostitutes, and shoved those little blue pills down his throat to get him to perform like a circus animal. Did you watch? Did you like that, you sick fuck?β
βI didnβt,β Hugh lied. βListen, he was eighteen years old. He was a man, and old enough to make his own decisions. Heββ
βNo,β Caleb said. βNo, those decisions were made for him. Hammered into him after years of his parents, and his church, telling him that he wasnβt normal, an abomination, that he was going to burn forever. He wouldβve done anything to make his parents love him again. But they didnβt deserve it, didnβt deserve him.β
Hugh silently prayed, not for forgiveness but for his life.
Caleb stood. βHe left me a letter,β he said. βI found it two days after he took his own life with the same gun Iβm holding now. He wrote about how much he loved me but could never be enough for me. How he was broken and could never be whole. But do you know what I will always remember, more than his words of love? Iβll remember his last sentence: βIf there is a Hell, I hope Pastor Hugh is there.ββ Caleb smiled. Β βSo, Iβm here to make sure that happens.β
βPlease,β Hugh said, breaking down into sobs. βPlease donβt kill me.β
βBecause I know something you donβt, Pastor Hugh,β Caleb said. βDo you know whatβs worse than knowing thereβs no God? Itβs knowing that thereβs no divine judgment, no justice. But there is vengeance, not in any hell, but right here on Earth.β
Hugh reached out, his fingertips brushing Calebβs jacket. βIβm begging youββ
βAs much as I want to, Iβm not going to kill you,β Caleb said, and pocketed the gun. βYouβre going to do that yourself.β
Hugh stared up at him, confused, his vision a prism of tears. βNo, I wonβt. The Bible saysββ
βYou will. Maybe not today, but you will. Here, I have something for you.β
Caleb placed his hand on Hughβs head, directly on the wound in his scalp. He began to speak slowly, his voice barely above a whisper.
The church began to shake as the wind strengthened outside. Snow slammed into the outer walls, the sound like static. Hughβs head spun as if he were drunk but his limbs were frozen in place.
βWhat are you doing?β he slurred. βWhatββ
Hughβs mind was flooded. He saw himself through Ethanβs eyes as the boy was tied down, could smell the brown leather straps, and feel the cold touch of the brass buckles. His tongue pressed against a cloth gag as his muscles convulsed to the tune of the generatorβs hum. The air smelled of ozone and flesh, burning hair and sour sweat. He felt Ethanβs terror and pain, but there was something worse. Something worse than the electricity coursing through the most vulnerable parts of him.
Hugh could feel Ethanβs hope. Hope that his family would accept him again, that his dad wouldnβt look at him with disgust, or his mom with shame.
Yes, the hope was far more painful.
βItβs done,β Caleb said and removed his hand.
Hugh recoiled. He fell back against the pew as his bladder let go and warmth spread down his legs.
βWhat did you do to me?β he said softly.
βI shared Ethan with you,β Caleb said. βI kept his smile, his laugh, his touch, all of the good things. And I gave you the rest. Everything that you help put there. Everything that was left after the bullet took half of his face off.β
Hugh shook his head, sweat and blood dripping from his brow. βI donβt believe you,β he said. βAnd I donβt believe in curses or any of that nonsense.β
βReally?β Caleb said. βYouβve got to brush up on your Deuteronomy, pastor.β
Hugh seethed silently.
βYou know,β Caleb continued, βMy recruiter told me that if I joined the army, Iβd see the world. I didnβt believe her. Thought Iβd be stuck stateside, never seeing any action. But it turned out she was right. I went to some places that you wouldnβt believe. Places I didnβt even know existed. Itβs amazing what you learn about a place when you truly immerse yourself in its culture. The crazy things you can learn from the locals if youβre willing to listen. Thereβs so many secrets out there in the dark corners no one explores.β
Hugh felt faint. βWhat godlessness have you brought here?β
βIt was already godless here,β Caleb said, standing. βAlways was. Iβm leaving now. Call the cops if you want, it doesnβt matter to me and it wonβt change what happens to you. I would prefer it if you didnβt though. I donβt want to be in prison when itβs time for your funeral. Now if youβll excuse me, Iβll be leaving. It looks like Iβm finally going to meet Ethanβs parents.β
Caleb turned and walked away.
* * * * * *
The next Sunday, Hugh stood at the pulpit, his hands gripping the sides tightly, his knuckles white and bloodless.
βAnd w-when you,β he stammered. βWhen weββ
Sweat ran into his eye. He loosened one gnarled hand and palmed it away.
βWhen we left off last week, we were talking about what we keep in our heart.β
He could see confusion on some of the faces in the crowd, concern on others. His suit was wrinkled, his collar soaked with sweat. He hadnβt shaved in days.
βAnd I asked you,β he continued. βTo think of ways to unburden yourself.β
His own burden sat in the back of the church, staring at him with a hate-filled eye.
Ethanβs other eye was milky and opaque, ruptured from the force of the gunshot. Below that cursed eye was bloody meat where the rest of his face shouldβve been.
Hugh shuddered as he suppressed a cry. Ethan had appeared to him in the dead of night, just hours after Caleb had left Hugh in the church, still crying, sitting in the damp warmth of his own piss.
And Ethan had been with him ever since. Sometimes he would wake him up in the early hours of the morning, and Hugh would open his eyes only to see Ethan staring back at him. The first night he screamed so hard that he vomited right then and there. Other times Hugh would have blessed hours of peace from him, only for Ethan to unexpectedly appear out of nowhere, a reflection in a mirror, a shadow thrown from the light of a dying bulb.
The worst times were when Ethan stood glaring at him, naked and bloody, the scars showing pink against his pale skin.
βEphesians tells us,β Hugh continued. βTo βget rid of all bitternessβ¦ββ
Ethan was now sitting next to a woman in the middle of the room, his blood dripping onto her dress. Blood that only Hugh could see.
βββrage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice.ββ
Now he sat in the front pew, his blue eye and his white one fixed on Hugh.
Hugh fought his terror and revulsion and looked down to him.
ββAnd b-be kind to one another,ββ he said, then swallowed down bile. ββTenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you.ββ
He stared into Ethanβs ruined face, looking for hope. But there was only hate, burning so hot Hugh could feel it from where he stood.
βForgiveness,β Hugh pleaded. βIs the only way forward.β
Ethan smiled at him, what was left of his lips jerking upward in a spasm, showing broken shards of teeth. He shook his head slowly, and Hugh could hear the bones in his neck grating against each other.
Hugh had spent the prior week in prayer, yet Ethan remained. He had cried out to God, begging and bargaining. Nothing had changed. He belonged to Ethan as Ethan belonged to him. He had taken up residence in Hughβs heart like an infection, leaving no room for the slightest spark of hope.
Tears rolled silently down Hughβs cheeks as his congregation looked on in confusion.
Caleb had been right. He couldnβt live like this. The only question would be how long it would take. He had visions of locking the church doors and hanging a noose from the rafters, right above the pulpit. How many days could he keep himself doing it? How long until his mind broke beneath the weight of Ethanβs dead glare?
Ethan now stood directly opposite the pulpit, his head cocked to one side as if curious, as if he were asking himself the same question.
How long?
And he was staring, always staring.
Hugh didnβt think it would be that long until the end. Not that long at all.
π§ Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
Written by Ryan Harville Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/Aπ More stories from author: Ryan Harville
Publisher's Notes: N/A Author's Notes: N/AMore Stories from Author Ryan Harville:
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