Trapped Within

by Bradshaw, Duncan P.

  Downstairs he heard the front door open and the muffled voices of his parents. He tried to scream, to warn them of the danger, but his throat had already been opened.

  The dragons on the wallpaper held their unflinching grin as they watched the Darkling pull at its prey, dividing Darren’s flesh as it wrapped its midnight skin around his body.

  J. R. Park is horror author based in Bristol, UK. Using pulp horror as his base palette, Park has been experimenting with the genre since his first book Terror Byte was released; a techno-noir-horror with a nod to Shaun Hutson. The bleak brutality of his third book Upon Waking was coupled with an unusual narrative that both confused and received critical praise.

  As well as his full length books, he has had short stories published in collections by Knight Watch Press, Sinister Horror Company and Matt Shaw Publications.

  His influences are cited as cheese before bed, misheard conversations and the pregnant emptiness of darkened rooms.

  Find out more at www.JRPark.co.uk

  “Bless me father, for I have sinned.” A low, female voice talks to me through the screen at my right. I resist the urge to look.

  “I am listening.” My voice sounds gravelly. I sit quietly and wait for her to continue.

  “This week I have committed two sins. I have taken the Lord’s name in vain.”

  I continue to sit quietly. This is her time, her confession is what will absolve her of her sins.

  “I have also lied to those that love me. They believe that I am sober and have been for a month. Last week I had a drink. I had so much that I got very drunk. I am ashamed of my actions.” She sighs and I picture her shoulders sagging, her head drooping. She is done.

  “Are you remorseful for the sins you have committed?”

  “Yes, father, of course.” Her voice takes a higher lilt, almost like she is trying to make me believe. It is not my place to judge but I know that her story will come full circle again next week.

  “Then your penance has been granted. Speak to your family and take the truth with you. Lies do not hold in God’s eyes.”

  “Thank you, father.”

  There is relief in her voice and I know that she is a clean slate. I hear the soft shuffle as she gathers her belongings and then the door to the confessional is opened. She is gone and I am left to my thoughts.

  As a priest, my role in confessional is to sit and listen to other people’s slip-ups in society. Over the years this is a skill I have honed until I feel I can give sound advice and offer true penance. However, I also find that it becomes an effort. Each time I am due to the confessional my feet slow and my mind wanders. The taking of other people’s sins, no matter that Christ is the one offering absolution of their fallen moments, is draining to me. I feel that each sin I take slips inside my skin, adding a little darkness each time.

  Pushing up the sleeve of my robe, I bare my forearm to the meagre light filtering through the wooden screen. The razor I remove from inside my clothing is sharp and nicks my fingers as it glances the skin. I press it to the soft flesh of my forearm and slice the blade across the skin, feeling an immediate release as blood trickles from the wound.

  I have made space for more of the darkness.

  Kelly Treply stared up at the huge, monstrous figure of the church. It was the only building in town that still retained some of its original history, the rest having been knocked down for redevelopment. It was beautiful and foreboding at the same time and, as she stared from across the street at the stained glass windows and huge, wooden doors leading to the sanctuary, she almost got lost in it.

  “Don’t tell me you hate church as well?” Kelly turned to look at her colleague, Richard Jones. A well-built man, he stood a head taller than her and wore it well with broad shoulders and a handsome face. His wife was one lucky woman. Kelly knew she could allow herself those thoughts now. Though born and raised a Catholic, it had been a long time since she considered herself true to her religion.

  “I hate church,” she told him with a deadpan glare. She wasn’t afraid to admit it either. After years of being dragged to this very church by her parents, and raised in such a strict fashion that she had no childhood, she had grown to hate the church and everything it stood for. “But we have to go in.”

  “Do you really think the father will know anything? And if he does, is he obliged to tell us?” Richard swept his shirt tails back as he stuck his hands in his pocket and Kelly got a view of his hardened chest as his shirt pulled taut. She averted her eyes.

  “No. And no. But we have to try. Come on.” Without further resistance, Kelly stepped off the pavement and strode across the road. Richard was quick to follow and she couldn’t help but wonder if he chased after his wife like that.

  She made it to the steps and trotted up the base concrete without looking up at the building. Stopping at the huge, oak doors she took a deep breath. It was open, as she expected it to be, an invitation for anyone who wished to step in to make themselves at home. Kelly did not want to be at home in that place. Not now, not ever.

  Stepping over the threshold, her skin tightened and goose bumps rose on every inch of her flesh as the darkness surrounded her. She wanted to turn around, to step back outside into the strong glare of the sun and forget about this place, but she couldn’t. A shuffle behind her indicated that Richard wasn’t far behind and she took comfort in that fact.

  Words ran through her head like a mantra. I am not going to confession. I am not going to confession. It kept her moving.

  Inside, she was hit with a sense of nostalgia as she saw the church she had attended as a child. Rows of wooden pews stretched out either side and the flooring was the original stone flags that caused her footsteps to echo with each step she took forward. Sticking to the very centre of the aisle, she made her way forward towards the altar, the huge shrine taking up much of the space beyond in ornate gold hues.

  “Officers,” a man in robes stepped into sight. “Can I help you?”

  Kelly repressed the shudder that threatened to run through her at the sight of the man. She could not hold him accountable for her wish to leave the religion. What he chose to do with his life was his choice. Kelly stopped and assessed him mentally. He held his hands together in a tight steeple at chest-level, the white of his skin stark against the black robes. His hair was white and thinning and his face was beginning to droop as age began to prey on his skin.

  “I’m PC Treply and—”

  “Treply. I know your parents.” He smiled and his thin lips stretched out wide and pale. “And you, I believe, for some time.”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “And this is PC Jones. We’re here to ask a few questions.”

  “What is this regarding?”

  “A crime that was committed last night.”

  “Then you must come to my office.” He dipped his head and turned. Kelly glanced across the way at Richard and followed, glad once again that she wasn’t alone.

  “You never told me you’re Catholic,” Richard whispered, leaning close. His voice left a sweet trail of goose bumps on her neck.

  “I’m not,” she mumbled back. Normally, questions about her personal preferences would have been shut down but she didn’t mind keeping him right on this one.

  They made their way to the left of the pews and, as she took in the whole church, she caught sight of the confessionals at the far right corner. Two little wooden booths, now vacant, but used readily in the confession of sin. She shook her head. Confession of sin, the act of making a person pure again. She averted her gaze and instead watched the priest in front, the black robes swirling around his feet.

  It wasn’t long before they were in a little office. The walls were wood panelling, the only decoration there. They were ushered into chairs at the opposite side of the desk and he took a seat facing them.

  “What can I do for you, officers?” he asked, all business now.

  “We’ve had recent reports about a gang of youths causing trouble outside on the grounds of
the church,” Kelly began.

  “Inside as much as outside,” the priest corrected her.

  “Nothing in the reports mentions that.”

  “It’s a more recent thing.” He shook his head. “Night before last they came in just as I was closing. Ran about the place like hoodlums. It took a whole hour to get them all out.”

  “And did you ring the police at this time?”

  “No. I was too busy herding children.”

  Kelly sighed. “Our job is to stop nuisance and protect people. You should have called. We also would have had it on record.”

  “Did they break anything? Take anything?” Richard asked.

  “Not that I know of.” He shook his head and leaned forward on the desk. The sleeve of his robe rolled up and Kelly caught sight of a large gash on his arm.

  “Did they hurt you?” she asked, pointing to the wound.

  “No.” He shook his head with a quick smile, fighting with the garment to pull it down. “That was a gardening accident.”

  “Right.”

  “Father, if you should have any more trouble with these youths please have no hesitation in contacting the force. We are here to protect so let us do that. And I do believe the same group of young men is causing havoc at other places in town. If we can pin them down then maybe it will stop altogether,” Richard told him.

  “I will. Thank you, officers.”

  “Thank you for your time. We’ll see ourselves out.” Kelly stood and opened the office door, striding out and down the long corridors towards the front of the church.

  “How do you know where you’re going?” Richard asked.

  “Good memory.” She shrugged. But it was more than just a good memory. This was the family church. When Kelly was too young to fight against the religion shoved down her throat she had been here as much as them. She knew every inch of this church.

  They made it outside into the high-noon sun and Kelly took in a deep breath where she paused on the steps. It felt good to be outside. Inside that church everything felt claustrophobic, trapped.

  “So what do you think?” Richard asked as they crossed the road towards his car.

  “I think he’s hiding something.”

  “About the kids?”

  “No. Something else.”

  “Bless me father, for I have sinned.” A man begins his confession and I sense guilt in his voice.

  “I am listening,” I tell him.

  There is a shuffle as he makes himself comfortable and a sigh as he tries to find the right words. “Father, my sins feel like they are mounting up. I am becoming a Godless man.”

  “Tell me your sins.”

  “At Mass, I was not there. My mind wandered and I did not give God my full attention that day.”

  “Go on.”

  “My mind, father, is on another. I am having sinful thoughts about a woman who isn’t my wife.” A pause. “I cannot stop myself thinking about her. I want to be cleansed of this sin.”

  “Do you love your wife?”

  “Of course.” The answer comes a little too quick.

  “Then the thoughts will dissipate. True love conquers and your wife is testament to that. You have not committed adultery.”

  “No. But I am worried that I might.”

  “You must put your trust in faith. You will be guided through this hard time and your thoughts will become pure once more.”

  “Thank you, father.”

  “Go now and be with your wife. Make your mind resolute in its thoughts and remember to worship your Lord.”

  “Of course, father. Blessed be.”

  The other side of the confessional opens and then closes with a soft bang. The man is gone and the booth is empty. I sigh. I can already feel his sins trying to worm their way into my skin, dark and malicious. I have taken the intent of sin from this man so his thoughts are pure but the evil that resonates from it must go somewhere. I must take his sin, carry his secret.

  I take the blade from my robes and lift my sleeve. I become witness to a dozen or more red gashes across the length of my arm. Some are worse than others, some are healing. It doesn’t matter, there will always be more. Pressing the razor to my skin, I drag the blade across the flesh and watch as the skin splits so easily, blood pooling in the wound and then dripping down my arm.

  I breathe in deep and allow the secrets to be buried in my skin.

  Kelly had been sitting at her desk for hours, the mug in front of the computer ringed with stale coffee and the dregs at the bottom drifting up to catch her nose. With a grimace she pushed it away and leaned further into the screen. She had tried a million different databases, internet searches and God-knows-what to try and find something, anything, on Father Collarhan. Nothing had come up. Not a stitch. But it didn’t stop the gut feeling that Kelly had; something was definitely up with him and she was determined to find out what.

  “Treply, don’t you think you’ve spent enough time trying to dig up dirt?” Richard asked, setting a fresh cup in front of her.

  “Thanks.” She picked it up and took a sip. “And no. There’s something going on there.”

  “I think your senses are off on this one.” He shook his head.

  She rubbed her eyes and looked up. Richard was perched on the end of her desk, leg hitched up and hands crossed over his knee, staring down at her.

  “I don’t.” She finally shook her head. “I just can’t put my finger on it yet.”

  “Well listen, it’s late. I’m going home. You should too.” He pushed himself up and spun on his polished shoes.

  “Night,” she called after him. watching him leave. He was going home to his wife. There was nothing for her to go home for. No reason to leave work behind. Instead, she turned her attention back to the screen and continued scrolling.

  After another hour and another cup of coffee gone cold, Kelly finally stretched. Her muscles were aching and her back was arched. Standing, she looked up. The office was quiet, the bank of computer screens all black except for hers. The overhead lights were dimmed as she sighed and glanced at her watch. It had just gone nine. Nine in the evening, she should have been at home relaxing or doing something nice. Yet here she was, still at work. Shaking her head, she grabbed her bag. Kelly knew she was too work-focused but when it came to catching bad guys, that’s what she was good at. All she had to do now was pin something on the priest and she would sleep a little better.

  Her eyes slid back to the screen as she switched it off and a small smile tugged at her lips. That’s what she had been doing all wrong. An internet search would only show something that had already been done. Maybe he hadn’t been caught yet. Well that’s just what she intended to do—catch him in the act.

  Her smile grew as a renewed energy coursed through her. It wasn’t time for home, not yet.

  Outside, night had fallen and the streetlights lit the wet pavement in a slick, yellow glow. A quick glance showed she was alone in the street. Hurrying across to her car, Kelly jumped in, slung her bag onto the passenger seat and started it up. Instead of driving in the direction for home, she took the same route as she had earlier that day and it wasn’t long before she was at the church. Everything was quiet and, as she parked across the street, turning off the headlights, her attention turned to the huge stone building with the door still standing open.

  Kelly sat back in the car, her neck craned to the right and waited.

  She waited a whole two hours and in that time she saw nothing. No movement, no sound, no indication that anybody was in the church. With a sigh, she started up the engine. She hadn’t found anything tonight but there would be other days and she had plenty of free nights.

  Driving down the road, Kelly finally made for home, ready to rest and let the exhaustion seep from her body.

  I sit in the dark in my office, the sting of the day’s confessions wearing hard on my skin. In the meagre light cast by the window, I glance at the welts on my arm. The angry wounds stretch across my skin, the redness and sw
elling from each blending with the others. There is no distinction between them anymore. But I can distinguish. I know each and every sin. I know the confession of every person and the secrets they have buried within me.

  Each one of the cuts is a marker, a sign of sin and reclaimed penance. For me there is no penance. I feel the darkness growing inside me. It festers there like something old and rotten, lingering in some unforgotten place, but it is there and it is growing. It surges through me like a power threatening to release, and I am afraid. I know that the darkness will come soon. My body cannot hold such evil for much longer and I am afraid of how it will manifest.

  I am weary. Beyond weary. My life is beginning to drain. It sucks me dry from the inside and there is nothing I can do to hold my head above water. There is nowhere to turn. I have my God but he does not want this sin in the world. I know he would have me carry the darkness within in order to free the world but I cannot do it for much longer.

  In the dim light, I watch as something ripples beneath my skin. It is not the settling of flesh or weeping of wounds; this is something more, something deadly. Something that grows.

  “Richard,” Kelly called him over to the desk as soon as he walked through the door. He wore a brown suit today and it clung to his shoulders like nothing else. She quickly averted her gaze, not wanting to be seen ogling her partner, and waited for him to approach.

  “You look like shit,” he greeted her.

  “Good morning to you too.” She plastered on a smile.

  “Did you sleep at all?” He perched on the side of her desk again.

  “Listen, we’re going to the church again.”

  “Now?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Jeez, Kelly. What’s going on with you? The guy is harmless.”

  “He’s not. There’s something going on there, Jones. I was there last night and—”

  “You went on a stakeout?” His face dropped.