4

 Peter and Eva had no right to live. It was God's will, and fulfilling it was now my duty. I didn't hide the fact that the sight of my enemy lying lifeless in a pool of blood gave me great pleasure. "It was out of zeal in God's service," I told myself. Something compelled me to desecrate the corpse in some way. However, I restrained myself and went to pack.

I wasn't particularly surprised by the change in little Ferdinand's appearance. On his delicate, childish neck was a terrible, bloody wound, inflicted by my knife. The boy's face expressed regret, as if his mother hadn't wanted to buy him his favorite lollipop at the supermarket.

"You shouldn't have started," I grumbled, amused by his scowl.

I gathered the few things I had brought with me: some underwear, a few black shirts to wear under his clerical collar, a cassock, a breviary, a book on "The Imitation of Christ," and a Bible whose spine felt damp and sticky.

"That's not true," I muttered, nervously opening the Bible to the previously opened page. I read the few verses that caught my eye. A sign, I thought with shock. The Lord had given me a sign of what to do. I closed the Bible, gently placed it in my backpack, and wiped my bloody fingers on my pants. I smiled happily.

I slung the backpack over my shoulder and took one last look at the hated image of the demon. The bloodstain had almost disappeared from his neck. Instead, a wide, vengeful smile spread across his lips, revealing sharp, yellow fangs.

"God, he's bringing him back!" I screamed, and ran downstairs to the living room.

Peter seemed still dead, though his neck wound had visibly diminished.

My first instinct was to drown him. I grabbed his limp feet, shod in his damned, brand-new slippers, and dragged the corpse toward the door leading to the hallway. I was sweating like never before in my life, but within two minutes I found myself on the porch, in front of the front door.

Gasping for breath, I looked around. The world was enveloped in varying degrees of darkness. The sapphire, starry sky suddenly transformed into the jagged, impenetrable blackness of the treetops. Beside me, like a vast animal, the gray expanse of the lake slept restlessly.

I couldn't remember which path led to the beach. I only knew it was about twenty meters from the house. Dragging the body that far would be slow and arduous. It would take too long, and it might come back to life.

As if to confirm my words, the corpse stirred, letting out a deep sigh.

Terrified, I looked around. I searched for an axe or a scythe with which to cut off his damn head. But it was too dark to see anything. Near panic, I backed to the door and, with a trembling hand, fumbled for the light switch. A moment later, the porch was flooded with an ugly, yellowish light from a forty-watt bulb. I glanced around the porch again. In the left corner, against the wall, stood a rake. I went for it on legs that were starting to give out. They felt like rubber chewed by a battalion of Yankees.

The corpse moved again, this time more forcefully, as if someone had briefly plugged it into an electrical outlet.

Faster, faster! I energized myself, taking the rake into my numb hands. Lord Jesus Christ! If you want me to become an effective instrument in your divine hands, give me strength! You told the apostles to pray, asking for an increase in faith. Here I am, your priest, I beg you, increase my strength...

I leaned the rake against the wall of the house at a rather steep angle.

...faith and give me the strength to fulfill Your will!

With all my might, I struck the center of the handle with my sole, which broke in two. Fortunately, the fracture was not transverse, but at an acute angle. This gave me a sharpened stake. Thus armed, I approached the corpse to which Satan was fulfilling his obligations.

Peter's healthy eye was open, and the first sparks of returning life smoldered within it. This time, I wasn't curious if a second eye had grown beneath the bloody bandage. I leaned over the deceased (could I still call him that?) and raised my primitive weapon above my head, determined to send Peter to hell once and for all.

Most Holy Mother, you said to Jesus' disciples...

With all my might, I struck the wound on his neck, which left only a slight indentation. The sharp shard effortlessly pierced the skin and tissue, crushing the windpipe.

...so that they may do as he commands. Today, his faithful priest battles the forces of evil, Satan, whom you, Virgin of virgins...

The terrifying squeal of a slaughtered pig escaped Peter's lips, quickly turning into a hideous gurgle as blood from the torn arteries rushed into the throat, windpipe, and lungs.

...you crushed the head, according to the ancient prophecy. Obtain from your Son strength and courage for your unworthy servant, whose...

The resurrected worshiper of the Evil One fought fiercely for his life. He waved his arms wildly, like an inexperienced swimmer overcome with panic. Fortified by prayer, I leaned on the stake, kneeling on either side of the quivering body.

...the only desire is to faithfully and without murmuring fulfill the will of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God!

Piotr stopped struggling. His arms fell to his sides like rotting dead tree trunks. His legs ceased their fruitless kicking. The tremors stopped. His left eye once again took on a deathly glaze. "

Thank you, God!" I whispered, pulling the bloody stake from the neck of the second victim. This time I wanted to be sure he wouldn't come back to life. I placed the stake against his dead eye and pushed with all my strength. The bone cracked, and the stake sank into his brain. I pulled it from the gray goo and inserted it between his parted lips. I repeated the thrust again, and again, until I was sure the sharpened end of the stake rested against the rough boards.

Better this way. I rose from my knees and retreated to the depths of the veranda. Dawn was breaking. The stars faded and disappeared behind a blanket of gray that, like a worn canvas curtain, separated the earth from the cosmic spectacle. The sun, the tireless master of ceremonies, was about to rise, to announce a new act in the eternal drama of existence.

"When the morning dawns, the earth and the sea are yours. All life sings to you, praise be to you, great God."

I reverently folded my bloody hands and began my prayer to begin the day. A light breeze arose over the lake, pushing the last shreds of fog toward the forest. Individual trees slowly emerged from the dark mass, returning to their unremarkable appearance.

Mindful of the work ahead, I abandoned prayer and contemplation of the beauty of creation. The Church Fathers taught that work could glorify God just as well as prayer. This was especially true as I staggered with exhaustion, and the negative vibrations that had intensified recently sapped my will and clouded my thoughts.

First, a bath, I decided. I was literally drenched in blood. My pants and shirt were stiff, as if someone had sewn them from cardboard and painted them with red oil paint.

I wanted to prepare myself as best I could for Ewa's return.

Around

noon, I heard the roar of her car engine.

The sun was beating down mercilessly, so after completing the necessary preparations, I put on my cassock and spent the entire morning in the living room, alternating between dozing and praying the rosary. I wanted to say Mass in one of the rooms on the ground floor, which I had converted into a makeshift chapel, but unfortunately, the need for sleep proved stronger. Now there was no time.

"Hey, are you there?" I heard her sensual voice coming from the veranda. "What are those bedroom carpets doing here? Have you lost your mind?" She was clearly angry. "

I'm here!" I shouted.

A moment later, she appeared in the living room doorway: beautiful, sweaty, and nervous. She wore a short, strapless gray dress that accentuated her shapely figure. Her long blond hair was tied back in a ponytail with a green hairband. She exuded eroticism, and even a staunch celibate like me couldn't help but be captivated by her charm. Too bad, I thought. A damn shame...

"Where is..." she asked, looking around the living room. A huge, dark stain on the carpet beneath my feet caught her attention. "What is this?"

"My husband is waiting for you in the sanctuary. And this is his blood." Before

she could process the words, I pulled the pistol from behind my back and fired. The tranquilizer bullet struck her in the diaphragm. Eve groaned and collapsed to the floor. The sanctuary was pleasantly cool. A dozen torches planted along the damp, roughly carved rock walls provided enough light to rob the place of some of its sepulchral atmosphere. I didn't like gloomy atmospheres. The Lord said that what they whisper in the dark will be heard in the light. I tied Eve to an iron hook driven into one of the sanctuary's walls. Peter, or rather what was left of him, lay naked on the stone altar, in the position his ancestors had placed Ferdinand. I stuck the severed head on the other hook, on the opposite side of the dungeon. From the pocket of my cassock, I took a small traveling stole. I humbly kissed it and placed it around my neck. Finally, I made the sign of the cross. Eva was conscious. She looked at me with hatred and terror. It was difficult for me to judge which emotion predominated. Besides, I didn't care. "Eva," I began, "we are gathered here so that God's will may be fulfilled, his holy wrath may be revealed upon you who have sinned..." She spat in my direction. " You have given your souls to Satan, you have desecrated the baptism with which you were marked, for the salvation of immortal souls." You sealed your vile covenant with the blood of innocent children, parodying the covenant made by our forefather Abraham with God. Your guilt is undeniable. And this is the punishment the Lord himself inflicts upon you. I reached into my cassock pocket and pulled out the Bible. I opened it to the marked page and began reading. -From the book of Jeremiah, chapter 34, verse 18: "And I will deal with the men who transgress my covenant, who have not fulfilled the terms of the covenant made before me, as with the calf which they cut in two to pass between them." Amen. So be it. With a gesture honed by years of practice, I raised the open book to my lips, kissed it gently, closed it, and put it in my pocket. Then I went to the altar and, in one hand, grasped a huge axe, its blade uneven, chipped from blows against the stone, reflecting the torchlight. With my free hand, I removed the traitor's severed head from the hook. For a moment, I recalled the soldier from numerous religious paintings, holding the freshly severed head of John the Baptist. I smiled at the thought. A better comparison would be Judith and Holofernes. After all, good always triumphs over evil...