Thursday, 11 November 2010
03:39:55 AM (GMT)
"Fuck going back there; if I leave here, I'm killing myself," the boy said coldly,
empty of emotion yet he was holding back tears.
"Why?" The man asked, his eyes only glistening with only a hint of concern.
The boy was seventeen year old Nick Carnix and the man was Reverend Bob Holts. Nick
sat in the reverend's confessional surrounded by utter darkness so that the church
official could not
see his tear soaked face or the clothes that he was wearing. His shoes were missing,
socks were torn
full of holes, jeans were ripped at the knees down to the ankles and his shirt which
be plain and white was stained with what only looked to be piss and shit along with
blood; his skin
verified this, as it too was stained with the filth. Whatever the boy had just
underwent must have truly
taken a toll on his psyche as he was shaking uncontrollably, not neccasarily from
cold, possibly it was
from fear. Fear of whatever or whoever had done this to him. As Reverend Holts asked
Nick's head jumped towards the window separating both sides of the booth.
"If I tell you, you can't tell anyone else," Nick's voice stayed cold and
emotionless but at the
same time it was perfectly calm. "I don't want people to know...about what happened
to me. About
what they did to me."
"You have my word, even if it was about murder, I'm bound by oath to secrecy," the
reassured the boy with his calm, gentle voice. "But who are they? What did they do to
"They," Nick began. "Are my parents. And what they did to me, is unspeakable. They
into what I am. They made me a monster."
"No one has made you into a monster, son," Reverend Holts said soothely. "You are a
normal teenager, no matter what you have done, God will forgive you. In his eyes you
are never a
"God?" Nick's voice suddenly got darker and more cold then it had been before. "Does
"Son, why are you talking such nonsense?" The reverend asked as a sharp cold chill
went down his
"It's not nonsense, it's the truth. And the fact that you brought that myth of God
up, means you won't
hear this boys sad story and how I came to be in him. You, my dear, won't get to hear
any more stories for
the rest of eternity," the tone of the voice grew even darker as the boy's shaking
got worse and then suddenly
quit. His gaze seemed to be piercing through the thin confessional wall straight into
the Reverend Bob Holts'
"Oh heavenly father..." The reverend started to pray out loud as the teenage boy
punched through the
thin wall and grabbed him by the adam's apple, his fingernails digging into his
throat. The church official struggled
and tried to get free out of the young boy's grasp which seem to only get tighter
around his neck. And then the boy
let go of the neck and withdrew his arm back into his side of the confession booth.
Without hessitation, the reverend opened his door and jumped out of the confession
booth, running quickly
down the aisle between the rows of seats and towards the door, which when he hot
there found that the only exit to
the small church had been chained shut and locked from the inside. The key to the
lock most likely with the teenage
boy who identified himself as Nick Carnix.
"Shit," the reverend said as he turned around and saw Nick standing not even three
feet away from him with
a twelve inch kitchen knife held tightly in his right hand. He looked straight into
Nick's eyes as he slowly fell to his knees
and started begging the young boy not to take his life. "Please, think about what
you're doing, you don't want to do this.
Please let me live, I can help."
"There is no help, there is only this..." He said in his cold, almost demonic voice.
Nick stabbed the knife's sharp and riggid blade into Reverend Bob Holts' left hip
and grabbed a hold of his neck
once again and carefully and quickly he used the knife to rip and tear and roughly
slice through the church official's stomach
and gut causing his blood to flow from the wound and then as Nick pulled the knife
from the wound; he stabbed it deep into
the dying man's eyesocket. He pulled the knife out again and stabbed it into the
other, when he pulled it out this time, both the
dead man's eyeballs were impaled on the knife. The boy released his grip on the knife
and watched it slowly fall to the floor, the
eyeballs falling off and each one splitting in half. That would have been enough, but
Nick wasn't done, not yet. In fact he was far
from it. Grabbing ahold of the dead reverend's arms, he carefully begun dragging him
towards the large Christmas tree that the
church had set up for the holidays, and as soon as he was in front of it, he
carefully tied the body up to the body of the tree and
wrapped the decorative lights around the dead man's corpse before turning them on. A
sick smile crossed his face as he took his
right hand and got some of the man's still warm blood on his fingertips and he walked
to the podium and the blank white wall beside
it. They usually use this wall as a projection wall to display messages and sermons
that have to do with the lesson the church is teaching
tha day. He wrote a message on the wall that simply read:
"Merry Fucking Christmas, How's That For Some Religious Spirit?"