Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday


Hark you shadows that in darkness dwell,
Learn to contemn light,
Happy, happy they that in hell
Feel not the world’s despite.
-John Dowland



The sea was icy black. The man’s breath labored behind the heavy strokes of his arms and the weighted kicks of his legs. Where am I? The thought came with a surge of panic, as a rush of black fluid entered his lungs - causing deep, violent coughs. The sound of his lungs rejecting the liquid echoed within his being. His mind raced, as  he attempted to pull fragmented thoughts together and grasp some understanding. He felt so cold and naked. Death is here…I know it. Please help me get out… don’t want to die in this place...

He cupped his hands and pulled hard through the liquid – his sight strained for meaningful direction. A shimmer of fleeting light appeared in the distance, but it was very brief. The man’s thoughts began to wander. His fight to keep from sinking into the cold blackness was causing fatigue. Thoughts of a girl he knew as a child began to surface.

She would bring me into the shed. The shed… I hated the shed and the smell. That gas and oil smell, I hated it. Michael and Jimmy liked it, so did most of the others…I didn’t understand why. She would open the gas can and take deep breaths. I hated when she opened the can. She used to get high on the smell or something like that. It made me feel like throwing up...

He remembered her laughing. He could hear it now, in the midst of fighting to keep himself afloat. The sound of her giggles heightened with the hacking of his lungs and the cold that engulfed him. He could see her eyes, those glistening eyes of so long ago – smiling, as she held out the can, offering it to him.

The girl’s laughter was different though. It was changing, growing deeper – darker. Her face appeared and faded within the presence of the black sea. He could see the light  again; it wavered in an amber hue on the horizon. The Laughing grew louder and more hideous. 

Another wave crashed over his body and rushed blackness into his lungs. The coughing burned, and his subconscious reeled, escalating awareness towards the outer veil of his fragile slumber. Shimmers of amber seeped into the slits of his heavy eyelids, as his dream fled down the dark, secret channels of his mind.

Brian woke. The man’s breath, laboring to the rapid gallop of his heart, broke into a burning cough. It was a dream, he thought. But as soon as the realization of the dream entered his mind, so did the awareness of the dreaded state he was in.

He was naked, soaked to the bone and cold – very cold. A burning sensation radiated in his eyes and lungs. The man’s eyes felt like they were smeared with an icy, burning gel. All vision was blurred.

Brian tried to rise up, but was restricted by some unseen restraint that seemed to dig into his chest and legs with the slightest of movement. Black pitch enveloped his surroundings denying all sight, but for one area.

In the distance from where he lay, a shimmer of amber light rose from below. The glow’s reach faded quickly in the pitch – revealing nothing beyond the gloom. Set before the illumination, in dark lifeless silhouette, the form of a man sat.

“Who are you?” Brian asked. A fit of coughing immediately followed. “What is all over me? It's burning my eyes...my lungs.”

His words met the gloom like an arrow splintering off a stone wall. The question died in the thick coldness - finding no response. Other than possessing the likeness of human form, there was no indication the image had life. It remained motionless and silent within wicked ambiance.

Eternity seemed to pass. Brian's eyes shifted back and forth in the hopes of witnessing any sign which might give explanation to his condition. And then, absent all sound, a subtle movement drew his gaze toward the dark figure. It began a slow cadence where it sat - much like that of a pendulum.

Brian's heart wrenched in his chest. “You are real!” he cried out. “What…what do you want from me? Why am I here like this?”

Suddenly, with piercing and impudent diverge, an explosion of dark laughter erupted from the silhouette. It burst through the thick air like a viper from hell, lashing outward in frightful dread. The form quavered in merriment, while spots of dim light danced in an ominous hue.

The naked man froze in terror at the sound of the evil display before him. Features of the fiend flashed in and out of the darkness as the rocking motion continued.

The mouth of the creature, stretched to what seemed its physical limits, howled in wicked delight. The skin around the mouth was pale and gaunt. Thick cheekbones cast downward shadows - forming virtual pillars, and at their crest, cold grey eyes gazed outward.

Brian tried to study the details of the face each moment it emerged from the darkness. The howling continued. It radiated into his being - sending his nerve endings into near panic. In his terror, past recollections began to surface in his mind.

He remembered sitting, talking to a young man he did not know. They were drinking, and there were others – mingling about. It was a bar, he remembered. Brian had heard about it from his friend, John.

“…I heard about this place from a friend…nice place. Are you a regular here?”

“No, not really…it’s not my type of place.”

“Oh…sorry to hear that. Are you looking for someone?”

“Not anymore…”

The recent past arrived in fragmented form, as it wandered out of the obscure hallways of his mind.

The laughter echoed.

He blinked his eyes several times in the hopes of seeing a clearer picture of who was before him.

“My name? Matthew Sull…”

“…does the name ring a bell?”

Brian remembered asking the young man his name.


His name was Matthew, I think. I’m not sure, but I think it was Matthew.


“Matthew, is that you?” Brian shouted out, as his lungs erupted into a fit of coughing.

The hideous laughter grew louder. 



The cough ridden question clashed against the bellows, as the howling elevated to near hysteria. The sound mimicked that of a beast caught in a cruel and painful trap. It continued – reaching near deafening pitches. And then, with all the intensity and suddenness that began the bellows, it stopped.

Silence spilled into the realm like molten lead – leaving emptiness in its wake. Only the distant shimmering light betrayed the stillness of the room.

Horror pierced deep into the naked man’s heart. His lungs froze, while his ears and mind stretched to receive a hint of sound. His eyes darted through the burning wetness - fighting for clarity. All the while the ominous figure loomed.

Another fit of coughing surfaced from his burning lungs. He waited until the fit settled before trying to speak.

“For the love of God, Who are you?” 


“Please, what are you doing to me? Answer me!”

Silence, again washed the room. Brian began to pray.




“Hello, Father. Did you enjoy your nap?”

The voice swept through the silence like a ghost.

Brian's chest tightened at the sound of the words. His throat felt the pounding of his heart, as his brain considered the haunting question.

The voice of the beast before him held a disturbing quality which chilled his blood. Each word wavered in pitch – resembling a cry more than spoken words.


“I don’t know who you are. Are you the young man…Matthew, who I met in the bar?”

“The very same, Father.”

“You call me Father, do you know me?”

“Oh, yes, Father, I know you.”

“How…how do you know me?”

A long moment of silence followed. Only Brian's rapid breathing wove through the gloom.

“Please answer me, Matthew. What do you want from me?”


The silhouette slowly leaned out of the darkness – allowing the light to fully wash over his face. His mouth quivered in a rapid succession of broken smiles and gasps for air. Fury gleamed from his gaze as it penetrated the eyes of the naked man.

"You thought they could hide you, Father? Do you think you can hide from what you've done?"

Rage spewed from the mouth of the young man. His lips continued to quiver in a slew of fractured smiles.

“Your moment has arrived,” the fiend cried. “You ripped out my soul so long ago, and now, Father, the time has come for your soul to be torn from you."

He paused, as a bout of laughter rose from his being. He continued to cry out through his merriment.

“I am the monster now, Father, and what a grand monster I’ve become. Wait until you see what I have in store for you.”

The laughter heightened, as the pendulum motion commenced.

“Please, please…I’m confused,” Brian yelled, as he began desperate movements to free himself.

The oscillation slowed.

Below, at the feet of the silhouette, three candles flickered.

Reaching over, the dark form lifted the center candle. He rose from an unseen chair and lifted the candle high above his head with both hands.

His mouth quivered in the amber light, as his eyes became fixed on the candle.

“Scream loud and true, Father. Let the bells of hell ring in triumph as you enter your new church.”

Brian watched in terror, as a wicked sneer appeared through the dreary hue.

The fiend tossed the candle toward where the man lay.

A loud whoosh sounded before the candle completely fell. A fiery plume engulfed the air above the naked man and consumed his entire person.

Bellows of agony rose from the pyre.

<>+<>~~~<>+<>~~~<>+<>~~~<>+<>~~~<>+<>

Matthew Sullivan listened as the final screams died. He watched as the last painful thrusts left the charred body, and the flames diminished within the smoldering ash.

Staring into hollow, dark sockets, he thought about how long he had waited for this moment. Matthew placed a finger on the charred forehead of the dead priest. He pressed deeply, covering his finger with warm soot. His hand shook, as he marked his own forehead with the ash.

~~~~<>+<>~~~<>+<>~~~<>+<>~~~<>+<>~~~<>+<>~~~

The chill of February hit Matthew like an invisible train as he stepped into the Boston night. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and crammed his hands into loose jean pockets. A small vial of rohypnol swam in his right pocket. He smiled when his hand touched the glass. He'd forgotten it was there.

It was late. The dirty streets embraced Matthew's steps like an old friend. He walked past Saint Joseph’s, as the late Mass for Ash Wednesday was just ending. Parishioners, marked with their ash crosses, spilled out on to the cold streets. He lowered his head and continued toward the T station. I hope it’s not going to be crowded, he thought. The last thing I want is to look at any of these hypocrites.

Only a handful of people were on the T car that he entered. Matthew sat and rested his head back on the top of the seat. His eyes stared at the train ceiling.

“Mommy, look… H-E-L-L.” A young girl spelt out the letters, as she pointed at the hooded man across the aisle.

“It spells hell on his forehead, Mom.”

“Stop that,” the mother whispered, as she pulled the girl close to her bosom.

“That’s not polite.” The woman tried her best not to make eye contact with the stranger.

Matthew turned his head from the ceiling and looked at the pair. The young girl’s eyes, with enchanted curiosity, remained fixed on him.

“It’s okay, angel,” he said, as a look of calm fascination washed over him, and an eerie smile emerged.

“It’s just the mark a priest gave me, so I’ll never forget where I’m going.”


Word count: 1995