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I can’t say I ever thought too much about people like you, milling around on your terraces, shaded by umbrellas and pampered by the help as we worked and tilled in, much like your own, the sun’s overindulgences. We simmer and boil as if in a cookpot, trimming the twisting, and winding hedges you’ve never once entered, but love to watch, discuss, and play at coming inside just once.

But you?

You were different.

You found fascination, infatuation, and obsession in what we are and where we dwell. You wanted what we had. I would stop myself short of saying you may have even found your God down here, but that’s in the eye of the beholder, and I’ve yet to claim yours.

✟✞✟✞✟

Way Down in the Hole After UltraViolence Night One

“Is this what success feels like?” Don asked nobody. He slumped on the hotel bathroom floor leaned against the side of the tub with every last pound of his frame. His fingers and toes kept flexing, and Don would nod to himself when they did.

He couldn’t be sure they worked if he couldn’t see them working. The light was on and the fan whirred above his head. It was the first thing he noticed each time he worked his way back to consciousness, but in the moment, he focused on flexing his digits.

His eyes darted back and forth between the spaces in his toes. The tricks his addled mind played showed plump, pulsating blue veins snaking down his feet like some ancient tributaries. He swore he could hear them crying out to him, asking for a little taste.

“Too much will kill you, too little ain’t enough.” Don thought as the vision slowly faded out of his mind’s eye.

He was irritable and damp. The t-shirt he wore was soaked through and clung to his skin, and so did the boxer briefs. He momentarily considered that the bathroom stank of piss and shit, and after sufficiently flexing his hand enough, absentmindedly reached back and flushed the toilet. The sound shot him upright and rigid, his back flexed in the moment, and he thought he felt a muscle pull.

Don tried to cry out in pain, but his throat had become a rain-parched, windswept Gobi Desert high on the Eurasian Steppes and there was no immediate relief. He tried to clamber toward the sink, first on all fours, then toddling his way up the side of the vanity. His fingers flexed and fumbled at the faucet handle. His hand reached into the sink and began attempting to splash the water onto his face, into his mouth while he was half-laid, half-leaned on the floor and vanity.

He felt his consciousness slipping but felt enlightened. His mind played its comedy as his eyes blinked closed once more, and a slight smile pursed his lips.

✟✞✟✞✟

You’re here now. Aren’t you, child? The sneering Princeling of Privilege fancied himself strong and wise enough to enter my domain. You’ve condescended from the gated community, from your gilded tower itself to step foot into my realm. What a brave boy you’ve become.

My nostrils flare. I can smell the wealth from the center of my lair. It stinks. Much in the same way you must think these damp, moss-covered stone walls stink. You notice the walls, even here near the entrance, are littered with piles of crushed bones, sucked clean of their marrow. Broken bones don’t faze you though, do they? You’ve snapped a fair share in your time.

I admire that about you.

The apparent fearlessness.

What do you think of my maze when you’re not watching it from above? Your peers wrapped safely in the satisfaction that they would never have to traipse these infinite halls as you think you might.

Who do you think you are?

I also admire your persistence in obsession.

From boyhood to manhood this is all you’ve dreamed of. Being down here in the dirt, finding the steel resolve to become the man you’ve been and to finally, at long last, find your way to me.

Now? I can hear your footfalls, even from here Princeling. Your stench creeps further up my nose with every step you take, each corner you brave. I wonder what horrors you’ve found that I’ve left in my wake over the years. I wonder if you can even see through the formless dark.

Even if you can’t find your way to me, Princeling.

Even if you find yourself lost in the immeasurable darkness.

Do not worry.

For I will find you.

✟✞✟✞✟

The House of His Word and Light Winter’s Port, Guyana Late Afternoon October 25, 2024

The avenues of Winter’s Port were decorated for Halloween. Despite Mother Superior brushing it off as a pagan holiday, Don convinced her it would be good for everyone in town, especially the children. She reluctantly agreed after fierce cajoling but refused to lift a single finger in aid of the sprawling project.

So now spiderwebs hung from street lamps with big black fuzzy spiders set within them. The typical white lamplights were replaced with yellow. Jack-o’-lanterns were on the doorstep of every single business, and even more pumpkins were located at various places around town. Hay bales, corn stalks, and more had been brought in to give the town center a real harvest festival feel, something different for the citizenry ahead of the Christmas season.

On this night, children were running up and down the street, visiting storefronts and filling their bags with precious treats from smiling shop owners. While they were basking in the innocent glow of pure childhood delight, Don and a few members of the church were hastily finishing preparations on their ‘haunted house’ that the kids would be expected to make their way through later on in the evening.

The house was more of a small maze with walled partitions set up on the church lawn, where Don would hide in its center, in a costume that he was particularly proud of, though he hoped it wouldn’t scare the kids too much.

“I think we’re in good shape, Father Don,” Scooter Etienne, Footprints’ property manager, called out.

Winters smiled and agreed, and padded off to his quarters to prepare. Winters admired the fastidiousness in which Etienne worked, his eye was more critical than any other in Winter’s Port and he had been a natural fit for the position.

He also hated wrestling, and Don liked that about him, too. In Don’s mind, it only furthered his trust in Scooter, someone who believed in the true message His Word and Light sought to proselytize, and not Don’s own personal career. Don enjoyed the separation he started to create between the wrestler and the preacher, still being a firebrand on Sundays, while making his true altar, the squared circle, a domain in which he had been unequaled in almost a year.

Father Don entered the spartan rectory and shuffled into his own room where the costume hung, waiting. The slapdash way he put it together made him laugh, but he insisted on doing it himself, sewing machine and all. It was an ugly thing in totality, however, he made it and that’s what mattered most.

He stared at the black and white amalgamation, the massive orb-like paper maché head, and its two black lifeless eye holes, where his own would be looking out from in mere minutes. He was mesmerized though and gazed deeply into those sockets. His head jerked to the right, then back to the left and he blinked rapidly, a wide smile fomented across his face.

“HI GUYS!”

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Mother Superior’s Office Winter’s Port, Guyana Early Evening October 25, 2024

“I understand what you’re asking for,” Mother Superior hissed into the receiver of her phone. She listened impatiently for another moment, her good foot tapping an uneven rhythm on the tiled floor.

“It’s simply not something we can consider,” her tone was defiant.

She began to pace around the office, revealing a limp in her left leg that she rarely allowed anybody to see. She grimaced and groaned as she did, but her fury grew with each passing moment on the telephone.

“Yes, I understand that you’ve helped us tremendously,” her tone shrank slightly. “We cannot do it though. It would be an affront to His Word and Light.

“What? The girl? Oh yes, she’s fine,” she reassured the other half of her conversation. “It doesn’t change the fact that I cannot acquiesce to that request.”

She growled into the receiver after an even louder volley came into her ear. “I’ve seen the booking. I know what this means to you, but it cannot be done publicly. Are you mad!?”

Before Mother Superior could utter another word a very quick “heheheh heh” could be heard on the other line before it cut off.

✟✞✟✞✟

You see Princeling, those who truly believe have no trouble piercing this inky shroud. For they are of His Word and Light and have the True Sight. They know these halls and walls, the snaking corridors, where the traps are laid and dead ends wait.

But you are no true believer, are you?

To true believers, it is as if the sun shines at high noon all day down here.

How long can your scant torchlight hold out? Throwing shadows mere feet ahead of you, serving to only outline that sneering, patronizing smile. Armed only with the trident that found the head of your former, and once again mentor.

Reconciliation.

Forgiveness.

These are Blessed things.

But not if they are only used for your ends.

And they are. Aren’t they, Princeling?

Your compatriots. Your epoxy attaché.

Are they your true friends?

Or do they serve your ends?

You must be honest with yourself down here.

The wealthy boy who became a rich man.

Stepped down from his gilded tower.

You’ve made your way through here quite well. You’ve slain numerous foes, but they were also lacking the True Sight of his Word and Light.

You have wasted all this time in your life in the belief that you belong here among us.

Deep down inside in that cavity of a body where your soul should reside, you know you don’t.

You’ve always known, but it’s so hard to live as a wealthy man, isn’t it?

We must get dirt under our nails, and feel the ache of our muscles after a day’s work.

I’ve watched you for a long time, Cecilworth.

I possess a great respect for you.

Your ability.

Your demeanor.

The viciousness underlying it all.

I don’t feel any of that anymore though.

I can smell your blood in these halls.

I can feel your heart racing.

You have come because of your prowess in battle. Your unmatched ability with arms, your unsurpassed technical ability. You think you’ve concocted the perfect plan to enter my domain and try to defeat me at my own game?

Your plan is not my plan.

And it is certainly not God's plan.

✟✞✟✞✟

The House of His Word and Light Winter’s Port, Guyana Early Evening October 25, 2024

Don labored uneasily inside the sweltering costume. He paced around the center of the makeshift maze and could feel sweat running in rivulets off every inch of skin, the paper maché headpiece felt enormous in size and weight. He held a plastic double-bladed axe in both hands, shuffled his feet side to side in a crude waddle and attempted to leer menacingly through the two black eye holes he’d lost himself in earlier.

In the near distance, he could hear the ecstatic shouts and cheers as people celebrated. Closer still, he could hear the chatter and hushed tones of the kids working their way through the twists and turns of the labyrinth the Church had constructed earlier in the day. Scooter Etienne took great pride in what they had built and readily told anybody who would listen.

Don knew Scooter hid somewhere earlier in the maze as the obtusely named Do Unto Others Donkey, and promised Don he would “bray like an ass” when the kids found him. Don's thoughts shifted and wondered how the donkey puppet got into Jack Marley’s hands. Another problem for another time.

He never considered eighty-degree heat in October when he agreed to create and wear the monstrosity of a costume he found himself in, and felt his focus beginning to slip. He first noticed how bright it still was for nearly seven-o-clock, but the first notes of dusk were lazily bleeding into the sky.

Don then noted that the hunger had begun to settle in again, gnawing away at his core. He’d been so hurt and angry at Mother and hadn’t spoken to her in weeks, not since she allowed this entire festival to take place. He couldn’t grasp why she ordered the Sisters of Absolution to…

He refused to entertain the thought.

“Way down in the hole,” the mantra repeated in his mind.

Don snapped back into the present, brought back by the sounds of approaching children. He needed to be ready for them. He tried to rev himself up for the moment, lifted the axe with both hands, gave his best impression of a bull’s snort, widened his stance and glared through those lifeless eyes.

✟✞✟✞✟

The ever-intrepid Billy the Goat Boy wore his best Daytona Diamonds costume, despite every last one of his brothers, sisters, Father Don, Auntie Barb, and quite possibly the rest of the world’s protestations. The cloven-hoofed bastard, clad in a rhinestone cowboy jacket and hat, with two cap gun pistols holstered to his hips made his little goat squeals of excitement as he led his brothers and sisters through the Church labyrinth. They’d already conquered Do Unto Others Donkey, Billy dispatching him with a swift whack on the behind with the butt of a cap gun.

As they neared the center of the maze, Billy stopped short behind the final corner and turned to smile at his siblings.

“Are you ready?” he bleated out and a number of heads returned the affirmative. They each reached into their sacks, pulling out an egg apiece. Billy peeked around the corner and saw the beast, shuffling around, looking for them.

“I CAN HEAR YOU, CHILDREN!” the beast shouted. “I’M GOING TO STEAL YOUR CANDY!”

Billy’s jaw dropped open when the beast turned and he caught a full glimpse of it. Father Winters was dressed in a black and white penguin costume, replete with crimson vestments, but the giant head sported a pair of massive horns protruding from either side. Billy nodded to his siblings and they stepped out from around the corner, eggs in hand.

“We’re not afraid of you, Pious Penguinotaur!” Billy shouted and his brothers and sisters in arms returned the affirmative.

From behind the head, Don smiled, though that would be short-lived.

“SEE? MY MAZE!” Pious Penguinotar roared at the children who squealed with horror and delight. A couple of them dropped their eggs and ran back the way they’d come.

Not Brave Billy the Goat Boy Diamonds. He cocked his arm back and threw that egg just as hard as he could and let it fly. It struck Pious Penguinotaur right between the eyes with a wet. cracking squish. Behind the head, Don immediately felt sick to his stomach at the smell of the egg as bits of yolk dripped through the eye holes.

He dropped the double-bladed axe and reached up to pull the helmet off, huffing and panting as he did. Don looked at Billy, who realized who he threw the egg at and started laughing hysterically.

For all he had left in him, Don laughed too.

Not long after, Scooter Etienne found Don, still in his donkey costume minus the head. Scooter laughed at the egg-soaked penguin head and then at Don’s exhaustion. Don, unzipping the costume, reached into his pants pocket and handed his phone off to Scooter, asking the property manager to take a photo of Don and Billy.

The two stood together smiling, the egged Penguinotaur head underneath Don’s free arm.

He fired it off to Jess and Jeremiah in a text message.

“Happy Halloween! Love, Don.”

✟✞✟✞✟

The House of His Word and Light Winter’s Port Guyana Sunday Service October 27, 2024

“We are gathered here today to discuss something a little different,” Don’s voice echoed through the cavernous nave. “I wanted to talk about the paths we take, how we navigate them as people and how it relates in serving our glory to His Word and Light.”

Father Don paused, taking a sip from a glass of water beneath the lectern.

“A lot of times, life can feel like you’re wandering blind through a labyrinth, trying to do right by yourself, your family and most importantly God. Sometimes we see those of us who are more fortunate become infatuated with the things we do and love. And sometimes, those very same people get the idea in their head that they can do as we do and live as we do, even with their very distinct advantage in life.”

Don looked out across the full nave and smiled broadly.

“They believe in themselves so strongly that they think they can come down into our maze and simply find their way through it. There’s no introspection, there’s no thought, there’s nothing there other than a narcissist self-belief that they will prevail because they were born in a station that expects nothing less of them.”

“So they come down to our level, where the light is scant and not even seeing tomorrow is a given. We pray and give thanks to God every single day that he sees us through. Amen.”

“Amen,” came the full-throated reply.

“But after a while,” Don continued. “They come to find it's not so easy, it’s not so forgiving down here in the depths. They don’t understand why their self-belief won’t see them through. They can’t parse the darkness, or figure out why they can’t break it. Their eyes weaken as their torch burns low and once enveloped in the total darkness, they fall.”

“Power, corruption, sin. This is what finds the elite, those who believe they can come down to our level. And do you know why?”

The entire congregation replied without hesitation.

“BECAUSE THEY DO NOT BELIEVE!”

“That’s right!” Don felt their energy and pounded a fist on the lectern. “They do not believe in His Word and Light! Because if they truly believed, that belief would turn that darkness into daylight. They would see the monsters coming and know to avoid the temptation…”

✟✞✟✞✟

But you’ve never believed, have you Cecilworth?

You spent all these long years convincing yourself you belonged, that you could enter my labyrinth and make it through unscathed.

Oh, but the light flickers and dims.

Each new abyssal corridor brings you closer.

Can you hear my ragged breathing?

My hooves scraping slowly across ancient stone floors?

Or are you glued to your own thoughts?

Just one last antechamber to make it through.

Maybe you can once again claim what you lost.

But you are not meant to be the hero.

You are just like the others who came before you. Williams. TAL. STRONK. Ray. Hessian.

Another lump of meat to ascend and seek glory in the Absolution of His Word and Light.

✟✞✟✞✟

“...but so many of them refuse to believe! They win their way through with money and influence because they have already been corrupted, no matter what they may tell you, no matter what they want you to believe. People like them can never be like us. They will never walk the path, they will never truly see the Light. They are forever lost in the darkness.”

The congregation murmured.

“That is why I take heart in all of you, my friends. I know you’re on the true path. I know you’ve heard the Word and have seen the Light as I have. That is why we are at home in this metaphorical labyrinth. This is why I will always champion you and your causes. This is why I will always have your back as you have mine. We move forward in God’s glory together.”

An enthusiastic roar reverberated through the nave as the congregation shouted their amens.

✟✞✟✞✟

You have made it so far and that is something to be very proud of.

Through dark corridors, treacherous twists and turns, and the absolute absence of Light, because you refuse to believe.

But the last thing you should remember, Cecilworth.

Open your eyes.

Bask in my Light.

And as you’re on the threshing floor and you hear the angels sing their Hallelujahs.

You’ll learn that you were never the Theseus of this story.