We see a man, aged 43. His what used to be long, shaggy black hair is now cut short and clean. Slicked back. He wears jeans and a dress shirt with a white tank top underneath. Many spots on his body scarred, areas burned and lighter, tattoo removals and bandages covering nasty scars. This kept man walks into church late at night and finds the confessional box. He looks around through boxed framed glasses. He coughs lightly and wipes the sweat from his pale forehead. He opens the confessional and enters, sitting down. The priest in the box next to him perked up and sat straight up. Crowley kept his gaze forward and sighed gently.
"Hello father, how are you today?" Crowley started and scratched his head gently. His rested his arms on his lap and leaned forward a bit.
"Hello mister. I'm good, what brings you here tonight?" The priest responded in a hushed tone. He rested his head on the back of the box and waited.
"I've come to get things off my chest, and I won't lie to you. I've lived a long bloody, needlessly violent life, Father." Crowley said and took off his glasses and wiped his face. "And when I tell you that I'm not looking for forgiveness, I mean I'm not deserving of it. I'm irredeemable."
Crowley said softly, looking at the floor of the confessional.*
"You'd be surprised, God forgives all who try hard enough. He loves us all, even the bad eggs, you know? What have you done that is so bad?" The priest said, slightly bracing himself.
"I'm. . . I'm going to tell you in order. And. . . It only gets worse I'm afraid."
"Go ahead."
"Okay. . . When I was younger, I was hit a lot. Hit and other things but, I always tried to do what was right. I found solace in the Good Book, for a while anyway. There was a cemetery near my house that I always went to when my mom or dad ever got punch drunk. So, I always went there with my bible at night and read it, talk to myself or any spirits that were there," he then chuckled softly. "The thing about the dead is that they can only listen. I went to the cemetery often and always came back by morning, or whenever a guard would come over and kick me out. One night um. . . I was coming home after getting kicked out and ran into this woman, she was either drunk or high, possibly both. She uh. She saw me and came over, I was 15 at the time. She saw the bible in my hands and took it, she beat me with it, hollering religious mumbo jumbo about how God is dead and that Satan was forever and all that. . . She then. . . She did things to me. Stuff I'd rather not delve into. When she was done she ripped the bible and threw it at me, telling me to go to Satan. That's where I'd find true happiness and freedom. . ." Crowley then hesitates and looks up in the confessional.* **"I was scared father. Every where I looked I saw her, telling me to go to Satan. She hit my head a lot, she scrambled my brain I think. I just couldn't stop thinking about what she did to me. And so, then I saw my option was to opt to Satan. I joined a cult when I was 16, and I met her in that same cult. She seemed shocked at first and then she hugged me, like what she did never happened. It was like she. . . Loved me. Her name was Annabel Lee. She was 20. And, throughout my time in that cult she grew closer with me, she actually fell in love me. And, at that time, I loved her too. Hated her, but I grew to love her. Annabel brainwashed me into becoming the kid I did. A horrible kid. I started killing cats and dogs and drank of their blood, ate their hearts. . ."
". . . Continue, my son."
"I was 18 when I killed someone. It was in that damn cult, Lee's Congregation of the Lost. A man, he came to me and hugged me, saying that he held nothing but love and faith for me and everyone else in the Congregation. He kissed me and pulled out a knife, placed it in my hands and looked me in the eyes. I want you to sacrifice me to Annabel Lee, he said. And he kissed me again and removed his shirt. He had me carve an X in his chest and waited for everyone else to arrive. Jaricho, I think that was his name. . . He laid down on the alter we had made years before and looked at the ceiling. Annabel Lee entered and kissed me, she told me that I had to do this. I was their best and most trustworthy. She told me that she'll continue to love me only if I did this, sacrifice Jaricho for her. I shook, not in fear or hesitation, I was excited. Then, Annabel was so rooted in my mind all I could think to do was what she wanted. And so, when everyone was ready I came to the alter with the knife. I raised and. . . My god, I killed him. I stabbed him so deep he died in seconds. He smiled as he passed, and Annabel Lee kissed his dead lips. She took the knife from me and carved him up, opening his chest and exposed his heart. She cut off pieces and distributed them to everyone. She saved the biggest pieces for me and her. She ate it and I ate mine, and she kissed me with her bloody lips. Then, when they got rid of Jaricho's body she held me back and made everyone leave. We had sex on the alter. After that I don't remember much, all I can remember for the next few years were needles, ecstasy, and Annabel Lee. Everything I remember, she was there, I was at her hip every second of every day. I was her property, and she made sure I wouldn't stray. As the year progressed, I only got worse I think. I sacrificed more people, made love on the alter with her, at times in front of the others."
". . . My son. . ."
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No, you need to tell me, to be forgiven. I want to help you, but you need to tell me everything."
". . . When I was 21, and Annabel Lee was 25. We left the cult together, we ran away to live our dreams to reap the world of everything we wanted. That was sex, drugs, and violence. She made me watch her have sex with different people, had me kill them afterward, sometimes when she was fucking them. She made me watch and kill, over and over. Annabel Lee, she had me as her lover and killer for years. That woman made me into a monster, she had me rob, kill, and sometimes. . . No. I enjoyed it. I loved her with every fiber of my being. She got sloppy, drunk with my love and her power. she thought she had it all. And she did, she did. . . She had me and I was it all to her. She loved me in her own, psychotically perverted way. I was a toy for her to break and fix. Some nights she would hold me tight and love me, telling me that everything I did was for her and it's okay. She would kiss me, have sex with me, reassure me that everything we did was for a reason. That reason? She never told me. At this point, we were well into our twenties. I was 26, and Annabel Lee was 30. She took me to a pond by her house she never told me she had. She sat me down on the shore and kissed me so tenderly I can still feel it sometimes. She had sex with me one last time on that shore before she told me to sit and watch as she sacrifices herself to the great below. She found big rocks and tied them to herself, kissed me, and walked into the water. She looked back me and said Crowley, look at me. We loved with a love no others could achieve. Remember me, the woman known as Annabel Lee. And she then walked into the water, leaving me by myself alone in a world I despised. My captor, my lover, my master, Annabel Lee left. She killed herself in front of me."
". . . Crowley . . ."
"Yeah. That is my name. It is a title I've no pride in. I sat on the shore for a day and only cried. Even when I left I could only hear her, remember her body and face. Her voice so gentle and loving, sweet and dominating. I saw her, she haunts me to this day. After that I turned myself in years later when I turned 31. They tested me and diagnosed me as a paranoid schizophrenic and clinically insane. They put me in a hospital and treated me. I was the first of my kind, a monster with a blood lust like no other. Worst of the worst. And they treated me so sweetly, they understood I was beyond repair but they helped me as best they could. And. . . They did good work. I think as a person with a good conscious, and the burden that came with it was shame, hate, and sorrow unlike I've ever known." Crowley started to shake as tears welled up in his eyes. He stares at the face of Annabel Lee, she was here with him, no matter where he went. She was beyond the door of the confessional. "They let me out just a week ago. I just thought, maybe if I tell a priest just maybe I can spared a bit of punishment." Tears roll down Crowley's cheeks. "I'm sick, father. And I'm as scared as I was when Annabel Lee beat me all those years ago. I'm going to die soon. And when I go, I don't want to see her face wherever I go. I just want to be free from her. That's all I can ask, and I know it's too much." Crowley choked and held his neck, trying to gain the strength to speak.
"Crowley, do you believe in God? In Satan?"
". . . No."
"Then you are free. You won't see that Annabel Lee. You are free, my son."
Crowley cried softly in that confessional booth. He shook and held himself, he felt so dirty, the weight of his actions weighed heavy on his body. Soon, he found the strength to go home. He didn't see Annabel Lee anywhere. When he found himself in bed at home, he cried again for one final time. He wept for the death of his humanity. Crowley wept for the death of his insanity. The scared child wept for his Annabel Lee.
Here Lies Crowley
Written by Blaine
I hope you enjoyed.
