The Beninging

Chapter 1

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

Her voice trembled in the stillness of the church, the weight of the words pressing down like iron chains. The dim light from the stained glass windows painted her face in shades of crimson and gold, but she looked nothing like a saint. The confessional booth was a sanctuary of shadows, the divide between her and the priest a fragile boundary for secrets too dark to be whispered aloud.

The priest shifted slightly on the other side of the wooden screen. His voice, calm and unwavering, cut through the silence. "What is it, my child, that burdens your soul?"

She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat. The memory of what she'd done played in her mind like a feverish dream. The sin clung to her, dug its claws deep into her heart. The church felt like a refuge, but in truth, she knew—no sanctuary could shield her from the darkness she carried.

"I... I killed someone," she confessed, her words barely more than a whisper. "But it wasn't an accident. I did it because—because I had to."

There was no immediate response from the priest. The silence hung between them, thick and suffocating. She wondered if he recoiled in horror at her admission, if he considered abandoning his sacred duty and leaving her to drown in her guilt.

"Who was it that you killed?" the priest finally asked, his voice tinged with something unplaceable—perhaps curiosity, perhaps fear.

She clenched her hands in her lap, staring down at them as if they belonged to someone else. "I don't even know who he was. It happened so fast. He came at me in the alley, and I just... reacted. But that's not the sin, Father. Not the real one."

Her hands began to tremble. She could still feel the rush of power that had surged through her veins at that moment, the blinding fury that had overwhelmed her senses. It had been instinctive, primal. Something deeper than fear, something darker than survival. She had felt it awaken inside her, like a beast long kept at bay, finally let loose.

"I didn't just kill him," she continued, her voice shaking. "I—Father, I ripped him apart. His body... it was like I had control over it. I didn't even touch him, but I could feel every part of him being torn to pieces. And I liked it."

For the first time, the priest sounded unsettled. "My child... this is not a sin of the flesh. This is something else entirely."

She looked up, eyes wide, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I don't know what's happening to me. Ever since that night, it's been getting worse. I can hear things, feel things in people—dark thoughts, hidden desires. And it's like a voice, Father, whispering to me, telling me to do things, awful things. I try to resist, but it's always there, always calling me back."

The priest crossed himself. "What you speak of... it's not natural. It sounds as though something has taken hold of you—an evil beyond your control."

Tears welled in her eyes as she fought to keep her composure. "Is there anything you can do to help me? Some prayer, some blessing that can make it stop?"

The priest took a deep breath. "This is no ordinary sin, no mere confession of guilt. You are under the influence of something far darker, far more powerful. It is not just your soul at risk, but your very humanity."

"What do I do?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"There are rituals... exorcisms that can be performed. But I fear this may be something far beyond what the church has seen. Tell me, when did this begin? Was there any moment when you first felt this darkness enter your life?"

She thought back, searching for an answer. And then, like a flash of lightning, she remembered.

"The storm," she said, her voice trembling. "It was a week ago. The sky turned black, and there was this strange energy in the air. I was outside, alone, and then I saw it—something fell from the sky. A light, so bright it burned my eyes. I went toward it, and there was this object, this... stone. It was glowing, pulsating, like it was alive."