Secrets from a Church Basement: The Desperate Diary of Fresco Ayers

The Best Laid Plans

The crazies are out in force, and they will only grow in number. Your plans have little meaning now. Forget about normal. From here on out, life itself will get more and more compelling for many of you. Not always in a good way. You might even be one of the crazies already. You just don't know it yet.

(And, yeah, I might be insane. But it's more likely that you just haven't been paying attention.)

My own recent scheming was mostly for naught. Power to this basement was cut. I heard the cardinal laugh. Shortly after, I must have passed out. 

I awoke yesterday. My clothes had been torn away. Shallow incisions grace my whole body. They number more than I can count. Probably hundreds of them. The cuts are clean. They sting horribly. Like a thousand paper cuts.

As I staggered toward my bathroom, the shadow of a large bird fluttered along the walls. But I could see no actual bird flying. It spoke to me in a commanding tone. I'd even call it condescending in nature.

"Do it," the shadow said. "Send him to the darkness."

It then stopped flapping, resting above the doorknob of the closet.

"You're welcome," it said.

I altered my course. As I approached the closet, the shadow vanished, and the Parmesan stink of that other world mangled my senses. I had to kneel down for a moment to regain my composure. When I did, I noticed a new painting at the foot of my bed.

I returned to my feet and took several deep breaths. Opening the closet door, I heard the rattling of metal as well as a muffled scream.

There sat the cardinal. Bound in chains and gagged with a piece of his own red robe. 

My heart fluttered. Then I puked all over him.

In my left ear, I again heard the shadow's command. "Do it. Send him to the darkness."

I've been thinking about it. And I think I will do exactly that. I will drag him backwards to that other place.

But not before I get some answers.