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

Cynical Sentiments and Sacred Centipedes

"We have failed, gentlemen." Adam's voice contained a dark rasp that I'd never noticed before.

I shuddered violently as I looked above my head only to realize I was staring at the cathedral's white marble floor. I was hanging upside-down, hog-tied from the ceiling by a black nylon rope. My head was heavy with blood. Every breath was a chore.

Dressed in the priest's finest vestments, Adam stepped behind the altar and rose his hands as high as his arms would extend. His fingers uncurled one by one from the fists they had made until each hand was open as wide as he could make them.

"Man does not deserve our faith," he said. "It is hopelessly infected. Only one option remains. Let's begin."

Adam began to chant a nasally hymn as his congregation pounded a primal rhythm against the wooden pews.

A line soon formed in the center aisle. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. In fact, I'd have laughed if my personal circumstances had been a little more to my liking.

Old white men in rabbit costumes strolled with military precision toward the altar. (I imagine Hugh Hefner has nightmares about this sort of thing.) Upon reaching that pretentious slab of marble, each one emptied the contents of a black bag into an over-sized golden chalice.

When the last of the giant bunny men had returned to his pew, Adam clapped his hands three times. A little girl—Chloe!—appeared from underneath the altar and gave Adam a vial of pink liquid.

"And so it is," he said. He drizzled the pink stuff into the chalice, picked up Chloe, and stirred the contents with one of her bare legs. She screamed, bit one of his hands, and escaped to somewhere in the back of the church. Adam didn't react other than to shrug his shoulders.

The bunny men began pounding out a new rhythm as Adam picked up the chalice and started in my direction.

As he approached, I smelled a mixture of dirt, honey, and paint thinner. And I soon glimpsed what he was bringing.

Adam kneeled beside me while placing the chalice directly under my head.

I've never liked crawly things. In fact, I'd rather wipe Mr. Hefner's wrinkly ass than allow even a ladybug within ten feet of me.

The chalice practically overflowed with orange centipedes. Hundreds of them. Maybe more. They had pinchers.

I writhed and begged for mercy. My heart raced as sweat dripped into the cup of menacing invertebrates, which only seemed to make them more active.

Adam placed his right hand against my chest and said, "Thank you."

Then he lifted the chalice of centipedes to my lips.

I'm struggling to remember what happened next. It's crucial that I do. Something awful went down. And not just within my bowels. I'm sure of it.