Hank watched in a panic as Maryanne wept soundlessly while the pastor preached about the little children that went to Jesus. Silently he cursed the pastor for his choice of sermons and then feared that he might have given some evidence of his odious thoughts when the pastor called him over after the last hymn was respectfully sung.
“Hello Hank,” the pastor greeted with concern discernible in his watery grey eyes.
“Pastor Linley” Hank replied, feeling slightly uncomfortable under the holy man’s scrutiny.
“I just wanted to enquire how Maryanne is faring. I saw her crying earlier and I realised how hard it must be on her.” The pastor laid a sympathetic hand on Hank’s shoulder. “I pray for you and your wife every night.” He murmured, making it sound like he was bestowing an unusual benevolence on them. “They say it is even harder on the mother when she loses the baby so close to term.”
“Thank you, pastor,” Hank murmured, feeling contrite about his unkind thoughts of earlier. He made to turn away, ready to join Maryanne where she was praying fervently for God only knew what.
“I did think it might be good for her to join some of the women’s groups.” The pastor interjected. Hank stopped and looked at the pastor, frowning.
“What I mean is, it might be good if she joined some of the activity groups or prayer circles, to help keep her occupied and take her mind off the loss.” He smiled at Hank again, a flash of something in his eyes. “There are some leaflets on the bulletin board.” He finished and walked away to speak to another of his flock.
Hank stared after the old pastor, trying to pinpoint what it was he’d seen in the old man’s eyes. It disturbed him, yet what it was that caused him the unease evaded his groping mind.
After a moment or two he shrugged the ominous feeling off and walked towards Maryanne who was still kneeling in the pew, her lips moving fervently as she swayed gently to and fro. As he passed one of the bulletin boards, a red leaflet caught his eye. It stood out like a sore thumb between the bland white slips flapping in the light breeze from the open church door. The words ‘pain’ and ‘healing’ jumped out at him and without reading it further he pulled it loose and stuffed it in his pocket.
The first week Hank bribed Maryanne into going to the group. She did not seem at all in the mood for an outing, yet he felt a glimmer of hope when he finally coerced her into attending the support group, even more so when she actually dressed in something other than a baggy tee-shirt and loose sweat pants.
She returned from Astrid Roth’s group looking alive for the first time since the miscarriage.
“She spoke so much sense. She made me see that I’ve been going about this all wrong.” She explained that night in bed, before reaching out for Hank and pulling him close.
The second week it was quite easy to get Maryanne ready to go. She returned again smiling, looking like one who had just had a revelation.
That night in bed she even wanted sex. Astrid had apparently said that being intimate was good for the healing process, and that by denying one’s husband one only brought the wrath of God onto one’s home. “And we do not want that, now do we?” she’d asked nonchalantly, but Hank could have sworn her words were laced with derision.
Another two meetings went by and as the fifth came and went Hank was very much aware that Maryanne was a completely new person. She had cut her hair, and bought a new dress, she wore makeup, which she had never done, even before the miscarriage. To all appearances she did not seem to even recall her depression. Hank thought that she was doing so well that she did not need the group any longer, but when he suggested this to Maryanne she protested vehemently.
“Astrid has so much to teach us! She has really opened my eyes to so many fallacies we grew up believing,” she leaned forward, as if about to impart a national secret to him “Did you know that the reason why God did not kill Adam and Eve after they ate from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil was because Eve was better favoured by God than Adam?
"Eve was tempted by the Devil, and when God found out that she had been the one, he did not kill them. Astrid says that surely God would have struck them dead without a moment’s hesitation if it had been Adam that had been weak."
“God made Eve to balance Adam out. He made Eve so Adam could be sacrificed for her wrongs.”
Hank, a devout and humble Christian man, spluttered at what he heard, aghast that his wife could so easily be turned from what he knew she knew was right. He suddenly wondered who Astrid Roth was, and who gave her the authority to teach these broken women such nonsense. He decidied it was of paramount importance to find yout what her agenda was.
The opportunity to confront Astrid Roth did not come though. Something always seemed to happen just when he decided to go to her house to question her.
His truck broke down and he had to walk the seven miles from the farm to town to get the parts he needed. He ended up sleeping in the truck as he could get no one to come fetch him and by the time he reached the truck with the parts it was growing dark and he could not see to do the repair.
Then Bill Rogers disappeared. A search party was formed and they tracked for two days through the woods, only to find his body mutilated and with flesh ripped from it and his face set in an expression of pure horror in the woods behind his house. He saw Bill’s wife, Tina as they dispersed after the search. And the look in her eyes make his hackles rise. Never had he seen a look of such pure joy on a woman’s face.
It made him wonder if she could have killed Bill, but he discarded the thought. Tina was as dainty as a fairy and he knew that Bill hadn’t abused her. He was convinced even further of her innocence when Maryanne told himthat Tina was expecting a baby.
“Thank God that she’s had Astrid to help her over the loss of her mother. I doubt she would have been able to deal will Bill’s passing so valiantly otherwise.” Maryanne murmured that night in bed. Even after a lusty romp, the poor man’s terrifying demise was still uppermost in their minds.
Maryanne turned to Hank. “I heard one of the sheriff’s boys’ say it looked like Bill had been savaged by an animal.”
The words hung heavily in the air between them, enriched by the shock Hank felt at her interest in something so macabre, and his anger at the foolish boys for speaking where the women could hear them. He too had hard the coroner say thy bite marks were from some kind of animal, but to him they had looked all too human. When he finally spoke he chose his words with care. “I don’t know how that poor man died, but all I can hope is that he did not suffer too much.”
“Oh, but Astrid says that a man’s suffering cleanses his soul. She says-”
“I do not want t hear another word of what that woman has to say!” Hank fumed and jumped up off the bed and stalked over to the window. He stood in silence there for a moment, staring at nothing in particular. His eyes focused on his wife’s reflection in the small square pane of glass. Her face was a study of shock and surprise at his wild outburst. Slowly her features melted into the petrified face of Bill Rogers. He could only imagine the pain and terror the man had experienced.
He left the house early the next morning and on a whim stopped at Astrid Roth’s house. Hank did not care that it was barely six o' clock in the morning. He needed to tell the woman to stop filling his wife’s head with garbage.
To his great surprise the door swung open after only a few moments of his knuckles rapping on the wood, opened by none other than the woman he sought to speak with.
“Hello Hank.” Her voice was rich, velvety and melodious. It coiled around him like a snake spiralling around its prey. “I’ve been expecting you.” She walked away from the door, indicating for him to follow. Tentatively he stepped into the house.
Unsure of what he had expected, he stared in amazement at the wealth of decoration. The sheer opulence of the deep vivid jewel tones was overwhelming, but he chose to keep his eyes focused on the rich decor rather than let them rest on his hostess, who had sat herself in a gold armchair, with intricately carved legs and armrests. She was beautiful, with perfect blonde hair and eyes as black as sin. She looked regal, posing nude on the chair for him to behold.
“Won’t you sit down? I made tea. Maryanne told me that you like tea.
Eyes still averted he sat down and took the cup of tea she proffered, trying very hard not to glance at her. She chuckled and the sound preyed on his his discomfort. He decided to have his say and leave.
“Whatever it is you’re doing to my wife, I want you to stop. You’re filling her head with completely unchristian nonsense and I don’t like it.”
“I see.” Astrid moved slightly, her posed suddenly not so seductive any more. “But I think I must tell you Mr. Stapleton, you are the head of your household, the priest and the king. You are the one responsible for your wife’s spiritual wellbeing. Therefore it is not my fault that she is willing to believe what I teach, but yours.”
Furious Hank stood up, letting his tea spill all over the floor. Astrid rose along with him and he gulped when she appeared to suddenly tower over him. He had definitely not noticed that before.
“Do not attempt to preach to me in my own sanctuary, Hank Stapleton.” Her voice reverberated through the house, through him and he could feel the blood draining from his face as he noticed how dark her eyes had become. “You were the one who told Maryanne to come here. She has only been a good obedient wife, doing what her husband told her to do. Do not judge what I teach, when your knowledge of your chosen faith is weak and incomplete. Do not cross me, man, for you do not know who you are dealing with! Your bible says to first remove the splinter from your own eye before tending to the stick in that of your neighbour’s. Perhaps it s time you practice what your pastor so willingly preaches. ”
All through her tirade the room had grown darker and Hank had shrunk back on the ground, fear paralysing him. “Go now, your wife awaits you at home.” Astrid hissed as she pointed to the door.
Hank did not wait to be asked again. He snapped out of his paralysis and scrambled out the door. He had lost all desire to go to work. He needed to go home, to see Maryanne, to help her see the error of this way. He drove like a maniac down the street to his house and burst into the house.
All appeared normal and he could suddenly not remember why he’d felt so anxious about getting home. Then he became aware of a moaning. He rushed down the passage to their bedroom.
Shock froze him in the door frame. Something was in there, on the bed, eliciting the pleasurable moaning form his wife. He wanted to stop it, but for some reason he could not move, could not speak. He watched in silent horror as the unseen creature had his way with his wife. It was like a knife twisting in his gut and him unable to do anything about the pain. As she reached her climax, the walls of the house trembled and the cross that hung above their bed came unhinged and swept an arch over the wall, coming to rest, hanging upside down. He could not help to think that this was beyond redemption.
She was hopelessly stained.
Hank lost awareness of time as the ecstatic rape continued before his eyes. When he finally became aware of his surroundings again, he knew immediately that he was no longer standing in the bedroom door.
He became aware of pain in his middle, just where he’d imagined the knife twisting earlier on. Tentatively he moved numb fingers to where the pain emanated from. He could feel something hot and slick. As his heart started to race in response to the fear he felt he could feel a new upwelling of what he now knew was blood. How had this happened? Trying to remain calm his eyes took in the dusky room he was in. He soon recognised his dining room. He knew then that he was lying on the table.
“Maryanne!” he tried to call out but all that escaped his lips was a dry hoarse croak. Yet he heard someone enter the room, and relief flooded trough him as he saw his wife standing next to him. The relief faded as quickly as it appeared when he noticed Astrid Roth standing next to her.
“He is the priest and the king of your house. He is your Christ, and as such he has to die for his Bride like Christ died for his church, to absolve them of their sin. It was because he never fulfilled his duty as your husband and priest that you lost your child, Maryanne.” He could just see his beloved wife, listening with large eyes to Astrid.
“You have managed to conceive again, but you will lose that child too if he does not die for your sins. His is the ultimate sacrifice.” Astrid murmured. She handed a dagger to Maryanne. “Come. He is already wounded, stab him in the heart and then...” Astrid looked up and noticed his eyes on her.
“Stab him in the heart and remember the communion... eat of his flesh and drink of his blood. When you are done, the others can come in and share in your absolution.”
Hank Stapleton watched in horror as his beautiful Maryanne took the dagger and with eyes glazed over in a trance-like fashion she lifted it high and them brought it down suddenly.
He could feel the cold steel bite into his skin, through his breastbone and deep into his heart. A severe pain grasped him and forced a scream past his parched lips. In horror he watched as she licked the blood off the blade, and then used the blade again to slice a piece of flesh from his arm.
He saw her murmur a prayer as she ate his flesh and drank his blood.
“Forgive her, for she knows not what she does” he cried out in his mind, just before he saw the others come in. Mercifully his last breath floated out as they crowded around his body like vultures. The last thing he beheld as his eyes drifted shut was Astrid, smiling victoriously in the corner.