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Three fantastic stories.CONFESSIONS. Father Anselmo is proud of his new church, although problems are not lacking. There is a strange believer, for example, who comes to confess to him. He has never seen it, he can not even understand whether he is a boy or a girl, he tells strange, impossible things. It threatens to make it fall into madness, even worse to drag it along with his church in a hellish nightmare.MIRROR. The twins share many experiences, sometimes they are able to perceive the suffering of their brother. But when is death waiting for them? What will a twin try in that fateful moment? Eva and Jessica are about to find out.FREAKS. He loved it for a lifetime and now he can finally have it. Not in the right way, but it could be the only chance. And if there was another way? Very dangerous, because it would risk freeing a terrifying monster hungry for blood in the world. Penny will have to make his choice.
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Illusion Short Stories # 3
Original title: Confessioni
Translated by Davide Paskualon
Original title: Specchio
Translated by Cinzia Albanese
Original title: Freaks
Translated by Cinzia Albanese
© 2018 Illusion
© 2018 Stefano Pastor
Graphics: Angela M.
Father Anselm kept his eyes closed, until a devoted man entered in the confessional. Then Father Anselm moved the curtain away, in front of him, and he starred the external. The church looked desert and he thanked Havens for that. Luckily that was the last.
He closed again the curtain and he stayed on the grate. A weak lamp overwhelmed and it lightly illuminated the room. Father Anselm did not see anyone to the other side, so the devoted man had not yet kneeled. He was hiding, immersed in the darkness, and he could not be identified. This discretion did not surprise him, because he already had seen it other times. Father Anselm recited the famous formula, then a Pater Noster to purify the room. No voice joined him.
“Son, how long do you confess?”
He had no mode knowing what the penitent was, male or female, less than his age.
“This is the first time, Father.”
Father Anselm could not even understand it hearing his voice. Without inflexions, however strange. Anselm considered the possibility that the man was not an italian.
“Son, do you come from far away?”
“I suppose yes, Father. Far away.”
“Are you…catholic?” And the priest continued: “Are your kin catholic?”
A long silence. “I don’t know, Father.”
It was irritating to fail to frame it in any way. “Do you intend to come to our religion?”
This was not a problem to debate in a confessional, then added immediately: “Have you been baptized?”
He was not sure how he would react, in case he had denied it. The baptize is essential before he can access any other sacrament.
“I think I’m wrong. To pay the price for something.”
“This is not a tribunal, son. If you think…”
“I don’t know! You have to tell me, Father. You have to know if I was wrong.”
Father Anselm sigh. He was no younger and in his life he had found himself in many strange situations.
“Do you believe in God?”
“There are other gods? Because I thought there was only one.”
“What is the name which you know him?”
“Name… God has no name. Other people want to attribute it.”
“How is your God?”
Another long silence. Father Anselm only wished he could stretch his legs. He was closed on the confessional for two hours.
“I am God. You are God. God is everywhere, God is in everything. We are all God, all that has been created is part of him.”
How do you rebut such a claim? That sinner is not the only one to think so, although Father Anselm considered certain considerations too much philosophical.
“Do you really think it?”
“Do you love him?”
“God; Do you love him?” And the priest continued: “What do you feel for him?”
Finally, a movement beyond the grate, but the figure was so vague to identify it.
“I am not here for this, Father.”
“You did not answer me.”
“The question has no answer, it has not sense.”
“Why do you say this?”
“I answered you that God is all. Why do you want to talk about love?”
“What relationship do you have with God?” And the priest continued again: “Did you accept him?”
“Yes, I accept him!”
“Did you accept his will, whatever it is?”
“I am here, or not?”
“And you want to stay here, or not?”
Maybe the confession was about to begin.
But his voice was without emotions, inexpressive, always.
“Why are you here?”
“You have to tell me this, Father. I came to ask you this. Why am I here?”
Father Anselm raised an eyebrow. “You…You want to know…Why do you exist and what is the reason of all?”
Another movement beyond the grate. “Yes, the reason. The reason of all.”
Father Anselm sigh again, feeling himself embarrassed. Being a Priest did not exempt him to being a pragmatic man. These issues were left to theologians.
“Why are you here, what encourage you?”
“Everyone comes here. Everyone comes to you. You tell them what is right and what is wrong. You forgive your sins.”
“Have you commit a sin?”
“I don’t know.”
He was just wasting time. Those were not the answers he needed. “Should I be telling you if you’ve sinned?”
A jolt. “Yes, Father. I need it! Tell me where I was wrong!”
“What did you do?”
“I do not understand….”
“Why do you think you have sinned?”
“Are you in this church?”
Father Anselm feel as he was being laughed. He considered the possibility that it was some child who wanted to joke.
“Come here, I want to see you.”
But nothing moved.
“Who are you?”
That was not a question to be asked in a confessional, but that was not a confession.
The curtain moved and a small opening of light came for a moment, he managed to see a dress.
Then the darkness.
Father Anselm got up quickly and moved the curtain away, bringing your head out from the confessional.
The church was desert, there was nothing moving, in that dim light illuminated by candles. He went out, stretching his legs and adjusting the dress, without losing sight of the church entry. So he checked the two secondary outputs, one of them next to the confessional, but both were closed with a key.
Always more confused, he controlled again the church, every possible hideout, but there was no trace of the sinner.
He felt a strange sensation, in front of the entrance door, he wanted to close it.
He came back, adjusted candles opposite from the portrait of Saint Clare, then he crossed the church and he knelt in front of statue of Saint Francis. He was his favorite saint, because he had always tried to characterize existence according to his teachings. Then Anselm crossed the central nave, looking around him.
He stood in front of the altar, exactly in front of the wooden statue of Jesus executed on the cross. The Father feel another shiver, recalling the strange visit he had received. He had a bad presentiment and he was sure he would still meet his sinner.
“Hurry! The Mass will begin in an hour!”
The workmen were used to be scolded and they did not answer to the priest. The workmen continued to bolt the new benches.
Father Anselm looking around him, content. His church was getting better and more beautiful. The Lord would have been happy. The building was in the neighborhood for ten years already and the early times had been difficult. Then Father Anselm had just a big room available, which in the past was a gym, but thanks to generosity of the locals the church was improved, after many days.
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