“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been six months since my last confession,” Jake Stringer started. He couldn’t help but fidget in the tiny space.
The groundskeeper groaned as he put on his work boots.
“What have you done?”
“I stole the most valuable thing any person can own and I don’t want to give it back,” he answered. His right leg began to twitch as the thought of what he stole entered his mind.
He gripped a shovel firmly with each swing he took into the dirt.
“Why don’t you want to return it?”
“Why? Don’t you even want to know what it is first?” Jake begged, pleaded. He wanted someone to know; anyone. This wasn’t his first time and he knew it wouldn’t be his last.
He stopped shoveling as a mound of dirt where it shouldn’t be got his attention.
“No, son, you appear to already know what you’ve done wrong. I want to know what’s stopping you from doing right?”
Jakes voice broke as he continued. “The voices in my head. They tell me to do things. I tried to get help Father, but no one will listen. I can’t escape the voices. I can’t.”
The groundskeeper looked inside the dug up grave and saw an open coffin with a headless corpse.
“What are they telling you to do?”
Jake pulled a machete from his jacket. “You don’t want to know.”
The shovel fell from the groundskeeper’s hand as he ran towards the church.