fiction
Diary of a Sociopathic Vicar – Part 54
This group had come together by various routes, but it all amounted to the same thing. People would far rather believe an easy lie than a difficult truth. The easy lie is that by meaningless rituals taken from imaginary legends you can achieve wealth and power, presumably with a generous side-helping of carnal fulfilment. The difficult truth is faith, which means long hours, hard work, minimal pay, and church council meetings for promises that - let us be honest - don’t really kick in until after you’re dead.
I pulled my cloak more firmly around me – it was Christmas in just under two weeks, and the wind had an edge to it. “Tell me about your difficulties,” I said.
“Graham has murdered everyone. I’m the only one left.”
“Are there any of his cabal left?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“No. Graham is the only one of his “True Sons of Jesus Lemurian” remaining. We struck against the heretics most effectively.”
I wasn’t quite sure how an adherent to a heretical cult could be branded as a heretic by their fellow heretics. Neither was it clear who had started the violence – not that I was particularly interested. They were reduced to two – Graham and Martin.
“What do you need from me?”
Martin glanced around to make sure no one was listening. Psycho was pointing in our direction, and gabbling to Al and Porker, but they dragged him off. There was no one to eavesdrop.
“Do you know what the Winter Solstice is?”
“Yes. The shortest day of the year. December the twenty-first.”
“From the documents you procured and the artefacts I have located, there is a secret to be discovered.”
“How will you learn this secret?” I asked. One of the more tedious things about these people was that I had to continually ask them questions when I knew the answers. I’d set up this entire scenario, but it was necessary to draw it out of him. Cultists, like conspiracy theorists need to believe that they have discovered things for themselves. Somehow, it makes it more real to them.
“If I stand on the Minster tower at six of the clock, on the eve of the Winter Solstice, and focus the artefact to the North, then I will learn the location of the Final Secret, the Final Testament of Jesus of Lemuria.”
“What do you need of me?”
“Somehow, Graham has also gleaned this information. We must ensure he doesn’t discover the Secret. You must guard against this possibility. You must assist me on the Minster Tower, and perhaps beyond.”
“I will be there,” I said.
“Stout chap,” he replied. He clapped me on the shoulder, and walked back to his car.
I watched him depart, and then returned to clearing up after the service.
The following Friday was the school Nativity play. I have mixed feelings about these, as often they seem to be more about ticking a box than celebrating the season. Bought the turkey? Tick. Put up the Christmas tree? Tick. School Nativity play? Tick. Still, the head teacher had asked me to take part, and as we were using the school for church services until the church had been rebuilt, it was only polite to help out.
I entered the school to the sound of Christmas hits being played on the PA.
“Good afternoon, David,” said Geraldine Simmons, the head teacher.
“Good afternoon. I must say, the children’s decorations are wonderful.”
“Thank you, I will pass that on. Have you heard this song on the radio? Apparently, the singer is local. The children love it.”
She referred to the music on the PA.
“Yes, indeed,” I replied. “It’s called, “Snow”, and the singer and the writer will be at the church carol service and foundation stone laying on Christmas Eve.”
“Really?” she asked, looking suitably impressed.
“Oh yes. Al and Danni will both be there, and there’s a camera team coming.”
“How did that happen?”
“Luck. Both are experienced musicians, based in the parish. Al ended up playing piano for the services after our organist broke her wrists. When he heard about the foundation stone laying ceremony for the new church, he offered to arrange it being recorded for posterity.”
“How are the preparations for the stone laying? They seem very busy at the site?”
Geraldine’s interest was more than simple courtesy. Since I had unfortunately been forced to burn down the old church in order to claim the insurance, she was to lay a foundation stone on behalf of the school. Simple recognition for the assistance the school had given us, but it meant that her name would be remembered for generations.
“They are busy, but I’m assured we will be ready on time. Are you bringing some of the children with you?”
“Oh yes, you’ll hear the song they’ll be singing shortly.”
Pleasantries over, we turned to business. I can only say that Geraldine ran a good nativity play. Very traditional, complete with shepherds wearing tea-towels, and finishing with “Away in a Manger”. The song the children would be doing at the church was all that you could hope for – rather jolly, sung with more enthusiasm than skill, and slightly theologically dodgy. At the end, I was invited to say a few words. I congratulated everyone in sight on such a wonderful presentation, led people in a prayer suitable for the occasion, and wished them a Happy Christmas.
At the end of the formal part of the evening, I circulated amongst the parents, generally chatting. I bumped into Mike and Marina, with little Jessica in a pushchair, and their daughter Lucy looking bored.
“Not playing Mary, this year, Lucy?” I asked.
“No,” she said, “You have to be Year 6 to be in the play.”
“Still,” said Marina, “She sang very nicely in choir.”
“Definitely,” I agreed.
“She joined the school a little late to do much else,” added Mike.
“Well, I’m sure next year will be different,” I said, moving on.
Eventually, everyone left with over-excited children in tow, satisfied they had ticked off another seasonal box.
The season proceeded as expected until the following Tuesday. The Sunday service was a Christingle service, which is always popular, and brought in plenty of families. I had spent the afternoon with my fiancée Mabel, and June, the Parish Evangelism Officer, wrapping oranges in red crepe paper, and sticking candles and cocktail sticks with jelly tots into the oranges. During the service, the first thing the children did once the Christingles were lit was to toast the jelly tots over the candles. As people were leaving, Al played “Snow”, causing a debate as to whether his performance was better than the official single. I held a carol service that evening at the local retirement home and did more routine vicaring.
Then it was Tuesday afternoon, the Winter Solstice, and Graham Walters was calling for me, to go to the Minster. When Martin had asked for my assistance this night, he hadn’t offered me a lift – Graham had, which was useful. I didn’t want to have my car seen at the Minster, in case anything went wrong, and I didn’t fancy catching the train. This was the culmination of my plan to dismember the Sons of Jesus Lemurian, True or otherwise. Please note that I am talking about the cult with regards to dismemberment, not the individual members. They seem happy to do that part of the job themselves.
I suppose some might have been nervous, but I’m not very good at being nervous. I anticipated that there would be some surprises, but I was confident that I am flexible enough to handle it.
Hence I had set the time for the festivities as six pm.
This would allow enough time to complete the destruction of the secret society, and still be home for a cup of hot chocolate before bed. It is a busy time of year for a vicar, so it is important to get to bed on time.
When I opened the door to Graham, it was clear that he wasn’t as sanguine as me.
“Hello, David,” he said, “Are you ready for the ultimate revelation of divinity?”
Disclaimer: Rev. David Wilson’s opinion that it is necessary to permit cult members the illusion that they are discovering everything for themselves is surely incorrect. He would save everyone considerable time and effort if he were to simply explain to them the error of their ways.
A map of Sutley may be found here:
https://kevinwoodauthor.com/SutleyMap.htm