Recently a figure has been looming over my services, sitting in the crowd, I’m unable to tell who it is. But I can feel eyes, more than the normal amount of people watching me as I speak and preach my craft. This wicked, piercing glare envelopes me and sets an wave of unpleasant enmity over the church. It’s been happening for weeks now, every Sunday this odd occurrence reappears and plagues the church.

Though I feel a rigid nervousness straining my body I continue on to the confessional booth. I only see one person waiting and I walk towards my door of the booth.

“Enter my child.”

I say in a soothing tone, hiding my nerves under my professional demeanor. I enter the booth and I sit down, they get into their side and sit down. I glance through the partition and I can see the shadow of their figure.

“May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in his mercy.”

I nod my head and wait for them to say the complimentary “amen” that is excepted, when I hear it I rest my hands on my lap and look forward as the darkly painted wood of the door in front of me, the grains getting weathered from age.

“Now please, tell me what troubles you, my child.”

I say softly, not knowing that opposite me from me, is in fact the looming presence over my soul. My eyes flicker over then I can feel it again, that overwhelming sense of dread. Much stronger than before, because as I glance over to the partition my eyes widen and my throat runs dry.