Beneath The Altar
The fruit juice drips momentarily beneath the alter filling the crevices and corner, while the sound of impatient traffic rolls down the street honking horns and disrupting the peace. A strange sound starts rumbling in the ground and a young woman emerge gasping for breath and a promiscuous ritual begins with a familiar rhythm.
He sits quietly beneath the altar licking up the slime and rolling the dice and sharpening his tool for the human sacrifice. Nobody knows that he lives down there he has been living there for more than twenty years; he comes out at night, play with the girls and fondle their “delights”.
Everyone has an appointment to meet with him, and the appointment begins with the smoking of weed and sniffing white substance in the nostrils and a reading from the holy bible.
He lifts the young woman and stretches her out on the alter and slowly removed her clothing until she was naked, then jump up three times in the year, and shout, glory; amen Hallelujah, Jesus is here. He sang a woeful hymn and said that he is conducting sexual healing, to purge the woman of her sins, and this is where the story begins.
On a cold winter night, he drove from work and stopped by the go, go club and flirt with the young girls on the dance floor and then take them to the motel next door and stole their virginity, while his wife struggle with four children at home repeating bible verse and telling them about heaven. He has been living a promiscuous life since he gave his life to Christ, his passion runs very deep, and he cannot keep steady on his feet.
His wife and children love him to death, and they had everything and were not in want of anything. He was a businessman and an affluent pastor in the town, when he left the club at nights he would stop by the church and arrange things for weekly gathering, Sunday sermon and Holy Communion. His pimps take him home and he had spies all over the town.
He was all set, and he had no reason to fret, he built a two-story basement underground and nobody knows that it was there except for the people that build it, and when he was too drunk to go home, he would spend the night sleeping in his basement throne. He had more than ten clients a day and he keep in touch with them so that they don’t go astray.
Thing was about to get rough, and his secret was about to be exposed when he brought the bible study crew to the church. His pimps gave him twenty girls for the night and the bible study turned into a sexual ritual and grievous fight. He laced the girl’s drinks with drugs and the girls were beyond themselves.
He dragged them into the basement and man-handle all of them, he went into a rage and shove them out the door and kept four of them in the basement. He bound their hands mouth and feet and went to sleep. And just before the break of dawn he crawled home and change his cloths and see the children off to school and hugged his wife as if nothing had happed and the bible study was his main alibi.
Just before he leaves home the police siren came running down the road more, than a hundred cops surround his home and blue lights were flashing all around.
“You are under “arrest pastors”. your wife will get you a good Lawyer. He looked at the person and the voice were familiar; it was his best friend and popular cop in the town. He handcuffed him and took him to the station.
His wife was shocked and had no clue what was going on. She took a separate car and drove to the station, the cop was everywhere, and sinners gathered far and near, the church was surrounded, and the girls were unbounded, and the ambulance took them to the hospital in the town.
The Go, Go clubs was under siege and the boxes were, moving with the breeze it was a sting operation organized under the clock and the goodly Christian Pastor that was supposed to nurture the flock was charged with murder, drug trafficking, human trafficking, rape, promiscuous behavior and excessive use of alcohol. And so, a simple indulgence and uncontrolled passion exposed the lives of the promiscuous pastor and his operation beneath the Holy alter.
Copyright ©
Christine Phillips
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