Creepy Priest の小説・ストーリー

Kyra is his obsession, his punishment, and his prey. Steven Blackwood doesn’t love he dominates, he torments, he claims. Resistance brings pain; surrender brings chaos. Trapped in his mansion, surrounded by fear, jealousy, and the shadowed eyes of those who serve him, she must navigate a world where innocence is weakness and temptation is unavoidable. Every moment in his grasp threatens to break her, and survival is not escape, it is submission to a man who bends desire and fear into a power only he understands. In the hands of a devil who refuses to be denied, she may lose everything…even herself.

Hadn't let himself. The priest came out of the sacristy as they were closing the door behind them. He was old, older than Alex expected, with white hair and hands that trembled just slightly when he moved. His cassock was worn, the fabric thin at the elbows, the hem frayed. But his eyes—his eyes were sharp. The kind of sharp that came from years of watching, of listening, of seeing things other people tried to hide. He stopped when he saw them. His eyes moved from Vincenzo to Alex's mother to Alex, and something in his face shifted. Something that looked like recognition.

Serra's POV I waited and waited for the old priest to show his self before me. As he appears from the doors, I plaster a smile to welcome him, his eyes wide like of his servants. "Clairra," he called. No matter how much I recall there was nothing significant about him other than the pressure he put Clairra through, sending her happily to her death. "Old priest, Heliu," I greeted. "I believe you have not heard of it yet... my name is not Clairra. I am Serra, the new Priestess of the East."

“Mine dropped off when the squealing started. Good grief, do you think they are afraid of the creature that is making the squealing sound? If so, that must be one freaky creature. Whatever it is, judging from its squealing, I think it’s coming closer to us in the passageway.” A flaming torch appeared at the end of the passage. The tall bearer of the torch led a procession, pulling a heavy wooden sled that made the horrid squealing against the concrete. The torch kept flickering off and on as the procession grew and members of the procession were wearing ancient Egyptian clothing, they moaned as if in a funeral cortege. They stopped several units away from the Asplundhs’ to perform a ritual,

he growled. I gathered my distorted self and stepped onto the altar. The priest stood like a statue, watching me. There was a large Bible in his hands. The golden candlelight flickered over his calm face, but nothing softened the horror of what was happening. My feet felt heavy like slabs of stone, my stance unstable as Caesar held me firm before him. "You may begin," he told the priest. The priest nodded once.

He kept at it until daylight broke, but found nothing. Although his efforts seemed fruitless, Chase had already sensed that the secret underground was not far away. As expected, the real estate company came to sign the demolition agreement with Flynn the next day. Flynn was quite satisfied with the compensation offered. However, trouble soon followed. That same afternoon, Bald showed up again, this time accompanied by an old priest in traditional attire. Seeing the real estate company involved with an old priest gave Flynn an uneasy feeling. This old priest had to be the so-called Master Leroy they had mentioned, the very old Coven Voodoo priest his grandfather had warned about. It was likel

Twice, the child refused to die. The Temple groaned. Glyphs reversed themselves. Sigils bled black. “The sign of life has flipped,” the senior priestess muttered, and the others crossed themselves in fear. Still, they prepared the knives. “If the body won’t listen,” the High Matron growled, “we’ll carve the heresy out ourselves.” The surgical tools gleamed — silver, sterile, merciless. I stayed in the shadow of the curtain, nameless and unseen, my hands knotted in my robe. I wasn’t supposed to speak. I wasn’t supposed to feel. But I’d heard her in her sleep, murmuring the same word like a prayer:

“Two men come where de swamp still remember. One wid steel on his back. One wid smoke in his mouth. Both wid fear dey try to hide.” Kofi’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing. Gideon bristled. “We came for answers. Not games.” The priestess only laughed, a low, rattling sound that set the chicken tied on her altar thrashing. She lifted a blade and slit its throat without ceremony, catching the blood in a carved bowl. The scent of iron filled the air as she smeared her brow, muttering a prayer. Then she pulled out a battered deck of cards, slick with age and strange symbols scrawled across the backs.

Knowing what I know now, I feel like it was obvious and I was a bit stupid for not realizing earlier how materialistic our dear priest was, I mean when he climbed into my car that night, his cologne filled the entire car, and it was an expensive cologne. His entire outfit from that night was expensive, the car he wanted from the dealership was crazy expensive. It was odd that a priest was materialistic, but that was fine, I was lucky to have an abundance of materials, and it would make the perfect bait.

People that have sworn to remain virgins or celibates for the rest of their lives. Immediately I see them, I feel my body tingle with excitement. Fuck this is not right. I’m here for deliverance not these stupid feelings I’ve been having all week but then they even look better than the photo I saw of them. Shit, shit, shit. They continued to walk closer and I finally got to fully see their faces and features. The first man or should I say priest was younger. Maybe in his twenties with dark brown curly hair like a bouquet of scattered flowers and eyes the color of hazel. Father Leonard.