Pastor's Daughter Novels & Stories

His nine-year-old son. His hand trembled as he hit play. The video opened on a wide shot of the megachurch's auditorium, thousands of faces turned toward the stage. The pastor, a boisterous-voiced, kind-faced man, was preaching about the "forces that seek to tear the family asunder." Then he introduced "a woman of tremendous strength, and her courageous son, who has a story to tell."

I quickly gathered up my things as I saw the pastor moving out. “Sir!” I called out. He turned towards me. “Sir! Good day, sir,” I greeted. He smiled at me and all my fears seemed to evaporate. “My daughter, how are you and what may I do for you?” He motioned me to seat at the nearest chair as he sat opposite me. I noticed a guard was waiting on him. “I am sorry to intrude or more correctly delay you from your busy schedule.” I started. He smiled at me. “Don’t say so sister. There is no schedule that's as important as listening tGod's people.” He spoke.

They're basically begging to be broken, especially by someone like me who was dying for a taste of real life. I'm Hannah Thompson, the preacher's daughter, twenty and fresh out of my first year at Bible college. My hair is always in a neat braid, dresses that screamed "modest" with no cleavage showing and outfits that stopped way below the knee. The other kids idolized me. The adults used me as the perfect example, whispering about how I would end up as a missionary or married to some boring youth pastor. And the boys? Oh, I was the centre of their fantasy. It was obvious from the way they looked at me, wondering what laid beneath my modest outfits.

My father beamed every single time someone reminded him how deeply grounded his daughter was in the faith. If any of those hypocrites could hear the dirty, desperate thoughts hammering inside my head while the opening hymn dragged on, they’d have dragged me straight out of the pews and called an exorcist. While the choir droned on, my thoughts were a complete gutter of hot, unholy obsession. I wasn’t listening to the lyrics. My eyes were locked on the raised wooden platform where Pastor Timothy sat, radiating an untouchable, heavy authority.

"Life happens." His brow arched. "But why the secrecy? No one knows what the President’s daughter looks like." Lydia’s expression darkened. "You must have heard about the tragedy ten years ago, right? My father had four children. One was poisoned, another died in an accident, and the youngest was kidnapped. Her body washed up on the beach." Rowan exhaled sharply. "That's... horrific." Lydia nodded "All within a year." His fingers tightened around his glass. "How did you survive?"

Pastor Daniels stepped forward, wiping sweat from his bald head with a trembling hand. “This is what sin looks like when you feed it, Mrs. Hartley,” he said. “Lust made flesh. Circuits of temptation.” Her mother nodded, voice cracking with fury and grief. “She used to lead youth choir,” she said to no one. “She was pure. My Layla was pure.” “We can still save her,” the pastor said, voice rising. “With prayer and cleansing. The demon is the machine.” “It’s not a demon!” Layla screamed. “It’s mine!”

" Your words suggest that there is someone behind the whole setup and when I think about questioning it my pain increases due to nervousness and tension and I can't hide it. "I am your daughter!' I cry out, feeling the liquid wet my legs. "Yes, and that's why you're going to keep your mouth shut." Say, impersonal. My vision blurs and I feel my temperature drop, leaving my hands sweaty and cold. "What's wrong with you?" Dad asks, looking fatherly for the first time. "I am not feeling well." Is all I can say before I hit the ground, feeling my consciousness slip away and all I hear before passing out is Peter's voice screaming in alarm.

A procession of somber figures in black filed in. At the forefront was a woman with silver-streaked hair, clutching a photo in a black frame. The girl in the picture beamed, her smile as bright as Evelyn's. "My daughter, Melody Rogers, was Frank's student, too," the woman's voice broke. "He conned her into stealing my credit card and transferring him thirty-four thousand five hundred bucks. Once he had the money, he dumped her. Overwhelmed, she jumped from a building last year. She was just nineteen."

I asked her: “Do you live here?” She was nervous and the look on her face could tell. “Do you live here alone?” “No. I live with my father”she said after a minute of silent. She opened the door and came down from the car. “Thank you ma” “Your welcome”I said and drove off. “Mom, I really pity this girl”Helen said after turning back severally. “Me too. How can a young girl be living in a house that is unkept. Just look at the roof. I really imagine how they will survive during the heavy rainstorm”

"Who dares cause trouble at my daughter's birthday party?!" Jess looked as if she had seen a savior and immediately rushed toward him, crying. "Aaron! You're finally back! This bitch hit us! Save us!" Clarisse cried out as well, "Daddy! This bad woman bullied Mommy and me! Punish her and that illegitimate child!" Under everyone's gaze, Aaron slowly turned his head, and his eyes locked onto me.