Heed His Warnings

By Citlali Meritxell Diaz

To: Father Enrique, Head of the Zenzontla Church, Jalisco
From: Father Tizoc, former Head of the Zenzontla Church, Jalisco
Sent from: Puente Grande Prison, Jalisco

I do not know why I am writing you this letter, Father Enrique, you likely will not even read it, but I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t try to warn you. No doubt you are alarmed to receive correspondence from me given everything that has transpired, as well as my promise to keep the church out of my “immoral and ungodly mouth.” I vow by our gracious Lord that I shall uphold my promise, after I have given you warning. One that you must guarantee to heed.

Have you ever wondered why a meager village in the middle of nowhere Jalisco has such a magnificent church? A church comprised of breathtaking stone walls, each with intricate carved patterns too complicated for the eye to follow. A church grandeur enough to merit tourists from all over the globe yet scarcely has a pathetic number of churchgoers from its own town. Why is that?

There is certainly enough room. The pews stretch endlessly from the immense wooden doors to where the sun shines through colossal stained-glass windows behind the altar table which holds the sacred blood. The wine always seems a deeper red than it should be. Isn’t that right Father? Oozing thicker than it should be, with a hint of something foul and putrid permeating from it.

No doubt you will think I’m mad as you begin to read this. “The guilt and repent has finally gotten to him,” you presume. I assure you that my mind has never been clearer. The towering stone columns would trap me in their climb. They would hold me in their arches that snaked up to the curving ceiling, miles and miles above my stretching fingertips. But here, the stone walls that cage me are less entrapping. At times, they simply seem like stone walls, and I can convince myself that I am truly alone.

However cruel of a man you think me, I am not. I know that those stone walls, that tainted church of God, still hold you, and as the new Head of the Zenzontla Church, they will be wanting you. So, I have sent you this warning and soon enough you will see that I am not mad. But you will think that you are, that what you are seeing is from a rotting brain. Believe me, that is not so. The only thing that is rotten is what you will be trying to keep from reaching us.

As you know, before the incident which occurred, I had served our Lord and Savior as the Father in charge for over half a decade. Initially, I was naive, believing that all churches were pure and blessed by His holy name. I had no idea what I was getting into. I can’t be certain if other churches are this way because as unorthodox as it is, I had never been moved from this location. So, there I stayed and slowly, slowly, I learned. I will share with you what I painstakingly learned, so that you may not suffer as I did. So that you may protect yourself and those who seek foolish refuge in that church. And so that those God forsaken creatures never see God’s light of day.

These are my warnings:

1. Do not intertwine your hands when praying.
   
   No matter where, or with who, keep your palms flat against one another. And make sure that they are always facing upwards. During long prayers it will be tiring to keep your hands stiff against your chest and your fingers tight against each other. But if you do not do so, believe me that you will begin to catch your fingers loosening. Before you know it, the pads of your fingers will no longer be against each other. Without your notice or your thoughts, your fingers will begin to bend downwards to sit lightly against your knuckles. You will continue to mutter your prayers, unaware, while your fingers tighten in blotchy redness, bruising your bones. When you’ve reached this position, still without your knowledge, you are no longer praying to God.
   
   I pray that you realize it before it is too late, for the longer you pray with intertwined hands, the more powerful your summons of a creature that is certainly not God.
2. If you close your eyes at any point during a prayer, keep them closed.
   
   Keep them tightly shut. Squeeze your eyes if you must. Do not open them for even a flutter. I assure you that if you do, you will see figures in the room during that quick opening of an eyelid. All it takes is for you to falter in your words for a fraction of a second. And those demonic creatures will appear wretchedly in front of you. No prayer can help you then.
   
   Even if you do manage to maintain steady in your prayer, if you try to close your eyes again, you will see them behind your eyelids. They will be a darker black than you ever thought possible with closed eyes. You will open and shut your eyes in quick succession, seeing them stand with their impossible sharp fingers and arms and legs that are simply too long. At one flutter they will be in your mind and in the other right in front of you, like a dance between the light and dark of your blinks.
   
   They are waiting for a slip of a word, an unheeded pause, for an indrawn breath at their smile that is so wide it cuts into their cheeks, reaching to their malformed ears. It is a smile that will haunt you, one that you will see every time you close your eyes once you’ve seen it.
   
   If you wish to avoid it, pray with your eyes open. And if you have caught yourself having closed your eyes, keep them shut.
3. If you begin your prayers by saying them out loud, continue to do so until you are done. Until the final amen.
   
   It does not matter if you are enunciating your words loudly to the echoing rooms or merely whispering to yourself, continue to do so. Do not suddenly shift to praying inside your mind, as some are accustomed to do when they are alone, because the murmurs coming from around you will not stop. When you pray out loud you will hear muttering, murmurs, and raspy throat scratching whispers that are not coming from the people around you and will vibrate loudly when you are alone.
   
   Do not pay them any mind. Do not try to hear what they are saying. Focus on your holy words until you are done. Quitting your prayer will not stop those impious murmurs coming from a throat that is certainly not human. In fact, if you fail to complete a vocal prayer, their muttering will not cease. You will continue to hear them. Soon after that comes being able to see them.
4. When you kneel to pray, always make sure you are doing so in front of something.
   
   A pew. A bed. A desk. A tree. Anything. Let there not be an empty space in front of you, whether it is the space of your room or God forbid, the outdoors. Rest your elbows firmly against the hardwood of a pew or against the soft mattress of where you rest. Plant your knees right at the base of a tree, even if the knobby roots dig in and leave bruises on your sore bones. If you pray under a grand cross, always be in its center and in its shadow if you can, close enough to reach out a hand to touch it if necessary. Always be close enough to touch what you are kneeling in front of.
   
   If you do not have something to tether you during your prayers, you will not be kneeling and praying for God. And what is listening will not let you back up.
5. Always stay within the candles’ light.
   
   he church has not been modernized much. In many rooms and within its surroundings, candles are still the main source of light. This is true most especially in the grand space where mass is held, in which a myriad of candles will always be found on every stone wall leading up to the altar. Always stay within the light of at least one candle.
   
   I advise you to always keep a candle and matches on you, for candles will be blown out as the time to sleep approaches. Carry the candle with you, never set it down. Perhaps you will set it down and think to yourself, “Ah, the book or clothing I seek is only but a few feet away, leaving the candle on the table will offer enough light.” That is how it will appear, until suddenly the halo of visibility from the candle is much smaller than expected.
   
   Suddenly you will find yourself in a pure suffocating dark and the candle you left on a table but a few steps away is now the smallest blink of light impossibly far away. You will begin a brisk walk to it. Then a trot. Then a run as the footsteps begin to close in on you and there is warm breathing down your neck, smelling putrid and sweet. You will run and run, and the candle will only seem to get further away. You will run and run, feeling your lungs heaving and your sweat dripping down your back. Your heart will cramp in your chest and sharp fingers will begin to brush your clothing in their reaches to grasp onto you as you slow down.
   
   Stay within a candle’s light because dawn may not come quick enough to save you.
6. Never stand under the grand dome even if it is compelling you to do so.
   
   Over the altar of the church there is an enormous dome that stretches upwards. It has windows of stained glass that cover its base all the way to its heavenly point. There are patterns in the stone between the windowpanes, catching the viewer’s eyes straight up.
   
   If ever that grandeur dome compels you, calls to you, to stand right under it, do not listen. At the first inkling of that pull towards that center, turn around and walk away. Shut the heavy oak doors tight behind you and walk until the desire to return to the dome has completely disappeared. You may believe that it is your own volition, your own wish to simply admire its beauty and detail. It is not. Do not let them fool you into thinking so.
   
   If you give in, it does not stop there. You will be compelled to shed your blood for God, to slit your wrist under the center center dome that feels meant to hold the space of your blood. The blood will drip down your wrist to your fingers, silently falling onto the holy tile. You will kneel in that loving blood, wiping it over your face, dipping your rosary in it, and finally praying in its pool. You will feel the oneness in that prayer, feel the understanding that fills that final offering to God with euphoria. You will believe that you will meet God in the spill of your blood, that there is God in the shedding of blood – in your crimson shining blood, given solely to Him.

7. Do not go under the evening light of the stained-glass windows.
   
   Those windows always fascinated me, and I’m sure the scenery they are meant to depict has also caught your attention more than once. They stretch along the wall behind the altar all the way up to the far ceiling. Hours at a time I would sit on one of the smooth wooden pews that were soft and cool to the touch. Sometimes I would even kneel on one of the kneelers that always seemed to make such a loud clang no matter how softly you set it down on the stone floor. I would sink into that deep burgundy velvet and watch the day’s light move across the windows.
   
   The stained glass finds its beauty in its many colors, all vibrant with the sun’s rays behind them. With the stained-glass windows facing west, the setting sun should have littered the colors across the floor. But when the sun touches the horizon, it does not matter the hues of blue, yellow, and green that make up the church windows, the light that hits the altar is always tinted red.
   
   Once I ran my hands under that strange evening light. I watched my skin turn a bright blood red. Incredulous, I stared at it, slowly moving my fingers, playing with that tint. Until it started dripping. Red droplets hit the floor, splattering with an echo that bounced off the cold walls. I ran.
   
   I have never dared to touch that red stained light again. There is nothing as nauseating as feeling your own blood drip out of you, with no cuts to spill it, but still draining from inside you and leaving your skin and empty sack. It is better to simply watch the light from afar.

8. Do not look too closely at the statues that line the edges of the stone walls.They are of a beautiful bright white stone, contrasting sharply with the dark gray of the walls. They are intricately carved with thin veins appearing delicate in the knuckles or the streaks of tears shining on the face of Mary. So incredibly life like. It’s not uncommon to see visitors running their hands along the smooth white stone, if only to remind themselves that they are just statues.
   
   They are of a beautiful bright white stone, contrasting sharply with the dark gray of the walls. They are intricately carved with thin veins appearing delicate in the knuckles or the streaks of tears shining on the face of Mary. So incredibly life like. It’s not uncommon to see visitors running their hands along the smooth white stone, if only to remind themselves that they are just statues.
   
   The artist of the statues is unknown, but their beauty is enough that you never forget about them, even after a decade of working in that church. Certainly, you never miss them. Even if you are keeping your head straight ahead, they will always be bright in your peripheral vision. Keep them there, only at the edges of your vision. It is only when you look directly at them then turn away that they are no longer statues.
   
   If you try to take in the details too closely, gaze at the statues for too long, when you finally revert your gaze, they will have been awakened. A small movement will catch your eye, but you will tell yourself that it is just your vision, no longer what it once was.
   
   Huh, but did the statue always look like that? Were the fingers always in that position? And since when did the fingertips become so pointed?
   
   After staring at it, trying to answer your own questions, you will turn away, perhaps even walk away. But there it is again. You turn back. “No,” you will tell yourself, “The statue couldn’t have moved, it’s just a statue.” But you know that its position has altered. You know that the smile is suddenly wider. Too wide.
   
   You will turn to the other statues, now paranoid, looking at each of them for too long. When you turn to the next, the previous one will move and the one your eyes just left will twitch in place. Suddenly you spin circles around yourself trying to keep an eye on each because when your gaze leaves the one with the arms that are far too long to watch the one with a chin that is just too sharp, the statues behind you will take another step.
   
   You will turn to the other statues, now paranoid, looking at each of them for too long. When you turn to the next, the previous one will move and the one your eyes just left will twitch in place. Suddenly you spin circles around yourself trying to keep an eye on each because when your gaze leaves the one with the arms that are far too long to watch the one with a chin that is just too sharp, the statues behind you will take another step.
   
   Look down at the floor and pray that when you next look up, they are back where they are supposed to be. Next time, keep your eyes on the altar.

9. Do not touch the leather-bound antique Bible from 3 am to 5 am.
   
   It is not unusual to find visiting Fathers wandering the church or the gardens around it at odd hours of the night. God calls at untimely hours and we must heed that call. But if it is the Bible on the altar table that is calling you, make your way as far from it as you can.
   
   From 3 am to 5 am is when the mutterings will be loudest, when the figures and statues are starkest, and when you are compelled with the strongest pull. Only recently did I learn that it is also when that old Bible that never leaves its spot on the altar will seem to whisper to you. I had been wary about everything else and not knowing what those pages held inside that leather cover between those hours of the night, I assumed I was simply curious with my own will.
   
   The dark leather, being so old, was soft to my touch. The golden words in its center gleamed with my candlelight. I opened it randomly, and began to read aloud, thinking I simply read a lucky scripture I had landed on. The words blended into each other. The ink bled from each letter and onto my fingers locked into their grip. I read on. I don’t think the sounds coming from my throat were my own. I don’t think they were human. And the words were definitely not from any scripture.
   
   I think we are all lucky that countless years of training myself from those godless creatures awakened me. They appeared at the corners of my vision as I read and read from that morphed Bible. I could not stop, and the need to pull my head back, to expose my throat and utter those words to the heavens rolled my eyes into their sockets. In a fleeting second of free will, I swiveled my gaze to the creatures that were now abominably close. That broke me out of it. The years of learned instinct to repulse from them.
   
   I sank to the floor, vomit spilling from my corrupted throat, my muscles spasming and twitching as I grasped for the rosary that had begun to tighten around my throat. I heaved and gasped, filling the silence that longed for those infernal chants.

10. Kill any creature that has become solid.
    
    If you do not take these cautions, you are bringing something despicable into our world. Those things, those creatures, or devils or demons or whatever you would like to call them, they skirt the edges of our world, toying with us, compelling us to bring them forth. Sometimes, for moments at a time, we do. Though usually it is enough to step away, to keep our eyes closed, our palms pressed, to send them back. However, we are but human after all, and we are not always so lucky.
    
    If given enough power, those creatures will become solid. No longer dark and blurred at the edges. No longer waiting for you to glance away or step into the dark. They will be in your domain, and it will be your responsibility to get rid of them, for didn’t you let them in, after all. Besides, sometimes, no matter how inhuman they appear to you, others will mistake them as just another churchgoer, as just another Father perhaps new with eyes a tad too pale.
    
    But they are attached to you, waiting to get you. I have never let them.
    
    You must plan it out carefully, marking your time with precision. Wait until the time is right, then begin to pray. Slowly, begin to intertwine your fingers, it needn’t be a lot. Those creatures are always hungry. It will not take a lot to call them directly to you.
    
    When the thing is finally upon you, spring on it, with a sharp weapon in hand. I know what you are thinking, and no, no chant or scripture in Latin will send them back. Believe me, I have tried more than once.
    
    Blood will stream from where you puncture it, much more than seems possible, but do not stop. Go far past the point where it feels ridiculous to continue to stab a motionless thing.
    
    Now, for the dismembering. Do not think it dead simply because it has ceased moving. It will return. There is only one thing you can do to prevent this: cut the creature to pieces. Cut until the pieces fit in your hand. Slice the rotting meat from the gray bones and thin it into slivers. Then take every piece and burn it until not even the bones remain. Collect what you can of the ashes and bury it deep under a great cross. If the dirt begins to crack over where you buried the ashes. Pour more dirt atop. Ignore any of the murmurs this graveyard echoes with.

This seems a cruel thing Father Enrique, until you are forced to do it. You will know that those creatures suddenly wandering your church are not human, even if to police investigators the hacked body pieces seem convincingly mortal.

Based on the details I have provided, it must be obvious that I have had experience with killing one of them. The severed body I stood over in the backroom was not my first, and it would not have been my last if we had not had the unexpected visit from the neighboring covenant.

I was still dealing with my encounter with the leather Bible, more specifically, with the creature I had given enough power to become solid. A nun had become lost, from what I’ve heard, and somehow in her confusion, she made her way to me. Though I wonder if certain murmurs did not compel her to where I worked.

Her terrified shrieks did not go unheard. Other nuns and Fathers were quick to leap out of bed and follow her screams. She had run down the corridor before I could do anything, and she was kind enough to point everyone to me.

You can share this letter with the police if you wish, as evidence that there has been more than one “murder.” But that will not do you any good, nor do me any more harm. The murmurs can still find me here if I am not careful. From those whispers, I am beginning to think that I may be missed back at home.

But that will not stop me from praying every night, to our heavenly Father, that you will listen to my advisor. I hope I am not indulging in pride when I say that I have done a good job in keeping the Zenzontla Church a house of God, so I cannot say what will occur if hell is unleashed. I say that metaphorically, though I fear that it might be literal as well. I have no doubt that harm will not only come to you but to others as well. And I cannot say how far it can spread.

May God bless you Father Enrique, and may you heed His warnings.

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