Page 9 of Beneath the Dirt

“Araceli, please.” Frida’s hand reaches for my wrist. Stopping me from moving, forcing my attention to her cold and dark stare. “If you insist on going, I can’t stop you, but make sure you wearyour necklace.” She lets go of my hand and points to my pentagram. “It’ll protect you.”

“I know.” I nod in agreement, bringing my attention back to the door. My hand now on the padlock, flipping it first before moving to the handle to open it.

I look at the tripping hazard of steps before me. “I know the door got me, but my high has settled. I think I can manage the steps even though they are a death trap. You really should get them fixed,” I joke.

“¡Ten cuidado!” she calls out.

“I know, I will!” I shout as I shut the door behind me, knowing that she is referring to Heathen’s Cross. Her warning, though creepy as hell, only makes me want to go more, so I can experience it for myself.

Hurrying my stride over to the church, dread seeps within my gut the closer I get. I hate it there. I hate how everything in that collection of beams and sheetrock judges me for not believing what I’m told I’m supposed to. Inside its walls lies true horror because it’s a deceitful entity that looks inviting and is anything but. I’d be lucky to come back changed after attending Heathen’s Cross. Hell, I’d be lucky if it took me and never brought me back. Anything is better than the reality I’m forced to live.

Approaching the church entrance, I brace myself for the hour of masking I have ahead of me. Pretending to be the perfect pastor’s daughter everyone knows I’m not. My lids fall shut and a wave of lightheadedness consumes me, just how it always does, when my high wears off. I remain still with lids shut, waiting for it to pass and once it does, I inhale and begin to count to four.One, two, three, four. I hold for a second, before exhaling, counting to four again, except this time I will open my eyes on the count of four.

One.

Two.

Three.

My lids open preemptively. It’s like a force I can’t explain wants me to look before it’s too late.

Four.This time I count out loud as my gaze falls to the wrought iron handle in my grip.

I squint in confusion because my nail beds are soiled in what looks to be dirt. Wind whips around me, my hair falling out of place. I tuck it behind my ear just as another gust of wind comes, this time bringing a swarm of golden and rust colored leaves with it as the wind spins around me relentlessly.

“It’s your gift.” An internal whisper grips me, mimicking what Frida said to me back at the shop, but it’s not her voice. It’s unrecognizable. Unsettling.

Ignoring it, I pull the door towards me, still hung up on the word “gift.”

Gifts are subjective because whatever ailment—as my stepfather refers to it—I inherited from my birth father, isn’t seen as a gift to those trapped within these holy walls I’m about to walk into. It’s seen as a curse and every time I walk and feel what I feel, which is the opposite of the peace that surpasses all understanding I’m told I’m supposed to feel. I’m reminded just how cursed I am.

Jokes on him though, I’d pick being cursed or haunted over being saved any day. It’s more fun that way.

Three

Where are you?My jaw tenses as I crank my neck to stare at the clock above the sanctuary doors. She’s going to be late. Just like I knew she’d be and just like my dad warned her of.

Fuck, Araceli, not tonight of all nights.My gaze ping-pongs up and down from the door to the clock. Service is about to start and of course, Araceli is nowhere to be found. Thoughts run wild in my head, conjuring up one scenario after the other, trying to think of what the fuck trouble she’s gotten herself into now and whatever mess I’ll get sucked into this time because of it.

But that’s Araceli; warnings, rules, really anything that reeks of convention means nothing to her. She’s forever unfazed and forever getting in trouble, which arguably is her problem. However, with this newfound role I’ve been forced to take on as her stepbrother, I now have the uncanny ability and need to make her problems mine—to protect her. If I’m being honest, it gives me a common ground with her or, at the bare minimum, something we can talk about…to spend time together. Ever since Araceli’s mom died, she’s become more erratic and numb all at once. Building walls that create a fortress she can escape to, and when that isn’t enough, she usually finds herself in trouble with drugs or anything she can get her hands on.

Heat spreads down the lower half of my body, and for a moment, my mind tricks me into thinking my cock is the epicenter of the added warmth. It wouldn’t be the first time I get a thickening blood rush to my cock stewing over Araceli’s poor decisions…and behavior. But what would be the first time it is happening while I’m sitting in the fucking pews.Guilt trickles in, as it always seems to do, stealing my focus and pulling me and my focus abruptly back to reality.

With my eyes now on my leg, I see the source of the added heat. A petite palm with white manicured fingertips squeezes my thigh.

“Are you okay?” a feminine voice whispers.

Dark hair waves in my periphery, similar to my stepsister’s, but not quite as dark, as silky, or as tempting to touch by swirling around my finger…or pull.

The image of Araceli in the graveyard from last night suddenly invades my mind, causing the blood to increase, painfully so.Ah.I hate her. I really fucking do.

In dire need of a distraction from the Araceli show playing on a continuous loop in my mind, I turn to face Tori, one of my dad’s best friend’s—and wealthiest congregant—daughter. Ever since I got caught trying to buy drugs for Araceli at university at the beginning of my junior year—which led to me being expelled—Dad’s been trying to set me up with Tori. He’s always going on about how she’s the pinnacle of a God-fearing woman and ‘wife material in the making,’ as he likes to put it, since she never misses a service or youth group meeting. But looks can be deceiving. I wonder how my dad would react if he knew the only reason she likes to be here and volunteers at church functions is because her favorite thing to kneel to isme. There’s something about sneaking around and sucking off the pastor’s son that really gets her going. Probably because she falls into the delusion of thinking any sexual act outside of sticking a cock inside a warm, tight hole doesn’t count as sex. I’d beg to differ. But who am I to judge, she gets tofeed into her delusions while I get off, fantasizing about whose lips I actually wish were wrapped around my cock.

Tori’s grip tightens, sliding ever so slightly closer to my groin, and suddenly the thought of Araceli on her knees sucking me off flashes in my mind.

My cock twitches in response.

Ah, I can’t do this now. Araceli’s your stepsister. You’re in church. Get with it, Harlan.

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