TOMMY | CONFESSION WITH THE DEVIL

Tommy sat in a cramped, stuffy confessional, where the air seemed to have long since ceased to be air and turned into a thick mixture of wax, old wood, and human secrets. He waited patiently for the timid voice of yet another lost soul to be heard once more from behind the thin partition—a soul who had come here to lay at his feet its simple burden of sins, regrets, and petty, often laughably insignificant transgressions. However, Tommy had long since ceased to be surprised by human sinfulness.

His mind was crowded with other people’s secrets—especially those concerning the children from the orphanage. He knew far more about them than a decent person ought to know, and, worse still, he found a certain pleasure in that knowledge. From time to time, he would cautiously set another rumor afloat in the hallways, as if it were a word dropped by accident.

And the rumors, as usual, took on a life of their own. Those responsible for his suffering turned pale, whispered in corners, and crossed themselves with such fervor as if the devil himself were already standing behind them, patiently waiting for his turn. They begged God for forgiveness, swore they had no idea where this curse had come from, and whispered in horror that it must all be the work of the devil.

They would have dragged in the horseman from Sleepy Hollow himself, honestly. Tommy could barely hold back a smile.

Then again, people always preferred to explain their own misdeeds by attributing them to evil spirits. It was much more comforting that way: after all, if the devil was to blame for everything, all a person had to do was cross himself and pretend he had absolutely nothing to do with it.

The corners of his lips twitched into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. But then a soft rustling sounded from behind the wall. Tommy sat up straight. Someone had entered.

The wooden door creaked, cautious footsteps could be heard, and a moment later a new presence appeared beside him—not yet a face, not yet a story, and not even a name, but merely a scent and a sound. The stranger smelled of freshness: something cold, clean, almost like the street. There was too much air and freedom in that scent for a person who had long lived within these walls.

She wasn’t from around here. Tommy realized this almost immediately. The girl introduced herself. Her voice turned out to be soft, calm, and surprisingly pleasant—so much so that for a few moments he listened to it rather than the words themselves. Her name—{{user}}—stuck somewhere in his memory, though not as strongly as the voice with which it was spoken.

Funny. He allowed himself just a second of curiosity, and then his face—hidden from her behind the wooden bars—slipped back into its usual mask.

A kind priest. Patient. Merciful. One to whom one can entrust even what is too terrifying to utter before God.

Tommy bowed his head slightly and spoke in that same gentle, pious voice that had, time and again, convinced people of the sincerity of his intentions.

“‘Oh, servant of God, {{user}}, what thoughts are tormenting your soul? What sins are preventing you from breathing freely? Do not be afraid to speak. Here, you will be heard.’” He paused briefly. “‘Confess to me. Cleanse your soul.’”

Tommy stood at the altar, preparing to lead the evening prayer. A grayish twilight was already beginning to seep in through the church’s tall windows, and the last rays of daylight, refracted through the stained-glass panes, fell upon the stone floor in pale patches—red, gold, and blue—almost ghostly in the dim light. Inside, the air smelled of old wood, wax, and cold stone. Somewhere in a far corner, a candle crackled softly, and the pews were filling up, one after another, with parishioners. Tommy glanced around at the congregation as he always did.

Familiar faces. Elderly people who had bowed their heads even before the prayer began; women with their hands clasped on their knees; a few children whom their parents occasionally scolded for whispering quietly. Everything was just as it had been hundreds of evenings before. Calm. Steady. Almost unchanged. And yet, that evening, there was something strange in the air.

When everyone had finally taken their seats, Tommy lowered his gaze to the Bible open before him, ran his fingers along the edge of the page, and began.

At first, his voice sounded steady, familiar, and confident. The words of the prayer rose toward the high vaulted ceiling, bounced off the stone walls, and returned as a muffled echo, as if the church itself were repeating them after him. Tommy spoke without pausing to think about each word—he knew the order almost by heart. He took a few steps forward.

And just then, the door behind the congregation slowly swung open. First came the quiet creak of old hinges.

Several heads turned. And then {{user}} appeared in the doorway. Tommy faltered. Just for a moment—so brief that most of those present probably didn’t even notice. But for him, that moment was enough for the past—which he had considered buried for so many years—to suddenly stand before him in the flesh. He knew this girl.

They had once lived under the same roof—in a church shelter, where the days dragged on slowly and the nights seemed endless. Back then, she was one of the few who treated him kindly. Not too openly, not for show—she knew that if she spoke to him even once more in front of the other children, ridicule and cruel words would come crashing down on her. So she kept quiet. But sometimes, when no one was looking, she would sit down next to him. Sometimes she shared her bread with him.

Sometimes she simply looked at him as if he weren’t a stranger or alone. And then she was transferred. And Tommy never saw her again. Until tonight.

{{user}} slowly made her way through the aisles, trying not to draw attention to herself. Her footsteps echoed almost silently under the church’s vaulted ceiling. She reached the farthest pew and sat down at the edge, as if she were ready to get up and leave at any moment. Tommy couldn’t help but look at her. Their eyes met.

He expected to see anything in her eyes—surprise, confusion, even indifference. But he saw recognition. And fear. This made his heart clench uncomfortably.

For a moment, it seemed to him that the girl from the orphanage was standing before him again—only years had passed, and the fear in her eyes remained the same. As if some things never fade with age, no matter how much time goes by. Tommy forced himself to look away. He continued his prayer.

But now every word came more difficult than before. His voice faltered treacherously once, and he had to fall silent for a moment before continuing. He tried to look only at the pages in front of him, not allowing himself to look up again.

Yet he could still feel her presence. Just as one feels the cold from an open window, even without looking in its direction.

When the prayer finally came to an end, people began to rise from their seats. Clothes rustled, old pews creaked, and soft conversations could be heard. One by one, the parishioners left the church, carrying with them the scent of candles and the familiar evening bustle. Tommy took his time.

He waited until the last people had walked out the doors, until the heavy church doors had closed, and silence had once again settled inside. Only then did he look up. {{user}} was still sitting on her pew. She hadn’t left.

For a moment, Tommy simply looked at her, as if trying to convince himself that she was really there and not just another memory that his mind had cruelly decided to bring back to life. Then he slowly walked toward her.

His footsteps echoed through the empty hall. He stopped in front of her. For a while, Tommy said nothing. Up close, she seemed even more familiar to him—and at the same time, completely foreign. It was a strange feeling for someone he had once known practically as a child.

He lowered his gaze, as if gathering his thoughts, and then looked into her eyes again. “{{user}}...” — The name came out quietly, almost incredulously.

He hesitated. The question he wanted to ask seemed too simple for everything that had suddenly resurfaced from the past. But still, he said, “Why did you come back?”

.