Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Saturation Baby

“I don’t know, it looks a little too overdone,” he says as he steps back and looks at the wall.

“You’re so wrong, dude. It looks awesome. When they get here tomorrow, they’re going to spin out. This has got to be our best one yet!” Jerome says as he slaps Mike on the back.

“You think they’ll appreciate the message, or do you think it’s going to be lost?”

Jerome laughs. “Man, the message is going to be so lost on them. They’ll just be pissed; that’s why we did it. But it’s going to be speaking to everyone else. The images, man—they define what it’s all about: the struggle to be at one with yourself, but at the same time, fighting to fit into a world that won’t accept you for how you are. Fucking shit, it’s perfect, dude.”

Mike smiles and throws the final can into the knapsack, hooking it over his shoulder. “You think so?”

“Fucking hell, I do. Now let’s get the fuck out of here before somebody sees us and decides to call the cops.”

“It’s quite a piece,” a voice says from behind them. They both quickly turn to face a man in his mid to late fifties, dressed all in black and wearing a shining white collar.

“Fuck,” Jerome hisses.

“Don’t be afraid, Jerome. I’m not here to punish you or Mike for this piece of artwork. I’m here to admire it,” the priest says.

“How the hell do you know our names?” Jerome asks nervously.

“A lucky guess?” the priest says with a smile. “Not buying it? Let’s just say I’m a fan of your work, especially yours, Michael. Do you mind if I call you that, or do you prefer Mike?”

“M-M-Michael’s fine,” he says, looking over to Jerome, who just shrugs his shoulders. They both look back at the man. “W-W-Who are you?”

“Who do I look like?”

“You look like a priest.”

“Well then, I’m a priest,” he says with a smile.

“You high on something?” Jerome asks. The priest looks at him and laughs.

“No, Jerome, I am not on anything, nor am I sick in the head. I am but a simple priest, admiring your wonderful depiction of the last days of Christ. Although I didn’t think Jesus and his disciples were that close—not all of them, anyway.”

“I-I-It’s a message, and messages need to be strong,” Jerome says. The priest looks at him calmly and smiles again.

“Not everything you do needs to be volatile, aggressive, or shocking. Some people, good people, who are not what you would call zealots, but those who truly believe in the words that are written, would see the true message if you lost, say, this part and that,” he says as he waves his hand. Pieces of the mural change. Jerome and Mike stagger back in shock and stare at the man in disbelief.

“W-W-What the fuck are you?”

“I thought we already worked that out. I am but a simple priest,” he says confidently.

“Bullshit. No simple priest can do that sort of shit,” Jerome says quickly.

“Okay, maybe I’m not just a simple priest. Maybe I’m someone who believes in the message you want the world to see, the message you want to make them understand, that the words they read are misunderstood. You humans have a way of twisting things your way and not in the way it was intended. That’s why I thought I would come down and help you get it right.”

“Come down?”

He smiles again, and then in a ball of white light, he is gone, shooting up into the clouds, leaving Jerome and Mike staring at each other with open mouths.

“That did not just happen,” Jerome says as they turn back to the mural, gobsmacked.