Sunday morning church service started like every other.

Congregants talked and laughed in hushed tones, genuinely happy to see each other, or faking it so masterfully that no one could tell the difference. They laughed, joked and judged each other by their cars and clothes, and secretly thanked their lord that they were doing so much better.

Some of the children looked uncomfortable in their Sunday best. A few parents felt the same, making them extra vigilant in their efforts to ensure their offspring sat still and remained quiet, while they themselves did not, like the good Christians they are.

This morning, the small church was full. It was always packed on Easter Sunday, and then again on Christmas Day. These two days keep the church’s finances in the black, similar to what Black Friday does for retailers. Only about a quarter of the congregation typically attends the less popular services, yielding less revenue.

Thank God for Easter and Christmass!

***

The Original First Church of Christ was established a lifetime ago.

Initially, it was called the First Church of Christ, but disagreement between church leaders caused a split, and the New Church of Christ came into being. Adding the word ‘original’ to the old church’s name was worth the expense of establishing who was first.

The new congregation struggled financially from the start and finally dissolved when their pastor impregnated both the organist and the choir leader. Over time, most of the new congregation found their way back to the original church, and it was decided to save money and effort and keep the new name.

***

The current pastor is young, barely forty years old. His wife is a severe-looking, trim, and fit brunette sporting an old-fashioned beehive hairstyle with drawn-on eyebrows. They have two young boys, and luckily, their eyebrows are the real deal—thick and bushy like their dads.

Pastor Peter Preston is a big man. His stocky, broad build makes him appear shorter than his six feet four. Many who meet him for the first time are often visibly surprised by his size when they get close enough to shake hands. From a distance, pastor Pete’s width hides his height, but when he looks down at you with those striking golden eyes, flashing from under those bushy eyebrows, you get an accurate measure of the man.

Unfortunately, Pastor Pete’s voice does not fit his frame. It is almost feminine. Given that he also speaks melodically, most people who meet him for the first time immediately forget his size and instead marvel at his voice. Later, when they meet his wife, Patrice, they always wonder how he managed to produce two children with her without killing her.

The two boys, John and Paul, are small and petite like their mother but with their father’s facial features: square chin, thick hair and eyebrows, golden eyes, and dimpled cheeks. The boys were not named after the apostles but two members of that iconic British band, the Beatles. Pastor Pete and his beautiful wife are British after all.

***

Like most things that follow a recipe, almost all church services everywhere have a predictable sequence of events.

The first indication that the service is about to start comes from the organist. Ten minutes before service starts, she leaves her daughter with her grandmother and walks to the organ. Her shoes make an echoing clomping sound as she stomps to the ancient organ. This is followed by the wooden organ chair squeaking and creaking as she makes her ample butt comfortable. She gained a lot of weight after her pregnancy. Eating helps her cope with the looks and whispers she gets for being an out-of-wedlock mother.

She makes sure she wears the loudest shoes every Sunday.

The creaking organ chair prompts a quarter of the congregation to stop talking, turn forward, find and open their hymnals. This signals the rest of the flock to follow suit. The organist plays for a few minutes, giving the congregation time to fumble pages and locate the opening hymn.

Just before the service starts, the organist pauses. As soon as Pastor Pete enters the church from the sacristy, her chair squeaks and creaks once more as she leans forward to play.

Here, the congregation rise, and a quarter of them start to sing on time. Eventually, the rest catch up, usually by the second verse. This is also when the pastor joins in, making the hymn come to life as everyone finds their voice together and follows his lead.

His singing voice is angelic.

***

Pastor Pete has a way with words and conducts a good service. Most people enjoy his accent, and his singing voice is not feminine but a charming falsetto tenor. When he speaks, his voice first surprises those in attendance who do not know him, only to be entranced by what he says. By the time he delivers the benediction, many are amazed that an hour has passed, and their kids were so quiet for the duration. They always wonder if the kids were really silent, or if they were so focused on the pastor’s words that they did not pay the kids any attention.

Unfortunately, these sermons are like fast food, delicious at the time of consumption, but lacking the necessary substance, leaving you hungry just a little later. This is why the church is not at capacity every Sunday.

***

This morning things were different. Pastor Pete did not join the hymn and did not even pray for a moment at the foot of the pulpit like he usually does. He immediately ascends the stairs to stand behind the lectern, unsmiling, looking over the congregation. The second verse falters because of this unexpected departure from convention, but the congregation recovers and sings all five verses without the pastor’s accompaniment.

The congregation closes their hymnals and eyes, expecting their pastor to say the customary blessing, followed by the opening prayer.

He does not.

‘Sit down! ‘Pastor Pete commands. His voice is deep and rumbling, like the actor who voiced Darth Vader in the Star Wars movies. Everyone, including his wife and boys, looks up in surprise as they obey the command and noisily take their seats.

‘Today will be a little different, my children,’ the pastor smiles down on his flock, making eye contact with many. ‘Today we will speak openly and honestly and address sin directly, and we will repent, together!’. His smile widens, seemingly too wide, and those golden eyes shine brightly, like lanterns.

‘We will bring sin out in the open, examine it together, then watch it perish in the light of truth!’ These last words roll over his stunned congregation as they silently try to understand what is happening.

In the back of the church, a family gets up and walks to the exit. The husband rattles the door, and the congregation turns around and looks. The door is locked. This is very strange because these doors lead to the foyer and do not have locks.

‘Sit down!’ The words crack like a whip, and the family looks startled. The husband looks like he is about to object, but the shotgun pastor Pete produces from behind the pulpit makes him herd his family back to the pew. A few other congregants who stood up to leave or get a better view sat down hastily. Some uttered cries of surprise and concern.

Like people watching a tennis match everyone’s head turns back at the same time to look at their pastor.

***

Pastor Pete is still grinning, and now that grin stretches from ear to ear. His teeth are showing and appear black, too long and sharp. He moves his gaze from person to person, unblinking; some people recognize knowledge of the perversion in their souls in those eyes. Everyone on whom that gaze falls invariably looks down or shrinks into themselves.

The gun pastor Pete is holding is so out of place that some simply cannot comprehend what they are seeing. It is a semiautomatic twelve-gauge shotgun with a cylindrical magazine. It must have been behind the altar all along. The pastor confirms this theory by reaching underneath and producing another of those round magazines.

‘John Hardgrove!’ Pastor Pete’s eyes rest on John, then sweep over John’s pregnant wife Mary and their six children. ‘That burning itch is exactly what you suspect, ‘his eyes return to John. ‘Andrew Osbourne gifted it to Sandra Wright, and she, in turn, gave the clap to you.’ John’s mouth hangs agape while his brain tries to process this revelation.

John’s wife starts to cry silently; her suspicions have just been confirmed in front of everyone. Most adults’ greatest fear is public humiliation; Mary is no exception. For a few moments, the shame feels more lethal than the terrible weapon her pastor is holding.

John and Andrew both looks at Sandra who covers her face with both hands, then at each other.

‘Get over here, fellas, ‘ Pastor Pete said softly. Both men remained frozen in their seats, their confusion and inability to process the incredulity of this situation clear on their faces.

‘Now!’ The authority in the voice makes them stand up.

John and Andrew walk to the front of the church, with Andrew, the smaller of the two, keeping his distance. John has a reputation as a hothead who often uses his fists when he runs out of words. John stops before the altar with his head down and looks at the carpet. Feeling that no violence is forthcoming, Andrew approaches and faces his pastor.

Pastor Pete leaps over the pulpit and lands lightly on his feet, catlike. The extra magazine bounces against his hip, where he clipped it to his belt. It was an 8-foot drop.

The gunshot that removes the top of Andrew’s head is deafening. John covers his head with his arms, and a dark stain spreads down the front of his grey slacks when his bladder lets go.

The shocked congregation watches in utter disbelief, not comprehending what they are witnessing. The plastic sound of the spent shell when it hits the wooden floor echoes in the silence that follows.

The sacristy door closes softly behind Pete’s wife as she flees with her sons.

***

Someone starts to sob uncontrollably. It is Sandra. Her shoulders shake as she looks at Andrew’s now headless body. He gave her that sexually transmitted infection, ironically in the backseat of his Subaru WRX STI. He was sweet and kind and treated her like the lady she knew she wasn’t. She always hoped to settle down with someone like him, or him specifically if he wanted her, so she gave him anything he wanted. Now he is dead, gone, and she is still alone.

‘Sandra’. Sandra looks up into the smiling face of her pastor. Incredibly, the smile on his face still grows wider, and for a second, she thought she saw something swim across his eyes.

‘It’s time for your penance, my dear.’

***

Pete and Patricia moved to Blackburn looking for a safer and smaller community.

The last flock of souls they tended was in an inner-city slum. The never-ending flow of death and despair brought on by gangs and drugs became too much, and Pete had to leave before he took matters into his own hands and murdered someone.

Most of the crime and troubles were committed by a small percentage of the community, but the repercussions of their actions were far-reaching. Kids became addicts or were charmed by the allure of gangster life. Single mothers were plentiful. The authorities seemed unable to do anything about the gangs, drugs and accompanying crime.

They might have been unwilling, ignoring the community, allowing it to destroy itself.

Pete almost killed someone when four men attacked him as he was walking to his church building. He was returning from visiting a family in one of the public housing blocks. He was in a foul mood. The conditions at these public housing facilities always made him angry.

These men were tasked to rob and assault someone, anyone, to become members of a gang. Pete’s anger and helpless despair boiled over when one of the men came from behind and punched him in the back of the head, trying to knock him out.

It was like that punch flipped a switch in his head, and he turned on the four and let his anger wash over them. He broke noses and many bones, and was busy strangling the life out of the one that sucker punched him when the police tased him.

Surveillance video recorded it all. Pete was not charged; his actions were considered self-defense. Pete could not accept that his response to violence was more violence, and he resigned his position as pastor. It took a while, but they found a calling in Blackburn.

Blackburn was the total opposite of the city. There were no gangs, and the drugs of choice were liquor, pot, and fast food. At first, the stark contrast between his last congregation and this one was delightful, but over time, the rot of this place could no longer be ignored.

Under the covers, this community was just as bad as those in the city. Worse even! The city gangs and thugs made no secret of who and what they were; they committed their evil in plain sight. The Blackburn community did their best to do their bad in secret, behind closed doors, behind smiles and lies.

It took eight months before the voices in Pete’s head convinced him that this evil needed to be eradicated so that good could again flourish, and that he was the man for the job.

***

Pete grabs Sandra by her hair and drags her to the front of the church. He deposits her next to Andrew’s body.

‘Ask the lord for forgiveness, dear. The good lord forgives all sin when the sinner repents. Beg if you have to, darling, but do it now’, Pete levels the shotgun at her head. Sandra is not paying attention; her gaze is fixed on Andrew. Another gunshot brings her back to reality, and she sees John shoved onto the lap of Joe Smith. John’s chest is a bloody mess, and Joe shoves him away in fear and disgust. He tried to tackle Pete.

The last thing she sees is Pete’s loon smile above the gun barrel. Pete shoots her point blank, splattering her over the people in the front row. One of the buckshot pellets still has enough energy and kills Mary Joe Brown when it enters her left eye. Her head rocks back before she slowly topples forward and ends up with her head on the carpet and her backside up against the pew. Her body convulses while her brain sends errant signals everywhere, making her buttocks bounce.

‘Lucky shot!’, Pete crows, ‘Two for one!’ He points at Mary Joe with the shotgun and booms in that new voice, ‘She who stole from the elderly! The witch who took valuables from her patients and sold them. To you, Gustave Henderson!’

Gustave ducks behind the person in front of him. There is nowhere to go. He is too large a man to crawl under the pew, and those sitting next to him would have to get up to let him out. Pete walks up to the row where Gustave is trying to hide. ‘Get up fat ass! You slimy cheat and buyer of stolen goods!’

Gustave stays down, and those sitting between him and Pete scramble out of the way when Pete takes aim. He shoots Gustave twice, causing a wave of panicked congregants to ebb away. Many are now openly crying, with some begging Pete to stop and just let them go.

‘Many of you are snakes! Hiding behind your mask of normality like a snake hides in the grass! Lying, stealing and cheating! Whoring and spreading disease! Molesting children like Joe Smith! Teacher, coach and Sunday school minister! A man in a position of authority, using that to satisfy his animal desires!’ Joe tries to run, but the man next to him, a parent of one of the football players coached by Joe, grabs him by the belt and yanks him back. ‘Joe, is that true? Is this why Bobby is having so much trouble lately? Did you mess with my kid?’

‘Yes!’ Pete answers,’ Yes, he did! Bobby, Darin, Dale, Matthew, Caleb, and most recently, Allan, to name those whose families are present today.’ Joe’s eyes bulged, his face turned beet red, and his mouth opened and closed without producing a sound.

‘Parents, he is yours to deal with. I’ll wait.’

‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I can’t help it! I have a condition!’ Joe finally manages to speak, condemning himself by admitting guilt. ‘Repent, brother Joe! Save yourself!’ Pete bellows and steps back when Joe is shoved to the ground, and the furious fathers of the named boys proceed to beat him to death.

The assault stops when one of the men, Allan’s father, Grant, stops and clutches at his chest before collapsing. Many of the other men are also laboring for breath from exertion. Someone rushes forward to assist, but Pete makes it unnecessary by shooting Grant in the face.

‘Allan was getting it at home also,’ Pete declares. The group ducked out of the way and stared at Pete. ‘Go sit back down before you also get heart attacks, ‘ Pete instructs the remaining men. They scurry away like rats, disbelief at what they just did in their eyes.

***

Outside, sirens are approaching. Several congregants sent texts to acquaintances or called the police using their cellphones.

Emboldened by the sound of help approaching, three young men charged Pete. Pete stepped out of the reach of the first man and swung the shotgun like a bat. The man’s legs took another step while his head went in the other direction, causing his body to do a backflip. Pete head butted the second man with such violence that he seemed to bounce off of Pete’s head. Both men fell and remained motionless. The third hero turned and ran, and Pete shot him twice in the lower back. This did not kill but severed his spine.

He cried in agony as he tried to crawl away using his arms. Pete turned his attention to the congregation, ‘Any more heroes?’

There was none.

***

The police and fire department arrived. Pete’s wife informed them about the situation. The sheriff requested the SWAT team from a neighboring town to assist.

Inside the church, Pete ordered his congregation to barricade the sacristy door with furniture. He divided the congregants into groups and directed them to stand before the windows and doors, making them human shields. He left one family seated.

His left eye was bulging, almost protruding from his head. Like something was pushing it out from the inside. Something black oozed out of the eye socket and moved down his cheek. ‘If they want me, they have to come through you. It will buy the time I need. Much to do, many corrections to make.’ Pete’s voice faltered, and more of the black ooze escaped his mouth onto his chin.

He did not seem to notice.

Pete walked to the seated family and positioned himself behind them. They were cowering away from him, the husband and wife holding their young children close.

Something shoved outward behind Pete’s face, making him appear to have a snout. His nose ripped open, down the middle, and black hairlike tendrils emerged from the wound. Those seemed to probe the air, then became aware of the family cowering in front of Pete.

These tendrils extended from Pet’s head, nonstop like a ribbon from a magician’s hand and enveloped the family, spinning them in a black cocoon.

‘Almost done,’ Pete’s voice was affected by the ooze escaping his mouth. A bubble formed in the corner of his mouth and softly popped. Something burst out of the back of Pete’s pants. Two thick tentacle-like protrusions, growing like a plant, like Groot’s limbs did in the science fiction movie ‘Guardians of the Galaxy’. Pete’s head lolled lifelessly and bobbed back and forth as his body was elevated by those growing legs. His left eye was hanging from its socket, pushed out of the way by antennae rising from the inside. His arms, now covered with black rootlike growths, raised the shotgun and fired at the congregants used as human shields.

***

The SWAT team was still on their way. The local deputies were unprepared for this type of situation. They spent most of their time making traffic stops and writing tickets, and only occasionally had to deal with drunks and shoplifters.

When the shooting started inside the church, one of them fired his rifle at the church windows and doors. This triggered everyone else to do the same.

***

The thing that came out of Pete emptied the loaded magazine and expertly replaced it with the fresh one hanging from the pastor’s belt. These magazines held 35 rounds loaded with buckshot, and the gun could fire rapidly. With the help of the outmatched deputies shooting into the building, everyone was killed.

Whatever was happening inside the cocoon was completed, and the cocoon itself was flowing away, entering the mouths of the five survivors. The thing inside Pete’s body emerged and divided itself among the family. It was formless, a mass of writhing snake-like tendrils.

Pete’s body collapsed into itself like a tent when the main supporting beam was removed.

The survivors were left unconscious.

***

The shooting stopped. A shocked silence descended on the scene. The sheriff stared open-mouthed at his deputies, and the realization of what they might have done dawned on their faces.

The firemen rushed to the building, eager to help.

They found the family, still unconscious, and carried them out on stretchers into the waiting ambulances. They were taken to the nearest hospital.

The inside of the church resembled a battlefield. The dead were lying in groups, clustered by the windows and doors where Pete positioned them. Pete’s body was broken and folded in strange ways that made the fireman cringe. There was no trace of the black ooze on him, nor any blood.

In total, thirty-four people died in the church that fateful Sunday.

One alien creature found five new hosts.

It will live quietly inside its hosts, slowly merging with their consciousness. Eventually, it will find ‘the goal’—that one thing its host hates and desires to correct, punish or, better yet, destroy.

Then it will help. Then it will find more hosts. Then it will make this world better.

It always does.