Believing in something beyond human reason has always been a prerequisite of my profession. For over 20 years as a pastor, I’ve witnessed many astonishing things. From the journey of repentance of a hardened sinner to miraculous healings that defy medical explanation. But there was only one event. Just one that sent shivers down my spine.
I’ve kept the truth of that story tightly sealed for so long. Yes, I understand, everything revealed in the confessional shouldn’t be made public. But I also understand that God wants this experience to be shared with those who believe.
The storm that raged on that day seemed to be the reason for the church’s emptiness. The relentless raindrops piercing the skin and the fierce gusts of wind surely made anyone think twice about leaving their homes. God’s grace can sometimes be a test of faith.
In search of inner peace, I chose to stay in the confessional booth. The flicker of lightning and the roar of thunder were not good for my heart. Yet, since the room was not in use at that moment, I could sit for a while, waiting for the storm to pass. The dim light and the purple ambiance of the room surprisingly brought me a sense of calm.
“Is God truly Forgiving?”
I quickly closed the Bible in my lap and raised my head. It felt like I had just heard someone murmuring. I glanced around, observing from the door to the altar. Still quiet. Just as I was about to reposition myself to sit, the whisper came again, louder this time.
“Is God truly Forgiving?”
Suddenly, my body tensed as I realized the voice was coming from behind the confessional partition. At least at that moment, I didn’t fall out of my chair. Through the wooden slats, I could see the figure of a man hunched over. After taking a moment to steady my breath and pat my chest, I began to speak.
“Sorry, Sir. Confessions are only on Sundays,” I said to whoever was on the other side of the wooden booth.
“Please. It’ll only take a moment,” came the reply. The hoarse voice sounded resigned. As a servant of God, I couldn’t refuse someone willing to brave the storm to come to church.
“If we confess our sins to God, He will keep His promise and do what is right. He will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all the wrongs we have done,” I responded, although this was an unusual procedure for the confession process.
“Ah, 1 John chapter 1 verse 9. Even my sins?”
“Of course. Every believer who repents and regrets their actions is entitled to God’s forgiveness,” I explained.
“I don’t think so. Not for me.”
Even though my view was limited within the confessional booth, I could sense his doubt. Hearing his answer made my lips curve into a smile. I had encountered this type before. Penitents who had fallen into despair, believing their sins were beyond redemption. Yet, His love is so vast, encompassing those who kneel sincerely.
“Now tell me, when was the last time you confessed?”
“It’s been a long time… Too long to remember,” he muttered.
“Then, what made you come back after all this time? Tell me the reason for your visit,” I said, trying to get the man to open up. There was about a 5-second pause before he responded.
“Because I killed someone,” he whispered half-muted. His answer made me swallow hard. I was used to hearing confessions of petty theft from a gas station, or even sins of adultery. But murder? That was uncommon.
“Who?” I asked, keeping the conversation going.
“My younger sibling.” I swore the church doors were tightly shut. Yet, at that moment, a gust of wind swept through the altar area like an uninvited intruder. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees, making me shiver, both from the cold and from fear.
“Why?”
“Because God didn’t treat us fairly!” he answered, his voice rising.
“His justice doesn’t necessarily mean equality, Sir. By His sovereignty, He gives according to what is deserved.”
“Nonsense! Even till the end…, even till the end, my brother didn’t fight back. Even when I raised a stone above his head, he just looked at me with pity! As if heaven had chosen him and I was destined to sin! What choice did I have, other than to settle my affairs? I smashed that stone relentlessly, again, and again, and again! Until his body slumped lifeless!” he exclaimed angrily. The booth seemed to vibrate with each word he spoke.
“Aren’t your opinions the same as theirs, Father?”
“Hm? Who do you mean, Sir?” I asked, slightly surprised by his question.
“Them, the congregation who see me as an unforgivable sinner! Haven’t I been branded already? The cold-blooded murderer!” he ranted. I found it difficult to understand his reason for blaming the other parishioners. I mean, he was just a stranger; why was he so furious at them? At us?
“Of course not, Sir. That’s not—-“
“For God’s sake, am I that despicable? It was the first time I saw a corpse, and it was my own brother! How do you think I felt?!” he interrupted. Besides anger, there was a hint of regret and guilt in his tone. At that moment, I felt a sense of relief. After all, regret is the first step on the journey to repentance.
“I’m sick of feeling guilty! His presence still lingers here. Haunting me, eroding my sanity like termites gnawing at a piece of wood! Oh, he won’t let that sin be forgotten. He made sure I never forget what I’ve done. He branded me with this curse. This mark. How long has it been? How long will it be?” The chill returned, colder and more menacing.
“He? Your brother?”
“No… He’s a being older than us… And he’s here….”
Right at that moment, my ears caught the flapping of wings and the cawing of crows. I glanced outside the booth, and on the altar’s ceiling, there was the silhouette of a crow. So many shadows perched there, I didn’t know when they had arrived. But no matter how much I focused my gaze, not a single bird figure could be seen.
“YOU MURDERER!” the scream made me jerk backward. My attention returned to the wooden partition, and believe me, that was a completely different voice. Much deeper and heavier, and I wasn’t kidding when I said it sounded like a combination of various people. The scream reverberated in my ears, echoing to every corner of the altar.
“S-Sir?” I asked, panicking.
“Hahhh… No… Hahh… Please, stop….” he responded, breathless. This time his voice returned, but much more tired.
“MURDERER! Stop… DAMNATION! En-enough….” This time their voices overlapped. It was as if whoever was with him behind the partition was trying to take over his body. The silhouette of the crow in the ceiling looked menacing. Its wing flapping and cawing created a terrifying sound. The gust of wind now began to assert its existence, blowing so hard.
The gust of wind blew so hard that it made my body tremble with cold and fear. Unconsciously, I tightened my grip on the Rosary in my hand.
“MURDERER!! STOP!! MAY GOD FORSAKE YOU!! CURSED BE YOU!! !!” His scream, with both voices merged into one, was like he was spewing out all the contents of his stomach. The hoarse and piercing sound made anyone shudder with horror.
As the scream reached its crescendo, suddenly a force slammed me backward. My body was thrown out of the confessional booth, and my head hitting the floor sent me into unconsciousness.
When I woke up, it’s already morning and the storm had subsided. There were no screams, no signs of crows. As I opened my eyes, my steps automatically led me to the confessional booth. There wasn’t a trace of the man inside and the condition of the booth was horrifying.
The stench was what struck me the most. I had once been tasked with handling the burial of someone whose body had been found after being trapped in a room for over 3 weeks. The smell in the booth was much worse. It was so putrid, it felt like it was piercing through my nose, forcing my stomach to expel whatever I had just eaten.
People think of the destroyed booth as a disaster because of the storm that night and they just glad I’m not injured. Thanks to that incident, we had to renovate the confessional booth. We were forced to replace it with sturdier concrete material. No matter how good the quality of the wooden booth was, it only took 2 days for the wood to become brittle and rotten. It was as if the earth couldn’t bear to sustain life on the ground that man once walked on.
One thing that they didn’t know, I took something from the booth just right before people starts coming to the church in the morning. You see, the wooden partition was cracked, scratched with inhuman claws. In the middle of the partition, a line of words carved with nails : Forgive me, Abel.