David Morrell - Black Evening

"Sins," she said.

I squirmed, afraid.

"Long ago," she said, "in the Middle Ages, certain priests used to travel from village to village. Instead of hearing confessions, they performed a ceremony to cleanse the souls of the villagers. Each member of the group brought something to eat and set it on a table in front of the priest. At last, an enormous meal awaited him. He said the necessary words. All the sins of the village were transferred into the food."

I swallowed bile, unaccountably terrified.

"And then he ate the meal. Their sins," she said. "He stuffed himself with sins."

Her tone was so hateful I wanted to scream and run.

"The villagers knew he'd damned himself to save their souls. For this, they gave him money. Of course, there were disbelievers who maintained the priest was nothing more than a cheat, a con man tricking the villagers into feeding him and giving him money. They were wrong."

I heard her stand.

"Because the evidence was clear. The sins had their effect. The evil spread through the sin-eater's body, festering, twisting, bulging to escape."

I heard her doing something in the corner. I tensed from the sound of scratching.

"And not just priests ate sins," she said. "Sometimes special women did it too. But the problem was, suppose the sin-eater wanted to be redeemed as well? How could a sin-eater get rid of the sins? Get rid of the ugliness. By passing the sins along, of course. By having them eaten by someone else."

"You're crazy," I said. "I'm getting out of here."

"No, not just yet."

I realized the scratching sound was a match being struck. A tiny flame appeared. My stomach soured in pulsing agony.

"A town filled with sin-eaters," she said. "Monsters shunned by the world. Bearable only to each other. Suffering out of charity for the millions of souls who've been redeemed."

She lit a candle. The light grew larger in the room. I saw her face and gaped again, but this time for a different reason. She was beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. Her skin seemed to glow with sensuality.

It also seemed to shimmer, to ripple, to -

"No. My God," I said. "You put something in my food."

"I told you."

"Not that foolishness." I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't respond. My body seemed to expand, contract and twist. My vision became distorted as if I peered at funhouse mirrors. "LSD? Was that it? Mescaline? I'm hallucinating." Each word echoed more loudly, yet seemed to murmur from far away.

I cringed as she approached, growing more beautiful with every step.

"And it's been so long," she said. "I've been so ugly. So long since anyone wanted me."

Reality cracked. The universe spun. She stripped off her uniform, showing her breasts, her… Her body was…

Despite the torture in my stomach, the insanity of my distorted senses, I wanted her. I suddenly needed her as desperately as anything I'd ever coveted.

Passion was endless, powerful, frantic. Rolling, we bumped the tray, sending glass and plate, knife and fork and steak sauce crashing down. A lamp fell, shattering. My naked back slammed against the sharp edge of a table, making me groan. Not from pain. I screamed in ecstacy.

And just before I came with an explosive burst, as if from the core of my soul, as if after foisting her sins upon me she needed something from me in return, I felt her drawing me close to her, down, ever down.

She moaned and pleaded, "Eat me. Eat me!"

I lost consciousness. The Nebraska state police claim they found me wandering naked down the middle of Interstate 80 at one o'clock in the afternoon two days later. They say I was horribly sunburned. I don't know. I don't remember. All I recall is waking up in the hospital in Iowa City.

In the psych ward.

The doctors lied. They claimed I wasn't ugly. Then why would they have locked me up and taken the mirrors away? Why would the nurses have flinched when they came in with guards to feed me? They thought they were so smart, but I knew the truth. Despite the thick wire screen across the window, at night I saw my reflection. I don't have a chin. There's only one eye. In place of a nose, I've got two flat repulsive slits. I'm being punished. I understand that now. For all the evil in the world.

I used to be a Catholic, but I don't go to church anymore. When I was young, though, learning to go to confession, the nuns made me learn a speech to say to the priest in the booth. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was … And then I'd tell him how long ago, and then I'd confess, and then I'd finish by saying, I'm sorry for these and all my sins . I am, you know. I'm sorry. Except I didn't commit them. The sins aren't mine.

My wife and children came to visit. I refused to let them see me. I couldn't bear to see the sickened reaction in their eyes.

How can a sin-eater get rid of the sins ? That's what she said to me. By passing the sins along, of course. By having them eaten by someone else .

I've known for several weeks now what I had to do. It was simply a matter of pretending to be calm, of waiting for my chance. I hope the guard wasn't badly hurt. I tried not to hit him too hard. But his head made a terrible sound when I cracked it against the wall.

I've been very clever. I've stolen three cars, and I've never kept one long enough for the state police to catch me. It's taken me two days to return.

That's why the tree's so important. It's my landmark, you see. Remember the off-ramp had no sign. The tree's all I had to give me direction.

But I'm puzzled. Oh, I found the tree all right, its branches in the shape of the menorah candelabrum. And it's so distinctive I can't believe there'd be another like it. But I swear it had eight upright branches then, and it was bare.

But now it's got nine.

And leaves have sprouted.

Dear God, help me. Save me.

I pressed the accelerator to the floor, racing along the two-lane blacktop. As before, the road stretched forever. Doubt made me frantic. I tried not to glance at the rear-view mirror. All the same, I weakened, and my ugliness made me wail.

I saw the building in the distance, the glint of sunlight off the metal roof. I whimpered, rushing closer. And I found the town again.

Exactly the same. The water tower. The cattle pen (but it's full now). The service station, the BAR-B-CUE.

I don't understand, though. Everyone's normal. I see no goiters, no hunchbacks, no twisted limbs and festering sores. They stare as I drive past. I can't stand to see their shock and disgust.

… I've found her house. I'm in here waiting.

In the hospital, the doctors said I was having delusions. They agreed my initial suspicion might have been correct – that some chemical in my food could have made me hallucinate, and now the effects of the drug persist, making me think I'm ugly, distorting my memory of the trip. I wish I could believe that. I even wish I could believe I've gone crazy. Anything would be better than the truth.

But I know what it is. She did it. She made me eat her sins. But dammit, I'll get even with her. I'll make her take them back.

I've been writing this in her living room while I glance hurriedly out the window. In case something happens to me, so people will understand. It wasn't my fault.

But she'll come home soon. Yes, she will. And then…

I hear a car door. On the street, someone's stepping from a station wagon.

Oh, sweet Christ, at last. But no, it's not one person.

Two. A man and a woman.

But the woman isn't the one I want.

What happened ? Did she leave?

They'll come in. They'll find me.

I don't care. I can't bear this anymore. I have to pass the sins along. I have to…

I found a knife in the kitchen. See, I don't know the words. I don't know how to put my sins in the food.