Stephen Randel - The Chupacabra

“How’s that?” Pearl scoffed.

“Well,” Jolene began as she put her compact back in her oversized designer knockoff purse, “I’m fairly non-denominational. I view religion as something of a combination of beliefs gathered from a number of faiths. Say, if a Protestant train was heading west at a hundred miles an hour and a Buddhist train was heading east at a hundred miles an hour on the same track. Once they crash, I just pick up the best pieces from the debris.”

“Jeez Louise, Jolene,” Pearl said shaking her head in disbelief. “Don’t you dare let Preacher Naughton hear you talk about religion like a train wreck. He’ll skin me alive just for associating with you devils.”

“But doesn’t God want us to believe in love and happiness?” Polly asked.

“Not in this church, baby,” Pearl replied. “This place done taken all the fun out of fundamental.”

“Pearl, if you don’t like this preacher, why do you go to his church?” asked Big Esther.

“Because he’s the only person I know that’s angrier than me,” Pearl replied. “Kind of makes me feel better about myself in comparison.”

“Here we are, girls,” Polly said as she plowed into the church parking lot and slid to a stop, looking for a parking space. “What, no handicapped spots?”

“Only one reserved spot,” said Pearl as she pointed to the gold Bentley parked in front of a small sign close to the church’s front door that read “Reserved Parking – Preacher J.C. Naughton, Jr.” The Bentley, equipped with gaudy wire rims, bore vanity plates that read JC-ONE.

“But what about the handicapped?” asked Polly.

“Preacher Naughton doesn’t believe in handicaps,” replied Pearl. “Only the unsaved who haven’t yet been healed. Just park it down on the end. We’re going to be late if we don’t hurry up, and I don’t much feel like getting yelled at.”

“Well, at least we can agree on that,” said Polly as she took a spot at the end of the long line of cars in the dirt parking lot. The girls, decked out in their Sunday best, hurriedly made their way toward the front awning of the long single-story church with white vinyl siding. The church had a shallow peaked roof with a twenty-foot-tall wooden cross, painted white, attached to its highest point. A large white placard board listing the Ten Commandments sat outside the church’s front door. In bold letters at the top of the placard board was painted TEN COMMANDMENTS – NOT TEN SUGGESTIONS.

“We better sit in the back,” Pearl suggested to the girls. “Try to be inconspicuous.” Making their way to the back row of pews, the girls passed an offering basket bearing a sign that read CASH ONLY – NO CHECKS. Finding a spot in the crowded church, the girls took their seats. As soon as they were settled, the church choir, accompanied by a drummer, an electric guitarist, and an electric piano player, wrapped up their number. Sprinting in from off stage, Preacher J.C. Naughton, Jr. took his position behind an elaborate podium. Loud applause filled the room.

“Praise God!” the preacher shouted as he threw his hands in the air.

“Halleluiah!” the multi-racial congregation cried in reply as the preacher smiled at his flock. His perfectly alabaster-white teeth gleamed as he surveyed the packed room. The preacher’s deep tan and a heavy coat of bronzer accentuated his Botoxed brow. His slicked-back hair was heavy and dark. It contrasted sharply with his immaculate all-white ensemble. A red boutonniere was pinned to the lapel of his suit. Light sparkled from the oversized diamond-encrusted silver wristwatch.

“Do you want a message?” the preacher asked loudly.

“Yes!” the feverish congregation shouted in response.

“Here it is! Are you ready?” the preacher asked.

“Yes!”

“I’ve got the answer! You want to hear it?”

“Yes!”

“I’ve got the secret! You want to know it?”

“Yes!”

“I’ve got the formula! You want to use it?”

“Yes!”

“Then here it is!” the preacher cried as he held aloft a Bible. “This is the answer! This is the secret! This is the formula!” The room filled with a cacophony of noise.

“Amen! Praise Jesus! Halleluiah!” the gathering of people passionately clamored at the top of their lungs, some weaving back and forth as if in some kind of trance.

“But it isn’t just any book,” the preacher continued over the din. “It isn’t just any Bible. It’s the King James 1611 version! Not one of those tampered-with ones. Not one of those ‘I just want something easy to read’ versions. Do you know how many books masquerading as the true word of God are out there?”

“How many?!” the congregation exclaimed in unison.

“Dozens! Hundreds! Maybe even thousands!” Preacher Naughton bellowed. “Did you know you can even find some of these so-called ‘Good Books’ on the Internet? Jesus didn’t need to download an edited version of the word of God to his mobile phone. He got it from the source. He got it from God, and this version is the word of God. It’s like the message of this church. We don’t water it down. We don’t sissify it by taking out the ugly parts.”

“Amen! Praise Jesus!” the congregation roared.

“Being saved is a full-time job!” Preacher Naughton exhorted. “We don’t take part-timers here. Just because you saw someone holding up a John 3:16 sign at a football game won’t get you into heaven! All those damned souls that think showing up to church on Easter Sunday and Christmas Day cuts the mustard are in for a really big surprise. You know what that surprise is?”

“Hell!” the congregation loudly replied in unison.

“That’s right, my precious brothers and sisters. Hell is what those sinners are going to find. Those pathetic open-minded sinners. Around here, we don’t read the Bible with an open mind. You want to know why?”

“Why!”

“Because an open mind is Satan’s favorite toy. An open mind is like the Devil’s Xbox. He’ll play with it all day long and fill it with wickedness and sin. No, my friends, our minds aren’t open. We read this Bible word for holy word. Those that don’t will find themselves cast into the pits of Hell, and Matthew 13 tells us what that’s like. It’s full of wailing and gnashing of teeth. And for those without teeth, never fear. Spare teeth will be provided! Yes, sir, a furnace of fire awaits the unsaved sinners, but some people just don’t get it. You know, just last week I was watching the television, and can you believe what I heard?

“No! What was it? Tell us!” came the congregation’s reply.

“This show on the television was explaining what the center of the earth was made of. Can you believe it? For two thousand years we’ve known the center of the earth is Hell, and here is this television show with so-called scientists trying to pawn off some ridiculous explanation of the earth’s core. All they needed to do was read this,” Preacher Naughton said as he again held his Bible aloft. “It says right here that Hell is filled with fire and brimstone. You know what brimstone is, don’t you?”

“What?!”

“It’s another word for sulfur. Now, in my day, I’ve known many a fellow that’s worked on an oil well. And I’ve been told time and time again that when you start to drill really deep, you start to smell sulfur. That’s because the deeper you get, the closer you are to the Devil. Any time you smell sulfur, Lucifer is near! In fact, if you ever find yourself using a restroom stall in a public place and you smell sulfur from the stall next to you, get away as fast as you can. Because that person, sure as shooting, has the Devil in them!”

“You can get the Devil in your colon?” Jolene asked Polly in a whispered voice.