J is Jaspar

Jaspar slapped his palm with his fetter, the Hickory. He has used it on the girls, so long ago, but it still felt new. Was that blood on the tip? On the edge there? He realized then, he lost focus and looked back at the men that had been delievered to him. On the new furniture.

Had they NO shame. They didn't scream. Further proof they had no penance. They were so far from God, they couldn't even cry out to Him.

They deserved to die. They were an abomination. The Bible said so.

There was that feeling again. The Son did not turn on those who laid waste to him. So perfect.

Jaspar shook his head. No time for such thoughts. Death was fortold by God. And God was using him as judgement. It's why he was immortal. To kill those.

The Parsonage was his home. He built it; he commanded it. These two young men, kissing, there in the workers' rooms. That was just wrong.

He heard their names in the din. The one was called Mikale. That's a colored name. The other was named Court. No good Christian would call a child that. Even their parents had forsaken them.

It was time for them to be punished.

The one called Mikale reached again for the latchkey and turned it again, with no fear.

Jaspar pulled the Hickory up and slammed it down the boy's head, making contact with his forehead, but the boy just shimmered. Beside his nose, another small cut formed, near where the Hickory axe handle came to a rest.

Reverand Jaspar yelled at them.

They stood up and ignored him, buckled from the little pain he had caused. They ran to the front door.

Jaspar wanted to stop them and found him shifted to the foyer between the stained glass door and the outer door.

He could see the young man struggle with the lock. One of them, blurred by the blown glass, squinted as if he could see Jaspar.

Jaspar had not been seen in years.

He dropped Hickory and bent at the waist to look at the two young men.

They backed up from the door.