Hollow BE THY NAME

The glass jar filled with eyeballs sits upon the cob-webbed shelf in the basement of your hell, but you don’t know that yet - but you’ll soon have the opportunity - you won’t have a choice. The floor is wet with the blood of your sins that is dripping from the floorboards above, but the layer of crushed bones covering the dirt floor keeps it from getting too sticky - let’s face it - if you were in my shoes would you want to get stuck in a place like this? The bare light bulb is hanging from a beam above my head, casting dark shadows upon the row of corpses - well, not all of them are corpses - I can see that some of them still have a little breath left in them and if they don’t stop their moaning and groaning I’m gonna slash them again and again and again until the little skin that’s left on their bones will splatter on the crumbling walls of my personal morgue - hell, maybe it’ll act as insulation and keep out some of that damn cold wind that’s always trying its best to creep in between the crumbling mortar - maybe I’ll warm up a bit.

I’ve always wanted to be a coroner or one of those guys who do autopsies - but when I was ten I got caught stealing a corpse and cutting it up so they put that on my record and there went my chances of becoming a coroner or medical examiner or whatever he hell those guys are called that saw through your chest and then peel away your skin in one perfect piece. Well, didn’t matter to me - I’ve been collecting those guys who’ve ruined my career and have hidden them in this basement once I got strong enough to grab ’em and stab ’em. And one guy - well he’s been down here for maybe four, err, I’ve gotta be honest with ya - more like twenty years! I’ve been slicing inches off of his skin, a little at a time, and force-feeding him with his own skin. I’m smart enough to know ya need fluids in order to survive - so, drain a little blood from him now and then and watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows his own blood.

Sometimes I give them a little treat if they do a little trick or two - ‘tongue toast’ - considered to be a breakfast specialty - they have no choice but to listen to me as I describe to them the technique I’m using to pull out one of their compatriot’s tongue with this nice pair of rusty pliers down here and then stuff it down their greedy throats.

The best part is that every Halloween for the past twenty years I’ve dressed up as ‘The Father’ and gone out trick or treating and enticed those little nobodies to my hallowed ground. They thought they could get away with it, all those years ago, ruining my prospects for attaining my career goals, but I was too smart for them. Bloody fools! And I’ve had so many years of practice now, I’m probably better than any of them ever hoped to be.

Yes, this year, once again, I’m dressing up as the ‘Our Father.’ That’ll fool them. ‘Who Art In Heaven.’ Ha! Ha! Let’s be honest here. This ain’t no heaven. Well, maybe it’s my heaven but it’s sure gotta be hell for you. ‘Hollow Be Thy Name.’ Sound like a priest, don’t I?

Here - reach out and touch them - there ya go! Some nice slimy eyeballs for you to touch and swallow. No. No. Don’t you dare choke! You try to spit them out and I’ll ram them down your bloody throat!

“Knock, knock, knocking on someone’s door.”

“Oh, God, do come in. Hallow be thy name, Father. Please, please, enter. Won’t you have a treat?”

“No thanks, buddy. Ya know, with the virus and all, I think I’ll pass. But, how ’bout if I do a little trick for you?”

“Oh, Father, that would be so nice. Please come in.”

“Well, here goes. But ya need to come to my Kingdom, it’s just down the road. It’s like a little heaven and I have a little special treat for you after you watch my little trick - it's called, ‘Our Daily Bread’ and it is sooooooo good. And don’t worry about those trespassing signs you’ll see - no sir. I just put them up to scare away those little devils hanging around that try to lead us all into temptation. Ha! Ha!”

The two gentlemen - one a killer and one a retired medical examiner have reached their destination. Hell, it’s cold outside but inside the killer’s home, it's as hot as hell. They remove their outer wrappings and it is then that the killer does his little trick. He removes his mask and exposes his true self - the devil in disguise. And his visitor dies of fright and then is dragged down the stairs and hung with the rest.

The devil laughs devilishly and then jumps up and down and picks up the tools of his trade: his forceps and scissors and scalpel and saw - and with his fork in one hand and his tools in the other he works into the eerie hours of Halloween night - cutting and eating and cutting and eating. Then he gracefully wipes his mouth and gives a hearty burp, gives thanks to the Lord, and yells out to his silent companions, “Hallow Be Thy Name! Amen.”