“And if thy eye causeth thee to sin, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life with one eye, rather than having two eyes, to be cast into hell-fire.” – Matthew 18:9

Father Donovan reached haltingly to touch Tommy’s young, naked chest. He felt the tiny adolescent ribs undulate beneath his fingers as he moved his hand down to caress Tommy’s flat young stomach, which quivered at his touch. As the priest reached still lower, he sat upright in his bed and began screaming. A cold sweat broke out on his brow and his stomach churned from the adrenaline overdose. Donovan looked heavenward and said “Dear God – drive away these evil thoughts that torment me.” Yes - it was just a dream, but it unearthed a terrible secret he’d buried years ago.

Tommy was the newest foster child to come under the Phefferly family’s care. They were very active in the church, volunteering for everything from decorating the altar to working the bingos on Friday nights to reading scripture on the altar every fourth Sunday. They also opened their home to foster children in an effort to spread God’s word to unfortunate children. In many ways, they were more pious than Father Donovan. At least, they were harder working. Tommy had his own demons, which is perhaps why this shy, lonely child connected in some strange way with the troubled priest. Tommy had no living parents, and no relatives that anyone could locate. He has bounced from foster home to foster home, never having a real family. As he got older, odds were he probably never would.

The dreams started 7 years ago in Baltimore when he was a young priest. A sad-eyed boy awakened a demon whose existence was completely unknown to Donovan. He had heard the whispered stories about other men and their heinous deeds, but he had no clue such sinister thoughts could exist in his own soul. He requested a transfer, and it was denied. Finally, he went to the bishop and confessed his problem. He got his transfer, along with a warning that he would be under a watchful eye. The fear of his own psyche has haunted him ever since. No man should know the evil that lurks in his heart…especially a priest.

Father Donovan invited Tommy and some of the other altar boys to the St. Stanislaus Seminary for a weekend retreat. There would be a few activities designed to enrich their souls – but it was really about rewarding the most reliable altar boys with ice cream at every meal and two full days to splash and play in the pool during the dog days of summer. It should be a fun time for all – until the nightmares started again. Now his heart pounded and his head throbbed at the thought of spending so much time tempted with libidinous thoughts of these young boys in the very shadow of the church and under the watchful eyes of a bishop that was aware of his secrets.

Maybe it was Tommy’s eyes that had triggered the dreams again. Even though the boy was barely 13 years old, he had seen violence, death, and the sordid side of the adult world since he was a baby. The child of a crack addicted prostitute and an unknown father, he had witnessed his mother killed by a knife-wielding junkie trying to steal drugs or money. When he came to Saint Rose Parish to live with the Phefferly family as a foster child, he already had the intense-yet-vacant stare that many of the Gulf War veterans shared. Father Donovan had heard some horrific things from these young men in confession, and he could feel their eyes burning through the darkness. Tommy had those eyes - the eyes of a war-weary soldier.

Father Donovan was startled from his thoughts by the sounds of laughter and splashing. The boys were already in the pool. It was now safe to go into the changing room. He would not risk any temptation this weekend.

Father Donovan stood on the bleached white tile studying the reflection of his bleached white body and equally bleached white boxer shorts. The catholic church definitely believed that white equals purity.

Suddenly, Tommy was standing there, boring into the priest’s brain with those eyes. Those haunting, mesmerizing, searing, eyes. He reached out to touch the boy’s cheek. It was as cold as his stare.

“Where are you going, son?” the priest asked.

“I’m hungry.”

“We’ll barbeque some hot dogs and hamburgers in about an hour.”

“I’m hungry now.” the boy said - his voice so low it sounded more like a growl.

Suddenly, Tommy looked less like a boy and more like a wolf. His movements were slow and deliberate. Every muscle in his tiny body was stretched taut as he coiled to strike.

Father Donovan took a step back as the hair on the back of his neck informed him he was facing something primal and dangerous. There was no way out of the room except to go past the boy. It was “fight or flight” time – and there was no way he could explain attacking the boy, so…

He made a run for it. But his middle-aged legs were too slow. A small hand shot out and gripped the priest’s ankle with the force of a steel trap. Father Donovan sailed head first into the hard tile wall. The resulting brain damage caused his pupils to blow out and he lost consciousness.

Father Donovan would never dream of young boys again…

The official coroner’s report would surmise that the priest suffered an aneurism and was probably dead before his head hit the tile since there was relatively little blood on the scene. With no suspicion of foul play, there was no full autopsy. Or the doctors might have realized that despite the condition of Father Donovan’s pupils, there had been no burst aneurism. And it’s too bad the mortician never saw those reports. Or he might have realized there was something wrong, because there was also very little blood left in the body…

Creature of the night?! Puh-lease! That would suck! Tommy smiled at his mental word play, and leapt into a deep-end cannonball. “I hope my next foster home is near the beach so I can play in the ocean!”