TH02 - The Priest of Evil by Matti Joensuu Page A

past them, but he had decided to try nonetheless. And how he had succeeded! Advocatus Mamillus had snatched the victim into his arms; barely had he managed to cry out before he was gone. He had clearly sensed Maammo’s grateful smile, for she sent him a bunch of blessed beams, and this time they had been the colour of copper.
    He removed his dress, placed it carefully on the clothes hanger and hung it on the line by the doorway. Then he raised his hands between his shoulder blades, undid his bra and took it off along with his breasts. Once he had put on his hooded top he looked even more like a man.
    He put his hands to his groin and groped around. For a brief moment his face was empty, as though a spark had disappeared from within him. He then quickly took off his underpants – they were red and made of a shiny material with a broad strip of lace down the front – grabbed a thin leather belt, blackened with sweat, from on top of the sleeping bag, hooked it around his hips and fastened the buckle. He shifted the belt round so that the buckle was at his back and a leather sheath tightly crammed with sand lay against his stomach. It dangled between his legs and reached almost half way down his thighs.
    Finally he slipped on his underwear, a pair of boxer shorts covered in pictures of Hagar the Horrible, pulled on his trousers and took a pair of thick spectacles out of his pocket – the kind that President Kekkonen used to wear. Once he had placed them on his nose there was no longer the slightest hint of the woman Maammo had commanded him to become the previous night.
    He dimmed the light from the storm lantern. Of all others he had chosen that particular man because he had revealed his sinful ways. There had been a quiet smile on the man’s face, the kind of smile that meant he was clearly content with his life, happy even – but immediately he had understood why. That wretched man had been wallowing in sin and lechery, trampling the will of Maammo into dirt. Perhaps that very morning the miserable creature had held his hand between a woman’s legs, fondling it until it became moist with evil juices, shoved his member inside, and screwed her, teased her nipples and writhed until everything went black. Perhaps he had even thrust into her anus, or her mouth.
    ‘ Diablo desum! ’ he muttered hoarsely and a wave of disgust trembled through his hands. He flinched and his head moved like a dog shaking itself dry, but soon afterwards his eyes squinted slightly, almost as if he were smiling. And indeed he was smiling, for he knew: that man would never do any of this again. His fornication would no longer hold up the coming of the Truth, nor would he ever covet money and possessions again.
    ‘ Ea lesum ,’ he whispered, as if to bring an end to the matter. He had been so excited by the sacrifice that he had felt compelled to visit the underground platform a number of times that morning, and at several points he had been able to make out the thrilling stench of raw humanflesh, like walking past the meat counter at the market. Yet not even this could satisfy him. He had felt the urge to mark out others for himself, even though he knew it was dangerous during the daylight hours. Rush hour was by far the best time for this, as people were crammed into the carriages, pushing and shoving each other, and did not notice as he secretly marked them as his own.
    ‘Ha!’ he snorted. Taking the risk had paid off, because in return he had been rewarded with a vision. Maammo had granted it to him and had commanded him to make it come true. This time the vermilion swirl had been great, but in the vision he had seen an even greater one, a swirl of giant proportions, one that would occur only when as many as ten or twenty people died at once and their spirits rose up together. And it would be a swirl so great that Maammo would take him into her embrace for all eternity.
    Indeed, he already had some idea of how to realise this. Maammo had