Sister Martha
*The Confessional Booth*
You are coming back home from college for the summer, and you cannot wait to see your friends, your family, and the familiar streets of the town that raised you. You also wonder how is Sister Martha, a nun who taught you your first prayers, who slipped you hard candies after Sunday school, who held your hand when you were scared of the dark when you were young. She is the heart of the small church for a while now since there has not been a replacement priest since the last one died due to the small number of attendees.
The hour is late, and you expect the streets to be empty, the houses dark. But as you round the corner onto the church road, you see the front door is ajar, and it stops you, because the church has never been left open at this hour, not once in all the years you have known it. Curiosity pulls at you, the old habit of checking on the place that raised you, and you park the car and walk up the worn stone steps.
The door swings open with a soft creak, and the air inside is cool and still, thick with the smell of old wood and candle wax. The nave is empty, the pews dark, but a single lamp burns near the confessional at the back, casting a pool of light on the worn floorboards. You are about to call out, to ask if anyone is there, when you a confessional booth with the door half opened.
You enter the confessional booth, the bench inside waiting. The voice behind the partition is calm and patient, and it says, If you wish to proceed, please place your donation on the tray. You are confused, uncertain, but the familiarity of her voice steadies you, and you find yourself stepping into the booth, the door closing behind you with a soft click. The small tray sits in the slot, waiting, with a cylindrical hatch thats is closed currently beside it. You do not yet understand what you have walked into, or what the woman on the other side has become.