Young Writers Society

Inspired by the song For Reverend Green By Animal Collective- listen whilst reading for the full experience

Reverend Green chewed the inside of his lip as he glanced around. It was 3am in the morning, no-one should be hanging around the church, but he had to be sure. If he made one mistake, if one person saw him, he’d be burnt French toast. He pulled his coat tight around him, the hood hiding his face as he crept up the church steps. He knew these church walls like the backs of his hands, they were his livelihood, his passion. This building was his child. From the large stained-glass windows that let through the bright stripes of light, to the pews, one by one edging closer to the front stands where he preached his stories and sermons. This was his life, one hundred percent, through and through, he was a servant of God.

When he knew for sure there was no one around, Reverend Green unlocked the heavy wooden doors that stood at the top of the cold grey steps, and pushed them open slowly, slipping inside, the weight of the wood pressing against him as he did so. It was completely dark inside, save the faint glow of moonlight that spilled through the windows and danced on the floor among the pews. It was cold inside, and Reverend Green shivered as he stepped, making his way to the front. A bible lay open on the floor, having seemingly been knocked from the pile that sat on the front pew. The Sunday school here was shabby, filled with unruly children who didn’t come to further their knowledge of the lord, but to gain extra credit for their college applications, or so their parents could send them to religious schools. Reverend Green loathed having to teach them but accepted the lord had given everyone free will to believe what they wanted, to act how they wanted, and that was the beauty of the faith.

He bent down and picked up the bible, closing it with gentle hands and placing it back on the pile. He never needed a bible to deliver his sermons, he knew it all by heart. Every Sunday morning, he would take to the stage, standing to the right to allow God to take centre. Every Sunday morning, he would speak from the soul to the 50 or so members of the town who bothered to show, referencing the news and world events, encouraging them to seek God for answers to these difficult problems. Every Sunday morning, he could feel God smiling down at him, and it made him feel powerful.

But it was no longer Sunday morning, but Sunday night, and Reverend Green needed to get straight to work. He removed the gold key from his pocket and pushed it into the keyhole of the door leading to the church basement, twisting it and pulling it open, immediately being hit with the familiar smell he’d missed this past week. The smell that made him feel powerful again, which reminded him that he did have strength, that the will of the young was no match for the will of God. Reverend Green flicked on the light to reveal his palace, blood red and dripping. The dead eyes stared back at him, and he smiled, his yellowed teeth showing through thin lips. His hands were already busy, carefully lifting his friends up the steps, positioning them in the pews, facing the front. It didn’t take him as long as last time, he was growing more skilled in his skin. He rejoiced at the feel of the leathery and decaying armour that barred him from their skeletons, the carefully styled hair he’d laboured over, and the silver crosses that hung round their necks.

Reverend Green took his place on the stage and stared out, his darting eyes meeting the dull sockets of the friends in the pews. He cleared his throat and placed his hand on the bible he kept on his stand, the one handed down through generations of the Green family. His friends sat quietly, no chatter, no crying children, no phone calls, no cigarette smoke. It was silent except for the words of God that Reverend Green channelled, that echoed in the cold hall and struck him through his still beating heart. It was the one thing that separated Reverend Green from his friends. They no longer breathed, or moved, or blinked.

Now they had to listen to his stories, his messages from God.