Father Howard was a responsible believer—or at least, he played the part of one perfectly. As a member of the Christian faith, more specifically a Catholic priest, he didn't actually possess much genuine faith. He merely used religion as a psychological crutch and a perfect undercover shield. To him, the sacred "Amen" was little more than a convenient catchphrase.
This is a common affliction for many who delve deeply into the mechanics of religion, even those who climb to higher echelons of the church. The closer they get to the concept of "God," the more cynical they become. The veil of mystery surrounding the divine is gradually lifted by the mundane bureaucracy of the church, until they finally conclude that "God" is just an empty shell used to govern the masses.
In Howard's cynical view, if someone desperately tried to prove God's existence to you, there was no need to debate theology. You just needed to hold onto your wallet, because they likely just wanted to empty the last of your coins.
Arriving back at the entrance of his own parish—currently doubling as their FBI front—Howard saw many of the junior staff and undercover agents chatting casually in small groups. This was not uncommon. Bureaucrats and religious staff are often like civil servants; once they've reached a certain comfortable level, the steady benefits always make them forget the poverty and discipline of the bottom ranks.
Howard didn't intend to reprimand them for slacking off. A river that is too clear houses no fish. He needed to ensure his subordinates were relatively comfortable before he could expect their unwavering support in dangerous operations.
But those three undercover lads he left behind in Innsmouth were really out of line…
He frowned deeply. He thought of the three young "monks" who had lingered in that rotting coastal town, seemingly throwing away their careers to sleep with the locals. They had made him lose face directly in front of Shuichi Akai, a top-tier federal investigator. This would undoubtedly affect Howard's reputation and his next promotion evaluation within the Bureau.
They had made such a massive, insubordinate mistake; why had he just let those three young men get away with it so easily?
Lost in thought, Howard paused on the walkway, a sudden, chilling realization dawning on him. He was a veteran. He was self-aware enough to know he was never usually this lenient with insubordinate staff. If there was a mistake, especially one that directly implicated his leadership, it had to be punished immediately.
'Was I out of my mind…?' Howard thought, genuinely perplexed by his own unnatural leniency back in that town. 'Why didn't I order them into the van?'
Stroking his white beard, Howard looked increasingly uneasy.
The sky remained dim above the parish. The winter dawn felt particularly cold, biting right through his heavy coat. Perhaps it was the winter chill that made him so incredibly drowsy, or perhaps he just hadn't slept enough the night before, but Howard found himself yawning repeatedly, longing to just go back to his dorm, collapse, and sleep for days.
Faintly, he heard the rhythmic sound of gentle waves lapping at a shore, a sound that strangely intensified his heavy sleepiness.
'Is it a hallucination?' Howard rubbed his tired eyes. He thought of his disturbing experience in Innsmouth the previous day. 'I must have been deeply affected by the atmosphere of that town. Coastal towns certainly do have constant waves...'
He forced himself to continue walking forward, fighting off the unnatural, suffocating drowsiness pulling at his mind.
'I can't take it anymore... I'm getting sleepier and sleepier... I have to hurry inside...'
Clang—!
The bells tolled!
A morning bell suddenly rang out with a grand, deafening, and resounding metallic crash.
In an instant, Howard's eyes snapped open wide like a startled bull's, and his entire body shuddered violently. He was instantly "awake." The heavy, unnatural drowsiness was entirely obliterated. It was as if the lethargy had been a dark spell, violently shattered by the holy tolling of the bell.
But as his heart hammered in his chest, Howard realized a terrifying fact.
'My church has no bells…'
What had just happened?
Howard's expression was completely dazed. 'What was that I just heard?'
The faint, hypnotic sound of the ocean waves in his ears had also completely vanished. It was as if the phantom tolling of the bell had driven away an encroaching evil.
'All… all evil?'
In an instant, feeling as if his scalp was tingling with electricity, Howard abandoned his dignified walk and sprinted directly into the church.
Only after he was completely inside the sanctuary did he dare to look back out the heavy wooden doors with lingering, primal fear. There seemed to be nothing unusual in the courtyard. The junior staff were still chatting. It was as if he had simply suffered a brief, intense panic attack.
However, the white-bearded veteran carefully observed the empty air outside the door, his expression one of absolute disbelief. He scrutinized every blade of grass and every shadow cast by the trees.
'What exactly just happened to me out there…?'
After a long while, noticing nothing physically amiss, he slowly turned back around. He looked at the solemn interior of the church. There were prayer rooms, chapels, a cleaning table, and a hymn hall.
To Howard's eyes, his vision seemed to be covered by a thin, distorted veil. He suddenly couldn't quite see the "truth" of the solid architecture around him. He didn't usually have much genuine faith in Christianity, viewing it mostly with a skeptical, utilitarian attitude.
'God…' Howard thought, his breath trembling. 'Is this a supernatural revelation from You…?'
He walked silently toward the private prayer room, completely ignoring the polite greetings from the junior staff passing by.
Just as his hand reached out to grasp the brass doorknob of the prayer room, he froze.
Whoosh...
He distinctly heard the faint, rhythmic sound of ocean waves crashing again, echoing right behind his ears.
He paused, paralyzing fear seizing his limbs. Howard nervously gripped the silver crucifix hanging at his chest.
'God… Your servant seems to be hallucinating…'
Immediately, his composure shattered. He ran like a mad, panicked rabbit, abandoning all priestly dignity, barely noticing the contorted muscles in his own face from sheer terror. It felt as if an invisible, damp presence was looming right over his shoulder.
He rushed into the small prayer room and slammed the door shut, locking it. His rapid breathing and pounding heart echoed in the cramped space, causing Howard to start spiraling into overthinking.
'No. This is all just my imagination. I'm exhausted. I shouldn't burden myself with paranoia.'
He tried to rationalize it. Clergy often performed exorcisms and rituals at people's homes, admonishing them to believe in the one true God to banish their "demons." But seasoned veterans like him all knew that these exorcisms were merely theatrical placebos for psychological comfort. Real demons didn't exist.
He forced himself to take deep breaths to calm his racing heart. Howard's face looked terrible—pale, sweaty, and aged. He was starting to have severe, terrifying doubts about the nature of reality. But his years of operational experience forced him to suppress his rising panic.
Finally, he calmed his breathing and sat down heavily in the center pew of the prayer room.
'Perhaps I really am just tired. I should rest after reciting a few prayers. Overthinking can easily lead to psychological breaks.'
Howard took a deep, steadying breath. He picked up a heavy, leather-bound Bible from the pew, opened it blindly, closed his eyes tightly, and began to pray with a desperate earnestness he hadn't felt since childhood.
"Our Father, who art in heaven…"
Whoosh— whoosh— whoosh…
The waves crashed.
They weren't faint anymore. It sounded exactly like massive, violent tides lapping against a desolate shore in the dead of night. In his mind's eye, the water was pitch black, as if carrying a primordial, rotting filth that threatened to contaminate everything it touched. The water felt infinitely deep, possessing a terrifying chill that penetrated straight through his flesh to the bone.
Suddenly, Howard snapped his bloodshot eyes open.
His heart pounded against his ribs as if struck by a heavy sledgehammer. His weathered hands, gripping the edges of the Bible, were sweating profusely and trembling violently.
Staring blankly down at the holy book in his hands, Howard felt a thick vein throbbing painfully on his forehead.
A freezing chill rose from the soles of his feet and shot straight up his spine, making his entire body feel incredibly weak, limp, and entirely beyond his physical control.
He had experienced something similar to this specific terror only once before in his life. It was years ago, during an operation when he stood on a swaying suspension bridge hundreds of feet in the air, without any safety harness, looking down into a jagged abyss that could shatter him to pieces.
Now, that exact, paralyzing feeling of vertigo returned.
He was clearly sitting firmly on a wooden pew on solid ground, yet the imminent, suffocating sense of impending doom—the feeling of plunging headfirst into a bottomless, dark ocean abyss—remained intensely, undeniably present.
That extreme urgency wasn't an illusion; it was a tangible, terrifying, supernatural reality that clung tightly to his soul, dragging him down into the depths.
'What is that…' Howard murmured silently, his face devoid of all color, his lips trembling. 'What the hell is that?!'
From this moment on, all the veteran investigator could feel was an unbearable, agonizing, and crushing atmospheric pressure…
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