Nightmare #67 – Protestant Trespass & Stigmata

(Male, late 30’s) I was visiting the church that I attended while growing up.  I was there with my wife but it wasn’t a Sunday morning.  It was a Saturday afternoon or a Sunday afternoon. We were in the basement which was traditionally used as a large recreational area. It was entirely dark.  On the floor every foot or so were piles of fabric which we figured were child-sized sleeping bags — probably hundreds of them.  We figured the church youth group had a sleep over. But where was everyone? Most of the sleeping bags seemed empty but the room was also filled with that hushed sound of slow breathing, like all around us, people were sleeping.  We tiptoed through the area and gradually came to an area where there were adults.  They were mostly very old and very awake and for that matter, pretty mean.  They said “Who are you?” “We don’t recognize you” and “You don’t look Methodist to me.”  I explained how I had attended this church as a child, how my father had been the choir director but they must have called the police. As we were leaving, a police car arrived. I raised my hands and turned to face the policeman and I saw he had a rifle aimed at me.  He must have been startled when I turned because he shot a bullet clean through the palm of my left hand.  I looked over at it and thought to myself, “That son of bitch just shot me” and while and I looked at the blood coming out of my hand, the police man shot me again in my right hand. I don’t remember the pain so much as the force of the impact and then the sense of the tissues giving way and being torn aside by the bullet. Finally, the policeman shot me in my belly and I woke up.

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