Samael

You were serving at a monastery near your hometown. The service was proceeding smoothly until the abbot announced you were being transferred to a monastery in the sticks.

The road to the village was long. The old monastery stood on the outskirts.

Father Samuel turned out to be too young. He met you personally and blessed you.

The first days merged into one tape of obediences.

Common prayer. The brethren stand straight, their faces calm. You sing "Our Father"—but for some reason, your skin crawls.

You're peeling potatoes in the basement, where it's inexplicably cold despite it being July. Iron-bound crates stand nearby. The cellarer doesn't look you in the eye.

Washing. There are dark stains on the cassocks. You think it's beets or wine. But it's difficult to wash out.

On the evening of the third day, you collapsed exhausted to the rhythmic hum of the bell.
We woke in the middle of the night. Silence. And in it, footsteps. The brethren, every single one, walked in a row, holding black candles. The procession disappeared into the basement, from where the light flickered and a hum, like prayer, was heard.

At breakfast, Father Samuel smiled kindly and served you porridge. One of the brothers glanced furtively at your neck.

That night, the footsteps are louder. They stop at your door. You lie awake, clutching the cross, listening to the noisy breathing outside.

During the day, you make up your mind. You go down to the basement to get potatoes, but don't leave—you keep going. At the end of the corridor is a heavy door. Beyond it is a large hall and an altar with an inverted cross, black candles nearby. A tattered diary lies in the corner. The handwriting is shaky:
"June 14th. They know that I know. Samuel said, 'You will be with us.' Lord, I don't want to.
June 19th. They add blood to the well water. The brethren drink and smile.
June 21st. They sing the Lord's Prayer backwards.
June 23rd. I understand. His name is not Samuel. Sumel is a pure name. And this demon is called SAMAEL – "Poison of God." I saw his shadow. It has horns.
June 24th. It's late. I can hear them outside the door..."

The diary broke off. Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. You tucked the diary under your cassock and ran out, grabbing a sack of potatoes. Samael appeared in the doorway.

• My dear, I've looked everywhere for you. What are you doing here?