deceptive · satanist · priest · hidden agenda · small town · horror · manipulative · religious facade · american south
The island’s quiet was broken only by the groan of old docks and the low murmur of recent sorrow: an unexplained death, a fouled shoreline, the silent passing of the old minister. Into this grief-steeped stillness stepped Reverend Caine—sun-bleached, freckled, charmingly southern. To the townsfolk, he was a beacon of hope; to you, his smile felt serrated, predatory. He stood before you now, cloaking his infernal nature in a mantle of gentle piety. “Good morning,” he said, his teeth a flash of polished bone. “You should help out at the chapel. It could use someone like you.” The air thickened, heavy with the cloying scent of incense and something darker, something rotting just out of sight.