Sebastian Gloom
An occult investigator in Edwardian England uncovers a vast conspiracy against the Catholic church.
This is a fantasy based on the imaginary world described in the Bible. A world that is flat, surrounded by a solid starry firmament and only six thousand years old.
Here is an excerpt from Sebastian Gloom.
Father Anthony was kneeling in front of the altar, and Gloom waited patiently for him to finish his prayers. He spent the time examining the intricately carved ornate stonework of the walls and ceiling and the stained glass windows, each of which depicted a story from the bible. He was particularly interested in the depiction of Jonah being swallowed by a great fish. The artist had depicted it as a whale, with a jet of water spouting from its blow hole, but Gloom suspected that the actual fish was more likely to have been a goliath sturgeon, the only fish in the world that was in the habit of swallowing man sized prey whole. He contemplated the story of Jonah, the story of how God had chosen him to be a prophet, despite his unwillingness, and had hounded him with storms and calamities until he’d agreed to do God's bidding. How does that fit in with free will? he wondered. Free will should mean we can say no to You if we want. Does free will only mean that we are free to obey?
“Sebastian Gloom,” said a voice, and Gloom turned to see that Father Anthony had finished his prayers and had come to stand beside him. “It's been many months since we've seen you within these walls.” He looked at the window Gloom had been studying. “He also took his time coming to God.”
“Is that all God wants?” asked Gloom. “A race of obedient servants? It seems such a small thing for an all powerful God to want to create. If I were God, I think I would be more interested in a race of disobedient people. People whose actions could never be predicted and who would therefore be a constant source of entertainment and surprise.”
Father Anthony laughed. “And are people not disobedient enough to serve that purpose?”
“But He punishes the disobedient. Rewards those who obey. If God were human, the people He would most closely resemble would be those work house bosses who force orphan children to work until they collapse from exhaustion and throw the disobedient out into the snow.”
“Those orphan children are given food and a roof over their heads,” pointed out the priest. “If not for the workhouse they would freeze and starve. God loves us, and provides for us. He created this whole world for us. He makes the sun rise, makes the crops grow, gives us children, provides an eternity of reward in heaven when we die. There is no limit to his love, no limit to his generosity.”
“Yes, of course, you are right,” said Gloom, including his head. “Forgive me, Father, I am a victim of my profession. I investigate the very worst of humanity, the scum of the world, and that tends to give me a somewhat jaundiced view of things. It is easy to forget that pure goodness exists, what it has done for us.”
The priest smiled. “There is nothing to forgive, my friend. Many of my parishioners are policemen and soldiers, they say very much the same thing. That is one of the most important parts of my job, to remind them of the love of God.”
“I hope you are in the mood for a great deal more forgiving,” said Gloom, “because it occurred to be earlier today that it has been far too long since my last confession, and I’m afraid that I have a great deal to confess to.”
“Then the sooner we start, the sooner we finish. Would you like a few minutes in prayer first?”
Gloom wheeled his chair a few feet away and sat with his head bowed in silent prayer. When he thought he’d spent long enough to be convincing he approached the priest again, who indicated the way to the confessional.
The bench within could be removed, for the benefit of wheelchair bound parishioners, and a moment later Gloom was sitting in the dark alcove looking at the priest through the small grill. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been six months since my last confession.”
“Tell me your sins, my child.”
“I have again harboured angry thoughts towards God for the malaise that confines me to this chair. I see others walking and running, delighting in their perfect, healthy bodies, and I feel envy and resentment. I try to tell myself that life itself is a gift, that I am fortunate for the many gifts God has given me. The gifts of sight and hearing, for instance, that others have been deprived of, but I can’t help comparing myself to those who are more fortunate, not less. I was less than ten years old when the polio struck me down. What great sin did I commit that I deserved this fate? Yes, I know the answer. Why shouldn't He give me polio? God does as He wishes, and we cannot question Him. I know all this but I get angry nonetheless. I just can't help it. I am so weak, so ashamed. Every time I come to confess you forgive me, and yet I commit the same sin again and again. Why should you forgive me yet again?”
“We are all weak, my son, and yet God forgives us.”
“I have committed other sins. I harbour lustful thoughts towards women, even though my poor body is incapable of committing intimate acts.”
“That is another of His gifts, my son. Thoughts are of little consequence so long as they remain confined to our own minds, but actions can have the most grievous consequences. God has blessed you by ensuring that you are incapable of committing the acts to which you refer.”
“I shall remember to thank Him every time a lustful thought enters my head from now on.”
