The Confession Booth Carousel: One Deadly Sin at a Time

The Confession Booth Carousel: One Deadly Sin at a Time

Imagine if every time you sought forgiveness, you had to relive your worst moments, each chipping away at your soul.

In the center of St. Jude's abandoned church stood an old confession booth, illuminated by a sickly yellow beam of moonlight through a shattered stained-glass window. Dust floated in the air, heavy like visible guilt. For weeks, rumors had spread about the church's mysterious reawakening. People spoke of a shadowy figure entering at night, but no one was brave enough to explore—except for me.

I'm Sarah, a journalist always drawn to the strange and unsettling. The whispers about St. Jude's were irresistible. Armed with a flashlight, a notepad, and skepticism, I pushed open the church's creaky doors.

Inside, the air was cold and heavy, smelling of decay mixed with the sweet scent of incense. It was unsettling. I walked slowly down the aisle, my footsteps echoing, until I reached the confession booth. It looked ancient, with scarred wood and a faded velvet curtain.

Cautiously, I looked inside. The priest's side was empty, hidden in shadow. On the penitent's side was a small note pinned to the wooden partition with a rusty nail.

“Confess. Repent. Be judged.”

A shiver ran down my spine. This was clearly staged. But by whom, and why? Against my better judgment, I stepped inside and closed the curtain.

The moment the velvet touched my back, the atmosphere changed. The air felt dense and the silence heavy with expectation.

Then, a voice spoke. It wasn't loud or theatrical, just a low murmur coming from all around.

"Tell me, daughter, what sins weigh upon your soul?"

I laughed nervously. "Is this a prank?"

The voice remained silent. The heavy quiet stretched on. Finally, I confessed a small, selfish act from my past.

"Okay, fine. In college, I cheated on a history exam. I hadn't studied and knew I'd fail, so I peeked at my neighbor's paper."

As soon as I spoke, the booth started to spin slowly. The incense burned my nostrils, and images from the exam room appeared in my mind. It was like living the event again, more intensely.

Then it stopped. The air cleared. I stumbled out, breathless, my head spinning and legs weak. The note was gone.

Yet, something else had disappeared too. I felt lighter, as if a burden I didn't know I carried was lifted. Surprisingly, it was exhilarating.

"That was… weird," I muttered. Despite the odd experience, I felt drawn back to the booth. Could I really cleanse myself of all my mistakes?

I hesitated, then went back inside.

"Alright," I said with a shaky voice. "As an intern, I took credit for another intern's story idea. She was shy, and I wanted the recognition. I felt guilty but never apologized."

The spinning began again, more intense. I saw the other intern's disappointed face and my proud expression. The guilt overwhelmed me.

When it stopped, I felt lighter again. But my reflection looked fainter, like a part of me was gone.

I realized the truth. This wasn't about forgiveness, but erasing part of my soul. Panic rose. I needed to escape, yet felt compelled to continue.

I confessed more: betraying a friend in high school, ignoring my mother's feelings, making harsh comments that hurt a colleague. Each confession made the memories sharper and my reflection more faint.

The church grew colder and darker. I sensed something malevolent watching from the shadows.

Finally, I had no more to confess. The carousel ceased, leaving me feeling empty, almost transparent. I stepped out, struggling to stand. The church felt even more abandoned.

I knew I had to leave. Glancing back at the booth, I understood it was no ordinary confessional; it was a trap disguised as redemption.

Outside in the cool air, I vowed never to return. The mystery was solved, but at what personal cost. I learned that seeking forgiveness this way was too high a price, leaving only emptiness.

Walking away from St. Jude's, it felt like I was leaving a part of myself behind. From then on, whenever guilt surfaced, I faced it head-on by making amends and trying to be better. That seemed the true path to forgiveness, without losing my soul, only gaining wisdom.