The Chauffeur

Naples tended to be quite the popular getaway in the heat of late summer. As an Englishman used to nothing but overcast grey in August, it was always a welcome change of scenery. My family used to frequent the white beaches of this place every year when I was a wee lad. Nothing hasn't changed much since the 1930s. Here I am now, in the present day, August the 15th, 1955.  My name is Richard Sexton, current CFO of Rover Company Limited; yes, the premiere auto manufacturer from Great Britain. 
Usually, I don't get car sick on long journeys, especially those long treks across mainland Europe, but this trip hadn't been so kind to my stomach. My hands retrieved my pocket watch to check the time.  I was behind schedule, typical. I knew that little hangup in Paris would set me back. 
My chauffeur, a fat, yet friendly fellow from Malta, seemed to connect with me on the nostalgia of my previous holidays here. He rambled on about the warm summer nights and our shared experiences in the gulf. I asked him if he had ever visited the Girolamini. 
His expression shifted to a very grim one. "Signore, I dare not go near that place out of respect..." As I lit my cigarette, I raised an inquisitive brow. "Surely, you must have visited it at some point," I replied. My driver shook his head. "No, no, Signore, I wouldn't even dream of stepping near that place." He glanced in the mirror and his grey eyebrows sunk as his eyes narrowed. "Il diavolo prospera in un posto simile..." 
'The Devil prospers in such a place' was what he said. My Italian wasn't up fully to snuff but I could interpret just enough of what he said. It wasn't the first time I had heard that in this city. I discarded that information as some sort of effort to drive tourism away from their prized landmark. It's a house of God! How could such a holy place become tainted by unholy dribble? 
As we pulled up to my seaside hotel, I paid him a generous amount of Lira for picking me up from the train station. "Thank you, signore, if you ever need me to give you a lift, please call me at this number." The chauffeur reached into his pocket and pulled out a white business card with his number etched into it. Astounding, his business cards were even better than my own, the chief financial officer of Britain's homegrown automobile. I smiled politely and nodded as I stepped out and with it in my right hand and my suitcase in the other. "I'll be sure to but, forgive my lack of manners, I don't think I got your name." The car pulled away abruptly before I could get a response. 
I entered my suite not too long after. The lady at the front desk searched around clumsily for my reservation. She was clearly drunk as bloody hell. The small hiccup at the desk didn't sour my mood, however.  What did however was the interaction with my chauffeur minutes ago. If he wasn't going to take me near it, I'll find my own goddamn way. As I slouch into the couch, as I gaze out the window and into the mid-afternoon sky. In my right hand, a glass of scotch; in my left, my tenth cigarette today. "Devil or no devil, I'm going to see the interior of the famed cathedral," I said to myself before taking another swing of my drink. 
Later that evening, I headed off to the magnificent cathedral. Before me it stood, elegant and clean. 
This whole place felt inviting and warm. I don't know what came over me... I began to remove my clothing, to become one with the true nature of humans, like Adam and Eve. The silver tongue of angels reeled me in. There was a tall metal fence blocking tourists from entering the church. I wasn't going to let a simple man-made barrier stop me from being in the House of the Lord.
My hands and feet began to scale it and on top of the fence were very sharp spires. I struggled to clamber over it without it ripping into my scrotum. No pain, no tears, I felt none of that as I made it to the other side. The doors opened and inside a blinding, heavenly light embraced me as I entered. Tears of joy ran down my face as I stepped into, what I could only assume at the time, the Gates of Heaven. 
What a fool I was for being so reckless...
The doors slammed shut behind me as the wind from it moving past brushed against me. All the overwhelming joy was washed off my face. The horrors displayed before me caused me to shudder. Upon the wall of the altar, the Lord Jesus, on the cross, inverted and dripped blood from his genitals. His eyes were hollowed out and oozing sludge. In the pews, several skeletons are in robes and covered in cobwebs. 
At the altar, my Chauffeur, but he was looking pale and ghoulish. 
"Il diavolo prospera in un posto simile..." he finally said after a moment of silence.
The blood dripping from my testicles began to gradually increase. The agonising feeling of pain finally struck me. "No!" I screamed. "NO!" The fat ghoul stepped down from the altar and walked down the aisle towards me completely emotionless. All the infernal remains of the followers rose from the pews as they shifted their heads toward me. 
One thing's for certain, I'll never visit Italy again.
Category:Vehicles
Category:RTWC23
Category:Weird
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