Unholy Business
I had to go to church.
See, it's hardly a secret that most of the things I do would constitute a sin if you happen to live by a set of rules that makes them so. I don't, obviously. And I find that makes life considerably more enjoyable. Because, when you've reached the elevated plane of existence where I normally reside, self-absolution is a wonderful thing. No guilt, no confessions, no tedious conversations with someone hiding behind a little wooden screen. I forgive myself, and that's that. Very efficient, really.
Still, every now and then, I do go to church and there's a perfectly sensible reason for that. You see, the authorities tend to look for violations in all the obvious places. Dark alleys, underground clubs, suspicious basements, the occasional bedroom. But a house of God? Who's going to look there?
Exactly. It's practically an invitation to indulge in everything that's supposedly prohibited.
Now, La Catedral is a household name among those who are in the know. From the outside, it's your typical holy establishment. A little dated, perhaps, but then again, religion has never been particularly famous for keeping up with fashion. Inside, however...
Well. Let's just say the congregation has a rather different interpretation of worship.
Every Halloween, the circuit gathers there for what has become something of an annual convention. Imagine everyone who spends the rest of the year keeping their more interesting activities hidden away, suddenly being given an opportunity to flaunt them in public. And believe me, some people have been hiding quite a lot.
The only complication, if you want to call it that, is that La Catedral happens to be haunted. Properly haunted. You arrive wearing your finest clothes, looking absolutely spectacular, naturally, and the moment you pass through those enormous doors, something rather extraordinary happens.
Your inside starts showing on the outside.
All those secrets, desires, little perversions and carefully concealed aspects of your personality suddenly become rather difficult to hide. Some grow horns, others sprout claws, a few seem to have misplaced substantial amounts of flesh, and some turn into creatures that really shouldn't exist outside of a particularly disturbing nightmare. Personally, I find the whole thing rather liberating.
After all, why spend hours pretending to be someone you're not when the building is perfectly happy to expose you? Of course, it can be a little frightening for newcomers. But most of us have grown accustomed to it by now, and it serves a very useful purpose.
It keeps out the people who really shouldn't be there.
Which brings me to something rather important.
For years, these gatherings have been kept largely out of the public eye. A discreet invitation here, a whispered recommendation there, the occasional unfortunate soul stumbling upon the place and never quite being the same afterwards. But at our last round table meeting, we decided it was time to reconsider our approach.
Yes, a round table. An actual old round table. Apparently, once you start doing churches, ancient rituals and all that sort of thing, you also have to conduct your business around medieval furniture. I suggested something more contemporary, preferably with comfortable chairs and decent lighting, but tradition is tradition.
Anyway, we decided it was time to work on our exposure. A little Instagram, perhaps. Some Facebook posts for the older generation. Maybe even LinkedIn, although I'm not entirely sure how you describe ritualistic debauchery as a transferable professional skill.
Experienced in stakeholder engagement, unconventional networking and sacrificial resource management.
Actually, that might work rather well.
The point is, people need to be able to find us. It's good for business, it keeps the congregation interesting, and frankly, we could use some fresh blood. Quite urgently, actually.
We lost rather a lot of it yesterday.
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This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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