Pastor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Part 1

“What I am is not who I want to be, and what I want to be I cannot seem to become.” Inspired by Romans 7:15 (paraphrased)

The smell of cinnamon and sugar mixed with the bitter drip of burnt coffee wafted through the converted warehouse, which had become more sanctuary than shelter. A dented Crock-Pot hummed softly in the corner. Gospel music crackled from an old radio. The tables were a patchwork of secondhand donations, chipped, crooked, holy in their own way.

Pastor Jekyll sat across from Mr. Utterson at a long folding table, half a bear claw in one hand and a Styrofoam cup of coffee in the other. Jekyll wore a well-worn black shirt and slacks that suggested thrift-store humility, but he carried himself like a man who’d once performed Hamlet in a church basement and never quite left the stage. His clothes were plain, but his posture was immaculate, every gesture crisp, rehearsed. Only his eyes betrayed him: too alert, too calculating, like they were waiting for a cue no one else could hear. Pastor Jekyll’s voice was low and warm, like molasses dripping from a cracked jar.

“You hear about that prophet from Dallas?” Mr. Utterson asked, licking jelly from his fingers.

“Which one?” asked Pastor Jekyll

“The one caught with a prostitute in that motel off the interstate. They said he used ministry money.” Utterson leaned in, lowering his voice even though nobody was listening. “It’s on the news. You haven’t seen it?”

Pastor Jekyll shook his head, smiling faintly. “I’ve been too busy doing the Lord’s work to keep up with the secular media.”

Utterson nodded. “You’re always out here. Always serving. Preaching in the streets. Delivering food. Laying hands on the sick. I don’t know how you do it, brother.”

Jekyll looked down at his hands, calloused and cracked. “I’m just a humble vessel for the Lord to use.”

Utterson smiled. “Well, if He’s pouring through anyone these days, it’s you.”

Jekyll didn’t answer. He took another bite of his bear claw, eyes lingering on the door.

Somewhere behind those eyes, something darker stirred.

She was sitting on a milk crate, half in the shadow of a busted-out neon sign, half in the light of the gas station across the street. Ruby. Eighteen, maybe. Maybe not. Her red hoodie was two sizes too big, sleeves wrapped tight around her fists. Her face was beautiful, but raw, like something God carved quickly and didn’t sand down. You could still see the edge in her.

Pastor Jekyll spotted her as he rounded the corner, hands in his pockets, moving with that odd, theatrical stride of his.

He stopped a few feet from her. “You never come to the street feed.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just shrugged and looked down, twisting the drawstring of her hoodie around her fingers.

“I see you around,” he said, his voice low and warm like molasses, but with something hidden in the sweetness. “Week after week. And I always think, Ruby should be there. She should be eating something warm, sitting at a table, laughing with the others. But you never come.”

She looked up at him with quiet eyes. “I don’t know,” she said softly.

Pastor Jekyll crouched down, elbows on his knees, putting himself at eye level.

“You don’t know…” he echoed. “Or you’re afraid to know?”

She said nothing.

He smiled gently. “You want off the streets?”

Her chin quivered. She gave a small nod.

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “Not like that. I mean really want it. Deep down. You want to stop surviving and start living? Because, Ruby, I can tell you’ve got something true in you. I can see it.”

Her eyes welled up.

“God gives us a choice,” he continued. “Freedom or familiarity. Some folks get so used to hell, they start calling it home. But if you’re ready to walk out of Egypt, I can help you. We’ve got a room. A warm bed. You could be safe tonight.”

She nodded again, faster this time, a tear slipping down her cheek.

But his smile stayed frozen just a little too long like it was stuck there.

“I don’t help just anybody,” he said, his voice dropping. “I help those who are willing to obey. You understand? This isn’t a halfway house. This is holy ground. We don't just clean up the outside, but also purify the inside. And that can hurt, Ruby. It can feel like dying. But if you trust me…”

He reached out and gently cupped her chin, lifting her face to meet his.

“If you trust me, I’ll make sure you never sleep cold again. You won’t be out here selling pieces of yourself just to eat. You’ll belong to something eternal.”

Ruby’s breath caught in her throat. She nodded again.

“Good girl,” he said, standing slowly and extending his hand.

She took it.

And for a moment, it looked like a man of God saving a lost lamb.

But behind his eyes, something darker flickered.

He looked like a wolf who had just found its lamb.

Photo by Ev on Unsplash

The crockpot was bubbling again, and it smelled like beans and mercy. Utterson stirred it halfheartedly, his eyes drifting toward the back of the warehouse. The overhead lights flickered, like they were still deciding whether to shine or not.

Pastor Jekyll stood by the front door, smiling at a woman wrapped in a quilt as she shuffled in for coffee. He patted her on the shoulder, murmuring something soft and holy. But his eyes kept darting toward the shadows.

Utterson cleared his throat.

“Hey, uh… Jekyll?”

The pastor turned, that theatrical composure slipping back into place. “Yes?”

“You know if anyone was here last night?”

Jekyll blinked. “Here?”

“Yeah,” Utterson said, stirring again. “I could’ve sworn I heard something. I was out late—couldn’t sleep—just walking past, and I thought I heard someone inside. A voice. Screaming. Kinda muffled”

Jekyll raised one eyebrow, almost amused, but his hand tightened around the back of a folding chair.

“A scream?” he asked.

Utterson nodded. “I figured maybe some crackhead slipped in, or gang stuff. I walked around the whole place. Didn’t find anybody. Doors locked. Supplies untouched. It was the strangest thing, man, just this… muffled voice. I had a good mind to call the cops to check things out, but then I thought they won’t do anything, but cause trouble.”

Jekyll smiled, but too quickly. Too wide.

“No,” he said. “No one’s supposed to be here at night. I lock it up myself.”

Utterson studied him. “You sure?”

“Of course.” Jekyll’s voice was calm, but his eyes twitched. “You know how it is out there. Could’ve been a junkie in the alley. Echoes off the concrete do strange things at night. Especially if you’re tired.”

Utterson said nothing for a moment. The beans hissed.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Jekyll walked past him, patting him on the shoulder.

“But thank you,” he added over his shoulder, “for being vigilant. God’s watchmen don’t sleep.”

As Jekyll turned the corner toward his office, Utterson noticed the pastor’s hands were trembling.

Photo by Peter Bryan on Unsplash

The lock turned with a heavy click, the kind that echoed through stone and memory.

Pastor Jekyll stepped inside the hidden room behind the back pantry wall. It wasn’t on the building plans. It wasn’t in the prayers. No one knew it existed, except him and God.

And now, Ruby.

The room was cold. Dark. The walls were unpainted concrete, damp with mildew. A broken mirror leaned in the corner, cracked from top to bottom like a jagged scar.

Ruby was tied to a filthy bed. Her wrists were raw. A cloth gag sat tight across her mouth, her eyes wide and wet with terror.

Jekyll stood in the doorway for a long moment, just watching her.

Then, he stepped forward.

“You know,” he said with a dry smile, “Utterson told me the strangest story yesterday.”

He circled her slowly, like a wolf pacing a lamb.

“Said he heard screaming in the warehouse. Said it sounded muffled, like someone was begging for help.”

He sat on the bed beside her.

“I wonder,” he whispered. “Did you scream?”

Ruby shook her head furiously, eyes pleading.

“No?” he said, pulling the gag away from her mouth. “You sure?”

She gasped, breath catching in her throat. “I didn’t… I swear. I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Oh, Ruby,” he said, sighing. “You were chosen. Set apart. I brought you into the secret place. Fed you. Taught you. Anointed you.”

He unties her hands.

He tilted her chin toward him, his eyes black and hollow.

“And now you repay me… like Judas.”

She sobbed, trembling.

“Disobedience,” he said, pacing again. “It never starts with a scream. It starts with doubt. A thought. Maybe I don’t deserve this. Maybe I’m better than this.”

His voice dropped low. Cold. Not entirely human.

“That is the devil’s lie. Stand up and pull down your panties.”

Ruby reluctantly stands up and pulls down her panties.

Pastor Jekyll looks down at her little coochie. He smiles.

“There it is. The devil’s cookie. Turn around”

Ruby trembles and weeps as she turns around.

“Bend over.”

Ruby bends over.

“You have been a bad girl. I want you to sing that hymn I taught you, and God forbid you have forgotten it. We must hide the word in our hearts.”

Ruby cries. She mumbles the lyrics to the old church hymn. A Better Day Coming

“O, a better day is dawning, a day that knows no night,
When all sorrow shall be banished and every wrong made right!”

Pastor Jekyll grabs a thorny switch and hits Ruby across the ass. He violently whips her with the switch, making her ass bleed as she continues to sing the old classic hymn.

“Tis coming by and by, (Yes, by and by) 'Tis coming by and by, (and by)
A better day is coming, the morning draweth night,”

Ruby weeps and her voice trembles as the skin peels from her butt revealing raw, red, bloody flesh.

As Pastor Jekyll beats her, he begins to transform into something hideous. With every hit from the switch on Ruby’s tender ass, he begins to become more beastly. He becomes Mr. Hyde. His face twisted, and his lips curled back unnaturally, his gums bleeding. One eye began to swell black, the other shrank and twitched violently. Veins spread across his neck like roots in poisoned soil. His fingernails cracked and bled as they scraped the floor.

He finishes whipping her with the switch.

“That’s it. I guess your sins are paid for.”

She turns around and sees how hideous he looks. She screams.

“What is wrong little lamb? You act like you have seen a demon and not an angel.”

He growls and laughs hideously as Ruby weeps. Her face white and her eyes full of fear. That tends to happen when one becomes face to face with death and the beast.

Thanks for reading, Pastor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: Part 1. The surprising conclusion drops next week, don’t miss it.

In the meantime, you can check out a recent interview I was featured in here.

Also, there are still a few open slots for investors, crowdfunding team members, and sponsors for my upcoming horror film, The One-Eyed Monster. If you're interested in being part of something bold and unforgettable, reach out. I’d love to hear from you.