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Father John received an unexpected visit at 3 am.

A little boy was at the door. “Father John, where do dogs go when they die?”

Father John beckoned the boy into his room.

“Was he a good dog?”

“He tore off Uncle Steve’s penis.”

“Was Uncle Steve an asshole?”

“Yes.”

Father John stood up and zipped up his pants. “Follow me.”

He tugged on a book on a bookshelf and a loud click was heard. The bookshelf slid to the right, revealing a desk.

“Father, who are all of those kids?” the boy asked, pointing at the pictures taped to the desk.

Father John pretended not to hear.

“Aha, I found it!” he exclaimed, diverting the boy’s attention from the child porn.

He held up a chalkboard and a piece of chalk and began to write.

His hand swirled and danced, scratching the board with dignity.

The candle burned out, filling the room with smoke. Moonlight poured through the window, allowing Father John to continue without stopping.

After three more hours, Father John sighed in relief and smiled. He opened his mouth to say something, but there was a loud knock at his door.

Father John stood up and walked over to the door, but before he could make it, the door swung open and a SWAT team ran inside, tackling Father John and sending him crashing through the thin walls and into the corridor, tumbling down and out of an open window four stories above the ground.

Paramedics rushed in to find that the boy was perfectly fine and they found the chalkboard clutched in Father John’s lifeless arms at ground level.

They brought the board up to the boy and he began to sob uncontrollably.

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