The Revenge of the Simple Souls

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

The Simple Souls have financially contributed for years in a row tot their guru. Now, under the impulse of Jane and her cousin Eugenie, they prepare the downfall of someone they now consider a vile sinner...

The Revenge of the Simple Souls
 

by Bruno Roggen  

A sequel to “The Sect of The Simple Souls”


The Holy Virgin seemed to have kept her promise. Jane didn’t find another dirty magazine. So, she reckoned that Roger, even if she didn’t let him have his way with her, had given up on playing with himself.


And then, all of a sudden, maybe also because of the intervention of Mother Mary, Roger’s boredom was over. His son William found him a part-time job as a driver-deliverer in a business called ArtiBis. The business had quite recently been founded by three young people in their twenties. It was selling biscuits in the higher price ranges. Roger had to work on Mondays, Fridays and Saturdays. As he liked driving, moving around in two different counties to deliver the cardboard boxes of biscuits pleased him. His job with ArtiBis made him forget momentarily his problems in his sex life. Alas! This period of relative calm in Roger’s emotional life wasn’t going to last.


Because Roger was much less at home than before, Jane had ample time to figure out her strategy aiming at the downfall of Pat Jacobson.
First, she went to her parish priest and told him what had happened in Jacobson’s house. She asked him to help her to get rid of this wicked man who was posing as a religious leader, but in fact was a hypocritical sinner.

 

The priest was on his guards. He had his own ideas about the Simple Souls, but he wouldn’t tell Jane that he considered her organization as a sect of religious fanatics. Yet he had to partially agree with Jane. Pat Jacobson indeed had a bad reputation, both of fooling around with women and because of financial irregularities that the Simple Souls’ leader was involved in to enrich himself, riding on the religion crest. The parish priest daren’t say that aloud. After all, Jacobson still had a finger in the pie in the diocese, and even in the archbishop's immediate surroundings. The priest felt good in his parish. Under no circumstances would he draw the attention of the bishop himself on his person and maybe be appointed parish priest at Bommer Butts or Cuntgardens.
 

Jane clearly noticed that the pastor wanted to brush her off none the wiser. She was disappointed, and without any further comment, she left the presbytery. She stopped at the church, and made a big sign of the cross. She told herself that she would use less expensive flowers next time to decorate that ungrateful pastor’s altar.


In the meantime, Roger didn’t jack off anymore. There was no longer any need for it. Even now that Jane no longer wanted sexual intercourse, Roger was no longer in need of masturbating to get rid of his sexual tension. While he was delivering his biscuits at the Spar shop on School Street in Herchville, he met a demonstrator who worked for the Carrefour Group. Alice Thornbrook was a divorcee and she lived in an apartment in Tennsville. She was more than ten years younger than Roger, in her early forties. Roger felt that Alice didn’t look her age. To him, she had the appearance of a girl in her mid-twenties. He told her. He also told her other things, gentle things that Alice was very flattered to hear. It turned out that they fell for each other, and after a while, they became lovers.


Jane’s next step in her war on Pat Jacobson was to call her cousin Eugenie. Eugenie was considered the most zealous member of the Simple Souls. She always prayed in the loudest voice, her face with closed eyes turned towards heaven. The harshest words when it came to condemn sin and sinners came out of her mouth. This was a woman of true simple faith, someone who acted consistently and lived according to her religious beliefs. Eugenie even went parading in busy shopping streets, department stores and shopping centers. To show her faith to the general public, she had a large rosary with brown wooden beads around her neck, and she was carrying a large plywood cross. With staples, Eugenie had attached a piece of white cardboard from a shoebox to the cross. On the board, she had written a message with a thick red marker: “Repent, ye sinners”.


Eugenie was all ears for Jane's story about Pat Jacobson. In secret, she had been cherishing the ambition to take over the custody of the prayer group. Eugenie felt that there had been a significant slowdown in moral behavior under Jacobson’s rule.  


“Pure and firm hardness is needed, unwavering determination, a certain degree of ruthlessness too,” Eugenie said to her cousin Jane. “At least, if we want to save more souls from burning in hell for all eternity.”


That Eugenie was half mad with her loudly shouted out ideas and her extreme ways of thinking, the thought had already occurred to Jane, but that wasn’t her real concern. In this case, the end justified the means again.


Meanwhile, Roger continued driving around in different counties to deliver biscuits. By fiddling a little with his schedule, about once a week he had the opportunity to spend a few hours with his mistress Alice in Tennsville and make love to her. He felt good, and he regularly asked himself the question whether he had actually ever been happier in his life.
 

Jane was also happy with the new situation. Three days a week, Roger came home tired. At home, he was sitting in his armchair for the rest of the evening before going to bed, staring and dreaming. Johanna thought it was because of her husband’s tiredness, or maybe because the years began to weigh on him. That he had Alice in mind, that in his mind’s eye he constantly looked at all the details of Alice’s magnificent naked body, Jane had no suspicion about it.
 

She needn’t suspect anything. One day, someone pressed her face on the hard facts. There was a letter for her in the mail, an anonymous letter:


“Madam Jane,


I don’t know if you know, but your man has been screwing a woman in Tennsville for months now. Alice Thornbrook is her name. A real slut she is.
Yours sincerely”


While Roger was reclining in his armchair, thinking of the milk white inside of Alice’s thighs and her nice flat tummy, Jane came into the room with that letter in her hand. She was furious.


“What's this then?” she yelled. “Who the f… is Alice Thornbrook? Is it true what this letter says?”


Roger read the few sentences on the checkered sheet of paper. Then he shrugged, recalling the happy hours that he had spent two days earlier with Alice.


“You don’t want me to make love to you anymore. That's why I do it with her,”  Roger replied calmly. “What this letter says is true. Sorry. I should have told you myself.”


Jane broke loose in reproaches and accusations, as Roger had expected. Deeply hurt she was. She immediately left for the home of Eugenie.
After Eugenie’s eleven years old son had finished his mass in his custom-made children's chasuble at his small altar, Jane told her cousin the news of Roger’s  infidelity. Eugenie jumped at the chance to vent her opinion in full force:


“No illusions, cousin. No man can be trusted. They are all hunters, sexual predators, lewd and bawdy. They all run after their stiff dicks, and they’re all  unrepentant sinners.”


“But your husband Edmond wasn’t like that?” Jane objected. “Before he died, he had the reputation of being very pious, hadn’t he?”


“What?” yelled Eugenie. “Edmond? He was no better than all those other whore fuckers! Behind my back, he was merrily frolicking with all kinds of sluts in bed. Cheat on me, the bastard, that’s all he was busy with. Humping one floozie after the other, that was my late Edmond!”


“I can hardly believe it,” Jane objected. “Are you really sure, Eugenie? Did you get proof of it?”


“Proof? No, not really, but I don’t have to. Edmond was no different from all those other horny sinners with their dicks constantly going up and down in all those filthy cunts, I'm sure.”


Jane didn’t say anything more. She thought it was deplorable that Eugenie spat it all out in her son’s presence, and didn’t manage her vocabulary. How would that eleven years old boy now think about his deceased father?
Eugenie had seen on her cousin’s face that she didn’t like the boy to hear all his mother’s angry comments. She sent her son out to play on the lawn.


“Your son shouldn’t hear all this, I think,” Jane said. “Mind your language, please, Eugenie. He might get evil and sinful thoughts. In fact, he will also be a man in a few years’ time.”


Eugenie grinned, and comforted her cousin:


“Don’t worry. I’m intensively preparing him for the priesthood. He’ll abhor women when I’ll be ready with his education, I'll see to that.”


Then again Eugenie started hammering on a subject that apparently was close to her heart:


“There is only one solution for a woman to expiate her husband’s sins. She has to return to a state of virginity.”


Jane asked:


“What does that mean?”


 Eugenie gave her a confused explanation:


“I think virginity is the highest state for a woman. Even a married woman can go back to that state. In the spirit in the first place, but also in the body. To be a virgin, it is primarily important to feel like a virgin and behave accordingly. Every woman can take the decision that no man will ever touch her body again, let alone still penetrate her with his smelly organ and pump his disgusting cum into her.”


Jane hadn’t understood everything, but she was impressed and also a little scandalized by the way in which her cousin expressed her ideas. Eugenie saw it on Jane’s face, and she continued:


“Don’t be hypocritical. You've already been sleeping for so many years with Roger and he has screwed you a thousand or more times, I’m sure. But even then, you can regain your virginity by complete abstinence. And you can also do more.”


“What then?” Jane wanted to know.


In a conspiratorial tone, Eugenie explained it to her:


“I myself have gone further. An aesthetic surgeon has restored my hymen. That is expensive, but not a major surgery. It is called hymenoplasty, or hymenorrhaphy in medical terms. It hurts somewhat, I must say. In order to make a prosthesis for my hymen, the surgeon cut off a part of my labia minora. You know what they are, don’t you?”


“Sure I know,” said Jane. It must have hurt like hell, having cut a part off in such a delicate spot.”


“Well, not really,” answered Eugenie. “You keep feeling it for about a week. With me, it was a kind of a burning sensation. I had trouble especially when I had to go to the toilet to pee. Impossible of course to use toilet paper to get rid of the last drop. One has to use a soft cloth. If you want, Jane, I'll give you that surgeon’s address.”


Jane was impressed and said she would think about it.
After this fruitful conversation on virginity, the two women started refining the final details of their game plan for the Simple Souls’ takeover. They started calling  the members of the prayer group, all women, to win them over to their cause.


The next day, at two o'clock in the afternoon, Fat Pat Jacobson’s living room was bursting at the seams. Never before had there been such a large turnout of Simple Souls. Tension could be read on the faces of all those present. Pat Jacobson wondered what was going on. He would soon discover.
 

Eugenie came marching in, holding her plywood cross ahead of her. Jane followed in her wake. The two women made their way to the front row and went to stand  right in front of Jacobson. Fat Pat felt that a storm was in the air. He sank to his knees and started praying. Few of the women present followed his example. Most remained standing stiffly upright.
When as usual, Jacobson made the sign of the cross with a sweeping arm gesture, the riot started. The crowd began to shout:


“Devil! Devil! Down with Satan! Beelzebub, go home!”


It was an indescribable cacophony rising from the throats of all those hysterical women. Fists were clenched and threateningly shaken toward Pat Jacobson, faces were distorted with rage. An elderly woman who wasn’t in on the conspiracy fainted. She had to be carried outside to get fresh air.
 

Fat Pat was not an idiot. Sly and cunning as he was, he immediately understood that Jane hadn’t kept her mouth shut, and had spilled the beans to the other members of his prayer congregation. He rose from his knees and put his hands forward, trying to quell the uprising. When he feebly tried to address the crowd,  the screaming female voices drowned his words.

As a last resort, Pat Jacobson tried to flee to the adjoining kitchen. Before he could open the door, Eugenie hit him on the head with her cross. Jacobson fell to his knees, not to pray and against his will this time. With terror in his eyes, he looked at all those pious women who had turned into vengeful furies. They pounced on him, tore his expensive Versace shirt in tatters, ripped plucks out of his hair, and some scratched his face open with their sharp manicured nails. A convert who had been sitting in a shop window on Love Alley at Brewstham had nearly suffocated under Fat Pat’s exorbitant weight several times when he came to hump her at the brothel. She was very angry with him now, and she kicked him twice in the groin with her pointy stiletto shoe.

Fat Pat went into a swoon when he got these kicks in his glockenspiel. He was lying on the kitchen door, flat on his big belly, motionless.
The women’s first access of fury faded. They gradually regained their composure. Yet, there was still a number of them who were boosted by the adrenaline flowing through their veins. They tipped Jacobson’s shop with religious objects over. There were those who opened their purses, grabbed some things and put them in their pockets or their purses. They had, they felt, already paid Fat Pat enough in the past for all the junk he had forced upon them.

Eugenie also took part in the looting. She was mainly interested in the rosaries and the scapulars. Jane put a whole bunch of images of saints in her handbag, and also a very expensive relic with pubic hair of Saint Don Bosco. Then the two began to tear all religious posters from the walls. They got help, and in no time the floor in Jacobson’s living room was covered in shreds of torn posters.
 

Fat Pat got up from the floor, stumbling. He wrapped his arms around his head, afraid to get hit again. Oddly enough, most of the women present didn’t pay attention to him anymore. Jacobson made use of the end of hostilities to escape into the kitchen and run outside through the back door leading into the garden. There was one Simple Soul who went after him with her umbrella at the ready. Too bad for her, she couldn’t run as fast as Pat Jacobson because she was wearing a too long and too narrow skirt. She had to let him escape, but she still didn’t come back into the house empty-handed. In a garden shed, she had found a crowbar, and came back triumphantly into the former prayer room with the tool. With it, she broke the collection box open while the other women were watching with interest. Everyone eagerly looked forward to see its content. To their disappointment, there was no more money in it, but only a pink jarretelle. One lady’s face turned red and purple when she saw the object that belonged to her. She didn’t know where she had lost her garment. Now she remembered. At the last prayer reunion, ten minutes before the other Simple Souls would enter the prayer room, Fat Pat Jacobson had pressed her against the wall and given her a treat, standing. How her jarretelle had ended up in the offertory box remained a mystery. But she didn’t break her head about it. She was glad that the other Simple Souls hadn’t noticed her confusion.
 

Eugenie stepped forward and looked at the others. From now on, she said, there would be no danger that infernal forces still endanger the Simple Souls. The prayer rounds would continue, more intensely and more frequently than before. But no one would any longer have to pray in this house of sin and lust. It smelled of sulfur and pitch. It was condemned and damned. Its occupant would burn in the hottest tarpot in hell, if at least he wasn’t the one who ruled over that dark realm. In the future, they would meet in a chapel at Alking, dedicated to Saint George, the saint who had slain the devil in the shape of a dragon. If no one had an objection, Eugenie  herself would organize the meetings and lead them in the future.
 

As she had spoken, Eugenie looked at the reaction of her audience with a fierce look in her eyes. Nobody dared object to anything. Most women present were well aware of Eugenie’s unpredictable crazy mood changes and her sharp tongue.
 

The women left one by one. Eugenie looked around in the living room. She seemed happy. Before she and Jane left, she took Jacobson’s large wooden cross and handed it over to her cousin.
Once outside, the two women were eyed by amazed passers-by who saw them marching, each with a large wooden cross on their shoulder. Some wondered if this was part of a hippie happening or advertising for a performance of street theater…


© Bruno Roggen, Anhée, 2021


Submitted: October 16, 2021

© Copyright 2021 impetus. All rights reserved.

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