Originally published by Drunken Pen Writing on May 10th, 2019.
A surge of people crowded around the statue of the Virgin Mary. This was the first time in a century such attention was given to the small church of St. Augustine, but this was a special occasion unlike any the small Mexican town had ever experienced. On Good Friday the statue had started to cry.
It first appeared when a spear of sunlight illuminated moisture underneath the statue’s right eye. The priest who had noticed it simply wiped the moisture away with a cloth, thinking it nothing more than condensation brought on by the humidity. The next day there were two obvious streaks going down the Virgin Mother’s face.
“I inspected it but found nothing out of the ordinary,” the priest said to a nun after showing her the streaks.
By the time Easter Sunday arrived word had gotten out about the “miracle.” The crowd lined up in front of the statue and took turns praying. One man even tasted the liquid now pooling around the statue’s feet, filling a small cup and downing it in one go.
“Dios mio. The Virgin speaks to me!” the man shouted into the crowd a few minutes after ingesting the strange liquid.
The man’s pupils had grown into two black saucers and darted around at random. His odd behavior whipped the crowd into a frenzy. More people began drinking from the pool of the statue’s tears. Each reached their own state of enlightened euphoria not long after.
“Praise heaven, it’s beautiful!” a woman bellowed.
“The Virgin Mother has blessed us,” another woman added.
Soon the entire church had fallen into mania. Some sat on the floor, hugging their knees and rocking back and forth while muttering inaudible jibberish. Others threw their hands into the air with reckless abandon. One man even managed to climb halfway up the great church organ, shouting, “I am Jesus Christ” before crashing onto the organ keys which resulted in a deafening blast from the pipes.
“Calm down. Please, calm down,” the priest begged the rabid crowd. “This is a house of God.”
Some took second and third licks of the Virgin’s tears. Chaos erupted and the church was nearly destroyed in the process.
Fortunately, some off-duty police officers were on hand and had called for backup. It took a small swat team to clear everyone out. When things finally calmed down and the church was empty, an investigator was tasked with finding out what had caused the crisis.
The priest told him about the tears and the investigator thought it sounded highly suspicious. He searched high and low for answers, examining every part of the statue and its surroundings; not an easy task as the statue was wedged into a tight alcove.
“Is there a room above here?” the investigator asked the priest, sliding his hand behind the head of the statue.
The priest thought for a moment then said, “There’s a small room, but it’s not directly above here.”
“May I see it?”
“I don’t see why not. Follow me, sir.”
The priest led the investigator to a hidden door in the back which took them up a winding staircase.
“We use this room as a safe place for weary travelers and those in trouble.”
“You mean you let strangers sleep up here?”
“Only for a night or two,” the priest answered.
They entered a tiny room furnished with a single-person cot, square writing desk, and an old lamp. The investigator looked around but kept his thoughts to himself.
“And over here,” the priest opened a door next to the desk, “is a small washroom.” He pulled a string overhead and a dim yellow light flickered on.
“May I?” the investigator asked, motioning to the washroom.
The priest stepped aside and the investigator inspected the washroom. Though, there wasn’t much to inspect. There was a little metal sink and a toilet that wasn’t much bigger. Even so, the investigator took his time, mainly focusing on the back of the toilet. After a bit, the priest grew curious.
“Have you found anything, sir?”
Ignoring the priest’s question, the investigator answered by asking one of his own. “Has someone been staying up here?”
The priest’s eyes widened. “Why yes. Recently a young traveler stayed up here for two nights. An American, actually. He left,” the priest paused to think, “Thursday night.” He finished with a nod.
“Did he happen to leave in a hurry?”
“A hurry?”
“Yes, in a hurry,” the investigator repeated with a hint of irritation in his voice.
The priest remained quiet for a few moments as he reflected on the question. “Well,” he finally spoke up, “I suppose he did leave rather abruptly.” He scratched at the stubble on his chin. “It was a bit unusual as most leave in the morning, but this fellow left sometime during the night.”
“Does this church happen to have any police officers as members?”
“Oh yes. Many officers attend weekly mass,” the priest said with pride.
“And did you or someone else happen to mention this to the traveler the day before he left?”
The priest furrowed his brow and tilted his head like a confused puppy. “Pardon?”
The investigator dipped his hand into the toilet and pulled out a long strip of what looked like wax paper.
“Do you know what this is, padre?”
“I,” the priest leaned in closer and then shook his head. “I can’t say that I do.”
“It’s a huge strip of acid.”
The blood drained from the priest’s face. “You mean the drug?”
The investigator nodded. “The wooden floor behind the toilet is completely saturated. If I had to bet, I’d say your traveler friend got spooked when he found out the cops would be here in the morning for Good Friday. Paranoid after getting too high, he probably tried to flush his stash, but the toilet clogged and overflowed. He ran off because he didn’t want to get caught. I’m sure you’re aware of the strict drug laws in this area?”
“Oh, Heavenly Father.” The priest kept shaking his head from side to side. Then he stopped in an instant. “Wait, that means the Virgin Mary’s tears are—”
“LSD-laced toilet water,” the investigator finished the priest’s sentence for him.
The investigator did his best to suppress his laughter. The priest, on the other hand, had to sit down on the cot. All at once, the earlier ordeal made much more sense to him. God certainly has a wicked sense of humor, the priest thought. Either that or miracles are a lot different now compared to when he was a kid.
Caleb James K. 