Dreamt I was putting together a rosary for a client. Had to use certain beads (client supplied) and assemble in a certain order (client directed) and face a certain direction while doing this (south).
All went well, despite the client’s supervision, until it was time to attach the crucifix. The client wanted the crucifix attached last and had kept it in his hand until now.
He handed me a small tarnished silver cross.
“Uh, this isn’t a crucifix. There’s no image of Jesus on it.”
“There was, but it fell off.”
I looked over the cross. There were no discolorations, rough spots, or other indications that there had ever been anything attached to the cross.
“Was it bound by string? Cuz there is not, nor ever was, anything attached here.”
“Oh, well… I still have to use it. It’s still a rosary if it’s just a plain cross, right?”
“I’m not Catholic. I wouldn’t know.”
“But you’ve made several already!”
“I have, but I also followed the accepted guidelines for rosaries, which varies like… um… hell. If it helps, I do have a personal rosary that is an unmarked cross, so I’d roll with it, unless what you’re having this made for explicitly requires a crucifix.”
“It doesn’t. Attach it.”
So I went to attach the cross to the Pater Noster bead and the client Flipped. His. Fucking. Shit.
“nononoNONONO! NO! NOT LIKE THAT! ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND?!”
“No. But you’re about to get laid the fuck out, so stop shrieking and start talking.”
“You’re putting the cross on upside down!”
I turned the cross over in my hand. There was nothing to distinguish one side from the other. I looked at him and held out my hand.
“Turn it so the side you want is up.”
He picked up the cross and dangled it upside down while smiling smugly.
I wanted to ask if he was fifteen and just now found his parents’ death metal albums, but I kept my tongue until I had a civil answer to give him.
“Can’t do it.”
“Why not? Against your religion? Afraid?”
“Hah. No. There’s no mount ring on the foot end of that cross. Just the head end. If you want it attached upside down, you’re going to have to get a jeweler or a metalsmith to attach a mounting ring at the foot before it can hang upside down like you want.”
He looked at the cross and the small ring at the head. “But, that’s the important part…”
“If I may ask… why?”
“Because it’s blasphemous!”
Fuck civility. “Are you fucking fifteen? Gonna lick the horns while you’re at it? I know, how about jacking off into the wine cup while reciting the Lord’s Prayer backwards? Oh, I know! Let’s wipe your ass with bible pages! That will show him! And you’ll be seen for the fucking bad ass demonic motherfucker that you are!”
I threw the nearly completed rosary at his feet.
“Finish this yourself. I have better shit to get into.”
I started walking away. I heard him grab the rosary and dash to grab my shirt.
“No! Wait! I can’t do this!”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because… I’m not you.”
“The fuck does that mean?”
“You…” He gestured in large arcs at me. “YOU!”
“You have intent for a specific outcome. You can use a pair of pliers to finish this. You can do everything I can do. The only difference between us is I don’t give a shit about the rosary, and you do.”
“But you’re special!”
“You’re fulla shit.”
He pushed the rosary and cross back into my hands. “I can’t finish this. Please, complete it.”
Years ago, when I assembled the Rosary of the Lost Crucifix, I wondered why it felt so important that I (re)make the rosary. I was many steps removed from the formal faith that would use the rosary as intended, and some would say my apostate (and “demonic”) hands could never make something worthy of use. A close friend remarked that no one else could have made that rosary but me, because of my intentional and deliberate removal from Christianity. I had made that rosary in faith that it would be of comfort to someone who could use it, and that faith was enough to make it a thing of power.
“I don’t make blasphemies. I am a blasphemy.”
“That will do.”
“I can’t attach the cross upside down. You’ll have to get this one modified, or get one already prepared.”
“That won’t do.”
I held out the rosary and cross. “Then take your shit and leave.”
He snatched the incomplete rosary out of my hand and hurled it away from us with all of his might. (Which was surprisingly quite effective.) As he stormed away from me, he bitched with even more might about the difficulty of working with artists and how he should have learned how to do this himself after all. It was only after my hand started to itch that I realized I still held the cross.
It remained small and unremarkable, but the silver was tarnishing to something like cheap brass. I realized then that I was dreaming.
Out of the shadows thickening around me, [Redacted] flowed forward and kissed my hand in greeting. The action closed my hand around the small cross, capturing it in my hand, and capturing my hand in [Redacted’s].
“You have a shiny! Let me see! Let me see!”
[Redacted] didn’t release my hand to show [R] yet, so I explained. “Some asshole wanted me to make a blasphemous rosary. Except all the pieces he brought me were right and proper. It would take his actions to make it blasphemous, and he gave up when I asked him to do the thing. The incomplete rosary is out there, somewhere. I’m holding the cross.”
[Redacted] released [R] grip on my hand. I opened it to find the cross was still the strange mix of silver and brass, but the mount ring was now at the foot of the cross.
“Da fuq. You changed it!”
“Nu-uh!” [Redacted’s] smile was full of too many teeth. “Maybe you’re dreaming too well, again.”
That is an option now that I’m lucid. “Maybe. Or maybe it was wrong the entire time and I didn’t want to see that, so I didn’t.”
“Maybe this. Maybe that. Maybe you have a new shiny now.”
“Now look! I already have a Tarot Deck of Inverse Servitors to unravel. I’m not taking on any Antichrist bullshit as well!”
[Redacted] continued holding my hand. We looked over the strange small silver and brass cross. “It’s a symbol.”
“No shit.”
“What is it a symbol of? And why did it turn in your hand?”
“Your influence. You’re holding me.”
[Redacted] released my hand and I plucked the cross from my palm with my left hand to hold it away from [R]. The mount ring was now at the head, and the cross was made of tarnished silver again.
“Well… fuck.”
[Redacted] giggled. It sounded like a blender full of glass on high-speed. I looked at [R] with condemnation.
“The fuck did you do?”
“You just saw it. With your own eyes, you just saw it. The question now, is why?”
It is a question that remains with me long after I woke up.