Who moved my Jesus?

Want to hear something creepy?

So there’s this priest.  He likes my poodle.  He asked me if he could swing by and visit the poodle periodically, and I said okay, sure.  And the few times he called me at work to tell me he was doing this, I always agreed.  Then one day I came home early and found him at the house with the dog.  Okay, I thought; so he doesn’t always call to ask me.  Sometimes he just shows up, and doesn’t leave me any notes to let him know he’s been there.

But that’s not the creepy part.  One day I was innocently looking for a calculator, and instead stumbled upon some evidence that this priest-and-female-homeowner relationship goes beyond the typical (if there is a typical for this).  I probably should have guessed at this before — I mean, it’s probably not normal for the dude to have a key, and know how to care for the hot tub, and be on such good terms with the dog.  Still, I think, I don’t have any actual proof besides a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach — and besides, what does it change?  It just means some not-exactly-priestly guy lets himself in and out of my home as he pleases.

But that’s not the creepy part.  The other day I was just daydreaming, looking at the wall, and suddenly thought, hey, didn’t there used to be a picture over there?  Yeah.  A picture of Jesus.  I checked to see if it fell, but couldn’t find any evidence beyond the nail that once held it in place.  That’s odd, I thought, and turned back to the kitchen…and found myself staring at the picture of Jesus.  Somebody came into my house and moved a picture of Jesus to a more prominent location, right above the desk where I once went looking for a calculator and got swept into a web of snooping.  Although only one other person (before now) knew about that, and there’s no way my suspicions made their way back to the priest.  But I can think of no other suspects, and no other motive.

That’s the creepy part.

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