Ora et Labora
A fiction short prompt by 
@f3nix, based on real happenings
The tapered fingers came to life, maneuvered by invisible threads, following the murderous order whispered by the woman. The blow fell on the victim, surgical and impregnated with inevitable fate.
"We took it, Agnes.”
Finally, the peace of the monastery's kitchen had been restored. A fleeting veil of reproach slipped over the cook's cheerful gaze as Flynn swore triumphantly at the fly, spread on his notebook.
"But now let's get back to our business, barley soup doesn't cook itself and ... not even your thesis”.
"It's a nice association, even if it's my brain to cook," said the young man with his eyes shining curiously between the pots.
"If Father Thoram saw us wasting time chasing flies, you already know he'd send you to the library," the cook remarked.
Flynn threw her an accomplice grimace, before returning to dive into the pages of his thesis. No, all in all, the friar would not have thrown him out of the kitchen so easily.
Agnes could not have known what long walks in the cloister's rose garden had slowly revealed to his confessor father. That laborious daily harmony had a different taste for Flynn than what his other contemporaries of the Benedictine community felt.
Flynn sighed as the words drifted slowly from the pages, evaporating intertwined in his thoughts. Every moment, every little ritual within the silent walls of the monastery was like prickly air that swelled his lungs, giving him life. Those were precious moments far from the creature who, just two blocks away, waited every night for satisfying once more his craving for pain. Far from his stepfather.
The echoes of vespers suffused in his ears: soon the refectory would have been populated. It was almost time to help Agnes set the tables.
While books and notebooks were swallowed up by the backpack in random order, Flynn found himself thinking of that strange event months ago, when he was still an occasional guest of the monks' community. There was, indeed, another reason why he preferred to study among the noise of the pans. He would have never wanted to see that internet page, hastily closed but clear enough to impress itself deeply into his retina. All in all, the friar would not have thrown him out of the kitchen so easily.
“Flynn."
The backpack fell, spilling its content onto the floor.
"Son, follow me, Agnes can set her own.”
Father Thoram didn't even seem to have noticed the mountain of papers scattered on the brown tiles. Standing out from the sagging features of his face, his eyes looked blacker than usual.
My Ending
By 
@dirge
“Father Thoram. I didn’t expect to see you-“
“I’m not here to listen to your expectations, Flynn. Now come.”
Father Thoram held the door open, waiting for Flynn to exit the kitchen.
Does he know? Flynn thought to himself. Those eyes…
“I was actually intending on seeking an audience with you after soup. To your office?”
Father Thoram grunted. The two walked down the stone hall towards Father Thoram’s clergy office. Inside, strewn on the desks were books usually settled and ornate in their conspicuous order on Thoram’s shelves. Thoram had been writing with his fountain pen.
“What troubles you?” Flynn asked.
“Not your pornographic enterprises on your laptop,” Thoram said, slamming the door shut behind him. “If that is what irks you, free it from your mind. There’s devil in there enough as it is.”
“Pardon?”
He knows. The old bastard knows.
“When I arrived in your mother’s arms and took you in as a babe, I had high hopes for you. Your time here has been, I hoped, therapeutic. Imagine my surprise when I enter your quarters and find this.”
The Father kicked a suitcase out from behind the desk. Black, on wheels, the contents were opened only at night, when Flynn felt safe and confident to indulge in the dangers inside.
“Care to tell me what, in our Lord’s name, you’re doing with this?”
This old cunt thinks he can talk to me like this…
“Why were you in my apartment, Father?”
“I’m the landlord. It’s my right as a legal entity to enter those premises and inspect them. I wanted to ensure you weren't indulging in sin as before. Is that what you want to hear, Flynn? No. The truth is you left the door unlocked and I entered with the intent to surprise you and have a talk about how proud I was of you.”
Lies. He’s aiming for ethos. To hook you in the heart.
“That’s when I found this.” Father Thoram tapped the suitcase with his foot.
“That’s mine.”
“It’s not and it never will be and nothing it tells you will be any different. I’ve searched the records we have on this, all the demonologists agree, Flynn. A succubus will consume your soul-“
“Don’t call her that you old cunt!” Flynn screamed, clenching his fist. Father Thoram shrunk back, a look of sadness clear on face. “She’s not a succubus. Her name is Tatiana and she’s mine. Give her to me.”
“I will keep this demon in my possession until Rome has made a decision regarding-“
“You old cocksucker. Just because you took my mother from me, you think you can take my lover, too?” Flynn stepped forward. “I know that look in your eyes. You’ve indulged.”
Father Thoram wheeled the suitcase closer to me. “I will not allow the devil to take my son.”
Flynn griped the fountain pen on the desk and thrust it into Thoram’s throat. Blood and ink spewed forth.
“She’s mine.”
The suitcase whimpered.