INT. BASILICA OF SAINTS PETER AND PAUL - NIGHT
The heavy oak doors creak open with a groan that echoes through the cavernous space. Cricket stumbles in, covered in snow, slime, and turkey grease.
The church is massive. Vaulted ceilings disappear into darkness. Hundreds of candles flicker at the altar, casting long, dancing shadows.
Cricket is wheezing. The baby is asleep, miraculously calm.
Cricket looks up at the statues lining the nave. His vision blurs. The ringworm itches. The adrenaline and the residual PCP from earlier in the week collide in his brain.
He looks at a statue of St. Peter holding the keys to heaven. The face warps. It turns into DENNIS.
STATUE DENNIS (voice booming, echoing)
You're nothing, Cricket. You're street trash. You're not a savior. You're a monster. You don't deserve the keys. You deserve the cage.
CRICKET (covering his ears, spinning around)
Stop it! I'm a good person! I was a priest!
He looks at a statue of St. Francis with a bird. The face melts and reforms into CHARLIE.
STATUE CHARLIE
Did you check the baby for ghouls, man? You gotta check for ghouls. Little green ghouls, buddy!
CRICKET
There's no ghouls!
He turns to a statue of St. Paul, hands raised in prayer. The face rotates on point into MAC.
STATUE MAC
Whoa! Dude! I am ripped like this.
CRICKET (sobbing)
What?!
He jerks himself around, and falls to his knees in front of the Virgin Mary. The serene face morphs into DEE, looking annoyed and holding a cigarette.
STATUE DEE
Ugh, look at you. You're disgusting. Why are you even alive? Just give me the baby so I can claim it as a dependent and commit tax fraud!
CRICKET (screaming at the statue)
YOU DON'T KNOW ME, SWEET DEE! I AM A MAN OF THE CLOTH! I HAVE DIGNITY!
He collapses, sobbing into the cold marble floor.
A hand touches his shoulder. Gentle. Human.
PRIEST
My son? The church is closed... are you alright?
INT. BASILICA - CONFESSIONAL BOOTH (OPEN) - CONTINUOUS
The scene is quiet. Cricket sits on a polished wooden pew. The Priest (60s, kind face, very weary) sits next to him, keeping a polite distance.
PRIEST
Matthew? Is... is that you?
CRICKET (scratching his neck violently, skin flaking)
Like a chewed-up dog toy? Yeah, I get that a lot. It's the street life, Father. It keeps you young. Or it melts your face. One of the two. Honestly, it's mostly the melting.
PRIEST
Good Lord... Matthew. I haven't seen you since... since you left the priesthood. My son, tell me... was it the drugs?
CRICKET
Oh, loads of drugs, Father. So many drugs. And a demon. Big tall guy, spikes, loves apples?
PRIEST (confused)
Lucifer?
CRICKET
Nah, Ryuk. Kept floating around, telling me to write names in a book to kill people. I just wrote "Sweet Dee" six hundred times. Didn't work. Think I spelled "Reynolds" wrong. Or maybe she's already dead inside, so it didn't count.
The Priest stares, horrified, clutching his rosary.
CRICKET (gesturing to the bundle)
Anyway, look. Take the kid.
Cricket hands over the baby. The Priest takes it reverently.
PRIEST
The... demon told you to bring the child?
CRICKET
No. A different demon told me to eat the child to gain its lifespan. Or maybe that was Frank wearing a mask. Sometimes I get them mixed up. They have the same energy. But my friend Carmen... she said no. So, here we are.
The baby coos. The Priest looks from the child to the broken man before him.
PRIEST
You've done a good thing, Matthew. A holy thing.
CRICKET
Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Merry Christmas, Father.
Cricket stands up. His joints pop like bubble wrap.
CRICKET
Hey, do you have any communion wafers back there? I'm starving. I haven't eaten since I found a half-eaten hoagie in a sewer grate on Tuesday.
PRIEST
I... I can find you some bread. And some wine.
CRICKET (eyes lighting up)
Bread is good. Bread is good. The hips and nips, Father. Gotta keep it sexy.
EPILOGUE
INT. PADDY'S PUB - NIGHT
The bar is silent except for the TV. The Gang is drunk. Empty beer bottles litter the tables. The credits of A Christmas Story are rolling.
DEE (sighs, tracing the rim of her glass)
I really felt like this was my year to raise a dumpster baby. I had a vibe, you know? I was ready to be a mother.
MAC
Definitely next year, Dee. You just gotta manifest it better. Your aura was too "murder-y" today. It scares the storks away.
DENNIS
I feel unfulfilled. I feel like we forgot to ruin something today. Usually, by this time, we've destroyed a life, or crushed a dream, or set a building on fire. I feel... pent up.
CHARLIE
It's Christmas, dude. Even God rests on Christmas. We can ruin stuff tomorrow. The world ain't goin' nowhere.
Suddenly, the office door kicks open with a bang.
FRANK (dressed in a cheap, polyester Santa suit that is ripping at the crotch)
HO HO HO!
DENNIS
Oh god.
FRANK
Merry Christmas ya bunch of dumbasses!
Frank reaches into a burlap sack. He pulls out a singular, unwrapped, glazed rum ham. It is slick with grease. He hurls it across the room with surprising velocity.
It smacks Charlie right in the face. SPLAT.
CHARLIE
OW! ... Oh! Rumham!
Charlie peels the ham off his face, takes a bite, winces, and smiles.
CHARLIE
Merry Christmas, guys!
FADE OUT.