Writing : Spooky Stories; Gather Around Yonder Campfire Yo

This is a weird story I wrote actually a few years back, it's very, um, strange.

It's called...

Mr. Finnegan's Magic God Juice

In the darkness, it moves in the cage making small mewling noises, barely perceptible to the human ear.  Blood covering its small palms and it opens its mouth which is sticky from mucus and tears.  It breathes slowly.
There was a knock at the door.
Father Finnegan opened it a crack and peered out, “Yes?”
“Father, I need your help, please.”
“It is very late.”
“I will do anything.  Please!” the woman screams, “My son, he is dying!”
“Bring him inside,” the priest says.
She lays the boy out on the sofa.  His hair is matted to his forehead with sweat. 
“His temperature is over 104 degrees.  I tried to call the doctor but they say he is snowed in and the nearest hospital is over fifteen miles away.  Then I remembered you.  I have heard from some of the parishioners about your abilities.”
“They are not to be taken lightly,” he said, “I try to use them sparingly.  It takes a lot out of me.”
“Please, my son could die!  You know he is more susceptible to illness since he went into remission.  I’m just so afraid.”
“I will do what I can,” the priest said and smiled, taking her hands in his own.
“I need you to stay here and not move.  It will take me at least ten minutes to prepare, keep the cloth on his forehead and do not come into the bathroom, no matter what you hear.  I need to perform a ritual and it cannot be interrupted or the blessing will not come upon me.”
“I understand.”
Father Finnegan locked himself in the restroom and turned on the bathtub water.
He began to undress and cut his wrists and sat in the tub. 
Soon the water began to blossom around him in waves of rose-bud perfection.  Every time I kill myself for you, you give me that magic juice, he said, God, just give it to me once again.
A life for a life and I get to keep my vice.  That is the deal, he whispered.  I die for you again and again and you allow me my darkness.
He began to black out as the water overflowed the tub and his blood leaked onto the floor.  Several moments later he was awoken by the sound of banging at the locked bathroom door.
“Father, please!  He is having a seizure!  Are you in there?”
Father Finnigan woke from the darkness and found his wrists healed.  The tub full of blood was gone, now came the horrible cramping pain in his belly.
“I WILL BE RIGHT OUT!  HOLD HIM DOWN!  KEEP HIM CONSCIOUS!”
The priest opened up the cabinet and took one of the empty glass jars and started to vomit into it.  A bright green liquid leaked into the jar.  Several mouthfuls came up and then it was gone.
He opened the door to the bathroom and then brought the glass jar to the boy. 
“Give him this to drink and he will be healed!”
She looked at the priest strangely for a moment and then slowly poured the liquid into the boy’s mouth.  Several moments later he opened his eyes and was completely coherent.
“You did it!” she wept, “You saved my boy!  Thank you, father.”
“You are welcome, my child.  I am very weak now.  Please give me my rest.”
She swept the boy up in her arms and prepared to leave.
At the door she stopped for a moment, “Oh, the Emories wanted me to tell you to pray for their little girl.  It’s been a week and the police haven’t found her.  It’s just so terrible.”
“I will,” Father Finnegan said.
Slowly he regained his composure and went down to the basement.
This month he had already electrocuted, shot, drown and lit himself on fire.  Each time he had healed and then produced that green elixir that brought his parishioners back from the brink of death.  He was like Lazarus, endlessly dying but only to heal the lepers.  That was why God allowed him this one vice.  It had to be.  Why else would God give a man like him such power?
He looked at the little girl in the cage and smiled.  She was so beautiful like this. 
Then he remembered the rules, it was not a she but an it. 
It would not survive the night.