《The Midnight Drive》 One There¡¯s nothing like a dark country road to get the imagination running. I can¡¯t help but grip the wheel of my beat-up old van a little tighter, trying to relax as I listen to the soft singing of some college indie band. The pieces of the dining set are rattling a little in their box the trunk, and that noise is the only think that keeps me from turning tail and getting the hell out of this place as fast as I can. I¡¯ve never had a delivery so far out before. My carpentry business is small, and only a couple years old. Though I have a bit of a reputation around Savannah I hardly expected someone on the other end of the state to commission the order, and to such far-out address too. My thoughts are interrupted with the vibration of my cell phone. When I see the name ¡®Alyssa¡¯ flashing across the phone I can¡¯t help but heave an exasperated sigh. Still, I answer the phone after the third ring. A loud voice begins to speak almost immediately. ¡°Joseph Kim, I swear to God you had better be at this asshole¡¯s house already!¡± ¡°Hello to you too sis. I¡¯m still on the road, it¡¯s really no big deal, it¡¯s super scenic. A great time, I promise,¡± I lied. Alyssa snorted on the other line. ¡°Who d¡¯you think you¡¯re trying to fool, little bro, you hate deliveries!¡± Alyssa is silent for a moment afterwards, then says, ¡°whatever, just make the delivery and get back home as soon as you can, I don¡¯t like the thought of you being stuck out in the middle of nowhere.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind,¡± I reply. Alyssa only sighs and hangs up the phone. The night darkens as I drive deeper into roads that grow more and more twisted. The houses grow sparser, and soon enough there are only long stretches of field on either side of the road When the GPS starts redirecting me and my client starts sending me angry texts, however, I know I¡¯m truly lost. There don¡¯t seem to be any street signs either. ¡°Aw, fuck me,¡± I mutter, and make a quick turn as GPS signal gets choppy. Soon enough I turn off the GPS, it¡¯s more annoying and helpful at this point. I consider calling Alyssa but I wouldn¡¯t even know how to tell her where I am, and her weird special forces tracking gadgets freak me out a little. I only realize how stupid I¡¯m being when, half an hour into desperate search for a highway, my car stops. In the middle of the road. For no reason. ¡°Oh come on,¡± I yell angrily. I throw the door open and stomp over to the engine. When I open it, however, everything seems to be in perfect working order. I move to turn it on again, and the car flares to life just long enough for me to see the gas gage move to zero. There is no way I could have run out of gas; I had filled up at the last station I saw. This is bad, pretty fucking bad. I quickly open the trunk. Behind the package is the emergency kit that Alyssa had snagged for me from work. Inside is enough stuff to survive for a week. I take out a flashlight and shine it into the distance. When I see two shapes at the end of the long street I could cry in relief. I shut the door and lock the car. There is no choice, if something lives here, I have to hope they¡¯re nice enough to help, or at least give me the directions to a gas station. The closer I walk in the humid summer air the more I can make them out. The taller one is a church, though not a very well-kept one. The stained glass is dusty, the gables of the roof have seen better days and the poor door would probably come off its hinges with a strong push. The house beside is not much better, though it seems sturdy at least. Though one can see the glimpse of a light from the windows they are all covered with dark heavy curtains. It must be a parish house, I think. If it is, however, the knocker is certainly an odd choice. I walk up to it and can¡¯t help but take a second glance before I knock. It looks like one of the old illustrations from The Inferno: A demonic-looking bronze face, twisted in agony, the knocker piercing through its head and its eyes rolling up into its head. I shake my head. It¡¯s nothing. If anything, it probably means the guy who lives here has a good sense of humor. I knock once, twice, and on the third time the door opens to reveal a smiling face and a well-lit foyer. My breath stutters a little, I can¡¯t help it. The man who just opened the door, a priest as I expected. What I do not expect, however are the Hollywood looks and, complete with a gentle smile and sparkling eyes. This guy could give Cary Grant a run for his money. ¡°It¡¯s a little late to be knocking on a stranger¡¯s door, isn¡¯t it?¡± the priest asks. His voice is pleasant: melodious and soft. He doesn¡¯t sound annoyed. ¡°Uh yeah, sorry Father. My car ran outta gas and I¡¯m kinda totally lost,¡± I say, somehow managing to tear my eyes away from him as I point behind me to my car, barely visible in the darkness. ¡°Oh dear,¡± the priest murmurs. He looks back towards the car and then to me, then into the foyer as well. He hesitates for a moment, ghost of a frown on his lips. I stand there awkwardly in the doorway for a couple minutes before the gentle smile reappears and he claps his hands together. ¡°Well, I do not have a telephone, but you are welcome to stay for the night. There is a gas station not too far from here, I can take you there in the morning.¡± He steps away from the door and I step in. It¡¯s almost midnight anyways, and the request sounds reasonable enough. I walk through the threshold of the door, and close it behind myself. The first thing I notice is the interior. I can tell instantly that the inside is much more well-cared for than the outside. It is obvious this guy cares a lot about the place. The entire foyer is paneled in oak¡­ an expensive choice for a single priest in the middle of nowhere. As we walk through the house into the dining room, I realize the whole interior of the house is all oak, though the dining room looks a little more eerie than the foyer, bathed as it is in candlelight. In fact, I can¡¯t see a single electric light anywhere. There are only massive standing silver candelabras with at least a dozen large candles each, and a small candelabra on a table that looks like it¡¯s straight out of a renaissance fair. In fact, the whole dining room looks like it could be in a renaissance fair, or perhaps on the set of a period drama. The far wall holds a massive tapestry, a biblical scene with Jesus at the center, lovingly kept. ¡°Damn, oh sorry, I mean wow, this is beautiful,¡± I say awkwardly. The priest laughs. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I can hardly expect a layman to refrain from cursing. I am delighted you are so taken by my home. Let me take you to the guest room. There are spare clothes in there that may fit you,¡± he says with a smile, meeting my eyes briefly before they sweep away.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. The priest leads me upstairs quietly, though the atmosphere isn¡¯t awkward. The scent of frankincense drifts in the air, and dissipates any unease I had been feeling. Near the top of the stairs is an open door, which the priest leads me through. It is spacious but sparsely decorated. There is a crucifix on a gray wall, a bed with grey bedding, and a small wardrobe. The priest walks over to open the wardrobe. ¡°Here is a set of sleeping clothes, the bathroom is across from you. You can relax a little before I fetch you for dinner. However, I am afraid that all I have for entertainment is a bible,¡± he says sheepishly, pointing to the tome on the bed. ¡°It¡¯s fine, I¡¯ve got my phone,¡± I say. ¡°Of course, I will see you shortly.¡± Before the priest can leave, however, I call out to him. ¡°The name¡¯s Joe, by the way, what¡¯s yours?¡± I see the priest pause for a moment. I could have imagined it, but for a moment it seems like his whole body goes tense. ¡°Pleased to meet you,¡± he says lightly without turning, ¡°I am Father Finnian.¡± He walks away without another word. It¡¯s weird behavior for sure, but I shrug it off. I would probably be weird too if I had to live in this isolated place. He probably doesn¡¯t see a single person for days at a time. The very thought of that kind of life makes me shiver. I don¡¯t bother to try on the clothes yet. Instead I just pull out my cell phone to text Alyssa. I swear, sometimes she acts more like a mom than our parents. Still, I am grateful to her. When I was adopted, at ten years old, she hardly batted an eyelash. At school she always called me her baby brother, daring anyone at school to say otherwise. I moved to sit on the bed, picking up the bible just to have something to do. I flipped through the paper-thin pages. The writing is dense and packed with rhetoric I have always found contradictory and difficult to swallow. When I would go to church with my family, I always asked questions that seemed to annoy my priest and Sunday school teachers alike. They would always brush me aside with impatience. I had come to the conclusion that the only people who were meant to understand the bible were those who studied it for a living, so I stopped caring about it. If anyone asked, I suppose I would call myself a casual Catholic, but ask me to talk about a bible story and I am lost. Soon, I hear that pleasant voice at my door again. ¡°Dinner is ready if you are.¡± I walk over to the door, perhaps a little too eagerly, and follow Father Finnian back downstairs. The staggering amount of food shocks me. The smell of thyme, rosemary, and roast duck are the first thing that hits my senses. I stare dumbfounded at the spread. There is a whole chicken and a whole duck on the table. There are also roasted vegetables and mashed potatoes and lacquered bowls of fruit. Everything is put out buffet-style, with carving knives and big spoons and two empty plates facing placed across from one another. There are two wine glasses by the plates. A jug of red wine sits at the center of the table. ¡°Is this all for us?¡± I can¡¯t help but ask. ¡°Of course,¡± Father Finnian laughs. I take my seat quietly across from Father Finnian. My mouth is watering at the sight of so much good food. It even looks as though it was prepared by a professional chef. Before we can dig in Father Finnian holds out a slender hand. ¡°Let us say grace, first,¡± he says gently. After living alone for a few years I¡¯d forgotten saying grace was even a thing, if I was honest. I quickly take his outstretched hand, only to have to stop myself from flinching away. Father Finnian¡¯s hands are ice-cold, and weirdly clammy. I close my eyes as he mumbles a prayer in later. As he says Amen, I pull my hands out of his freezing grip and proceed to dig in. ¡°So, what brought you so deep into Georgia?¡± Father Finnian asks. I pause from scarfing down the duck, and look up at him. ¡°A delivery, I¡¯m a carpenter,¡± I explain quickly. Father Finnian raises an eyebrow. ¡°What?¡± I ask defensively. I am far too used to people looking down on carpenters. ¡°Your name is Joseph, and you¡¯re a carpenter,¡± he laughs, then continues. ¡°Perhaps it¡¯s fitting you found yourself here.¡± When the coincidence dawns on me I laugh as well. ¡°Now, don¡¯t look too deeply into that, father. I promise I¡¯m not some holy being,¡± I joke. ¡°No, I suppose not.¡± Father Finnian frowns suddenly, and looks at the food around us. That is when I realize he hasn¡¯t eaten anything. ¡°Aren¡¯t you hungry,¡± I ask incredulously. Even just looking at the food around me makes me want to eat more. ¡°Not quite, but do not worry about me. I do not eat much anyways,¡± Father Finnian says. The conversation quickly moves away from theology and food onto history, then philosophy, then politics. I quickly realize one very interesting fact: Father Finnian is as brilliant as he is lovely. There is so much he knows I wonder how he stores it all in his brain. We don¡¯t seem to run out of things to talk about. For a priest he¡¯s surprisingly liberal. The more of the strong red wine I drink, the more talkative I become. In my experience priests at least a little conservative, at least the ones in Savannah are. Finnian is a nice surprise. As I start digging into the fruit Father Finnian begins to sneak glances towards the clock on the wall behind him. He becomes more and more withdrawn as well, as though he¡¯s become tired of chatting. I feel a little bad for him, and decide to cut him a break. The day¡¯s excitement has been pretty hard on me too, and I let out a very real yawn. ¡°Sorry to cut the discussion short Father, but I think it¡¯s time I took a nap,¡± I laugh. The priest looks relieved, and we bid one another goodnight. He vehemently denies my request to help clean up, so I have no choice but to go upstairs and get some rest. Once I get in the room, I realize how tired I am. I don¡¯t even bother to wash up. I try on the pajamas. Surprisingly enough, the plain cotton clothes fit me perfectly. I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. My dreams, however, are not peaceful. I am standing in a dirt field, and someone is running past me. I can¡¯t really recognize them, but I feel like I should. Their clothes are tattered and muddy. The smell of blood is thick in the air, and the chill of winter permeates deep into my bones. Strange, I was sure that people weren¡¯t supposed to feel things like cold in their dreams. There are people -no, creatures more like it, chasing after them, howling and jeering and laughing. A scorching hand grips my wrist before I can run to help the person. You must save him. You must be the one to save him. You have the power to see! The voice is shrill and hoarse, it makes my ears ring and my insides freeze with fear. I want to wrench my hand away from that grip; It feels like my flesh is melting. I want to scream but I can¡¯t. Tears roll down my cheeks as I turn to see what spoke to me, what creature¡¯s hands could burn flesh so terrible. All I can see when I turn around however is an imprint, like a sunspot, of a towering figure with massive, outstretched wings. I can hear screaming. I jolt awake, but the screams do not go away. I realize very quickly that the shrill pained sound was not a figment of my dreams. It is a very real sound that carries from downstairs to my bedroom. The strange words echo through my head I struggle to get up, and I freeze when my hand touches something that was definitely not there when I fell asleep. Rather than a mattress, I find myself lying upon a bed of straw, four walls of rotting wood around me. Two The smell hits me first. I don¡¯t even have time to freak out over the feeling of straw poking at my back or the sight of the crumbling walls before me as I start retching, the stench of blood overwhelming. I am not usually a squeamish guy, but the scent of blood is as thick as a miasma. It takes me a second to compose myself before I stand up and survey my surroundings. I have to pinch myself a few times to make sure I¡¯m not still dreaming. Not only have my surroundings so drastically changed, even the nice pajamas I was wearing have transformed into some sort of long wool dressing gown. It¡¯s so scratchy I felt like I could break out in hives any minute. With bare feet I step onto the rough wooden floor, wincing as it creaks under my weight. ¡°Please hold on long enough for me to get out of here,¡± I pray aloud, trying to be as light on my feet as possible. I run to the closet first, opening to find that my clothes have disappeared as well, leaving only my cell phone on the rotting wood. ¡°Thank god for little miracles,¡± I mutter. I grip the phone like a lifeline and walk through the open threshold where the door used to be. As soon as I cross the threshold the screams start again, so loud it makes my ears ring. Splinters of wood rain down from the ceiling. My heart races a mile a minute as I run out of the room down the stairs. The stairs crumble with every step. By the time I am at the foot of the stairs they are nothing more than sawdust on the floor. My stomach is in knots now. I try to breathe deeply in and out, just like my therapist would have told me, but it¡¯s no use. My breaths come in short bursts as the screaming starts again. It¡¯s even louder here, echoing all around me. Though I am hyperventilating my mind begins to compartmentalize. The screaming is the biggest priority right now. I know for sure we are the only ones in the house, otherwise I would have heard someone before. After all, a parish house isn¡¯t that big. Could someone have come in during this weird¡­ transformation? I shake my head at the thought. Logically, the only one who could be screaming right now is Father Finnian. ¡°Where are you, Father?¡± I shout desperately when the screams stop. I run desperately into the dining room, and freeze when I take in the scene before me. Food is molded and covered in dust, bread black with age and fruit crawling with maggots. The beautiful art is torn and dusty, yet the candles still flicker with eerie light. There are only two complete chairs now, the rest lie in splinters, forming a circle around the table. The same table I ate from last night. The thought makes my skin crawl. Still, I pass the dining room and head into a dilapidated kitchen. The screams are especially loud here, and now I can make out high-pitched giggles. My stomach is churning with fear and I want to run away. I remember my dream though, the voice that I heard just before I woke up, and I take another step forward instead. The screams are the loudest here, the loudest behind the only door that seems intact in the whole house. Cold sweat breaks out on my back as I grip the cold brass knob, turn it, then open the door. Abruptly, the laughter stops. The screams die down into whimpering sobs, and find myself walking down a set of steep stairs. At least I know where stench of blood is coming from now. That scent, of blood and rotting flesh and every foul thing imaginable, is truly unbearable. Every step I take is slow as a snail, every inch closer to the horrors I know await me down in the basement. The fear practically paralyzes me, but I force myself to more. The screams and giggles are replaced by whispering and scurrying, as though a thousand rats are desperately trying to scamper away from me. It feels as though I am walking forever before my feet finally touch the bottom of the abyss. There are candles here, sitting in little holders on the floor, just enough to illuminate the gruesome scene before me. As soon as I take a good look at the creatures again, they start giggling. There are three of them in total, standing over the broken, bloody body at their feet. Their skin is leathery and gray, covered in bright splashes of blood from the body in front of them. I want to scream but no sound passes my gaping mouth. I look down at the man, at Father Finnian, whose chest rises and falls with shuddering breaths. His hair is long now, and matted with blood and dirt. Chapped bloodless lips soundlessly speak, as though he is uttering a prayer, or perhaps a warning. He is so thin I can see the outline of his bones, and not even a bit of cloth covers him. The creatures laugh louder. To my immense surprise, the one in the middle abruptly stops laughing. He must be the leader. When he stops the other two immediately shut their mouths. After a brief moment, he turns to me and begins to speak. ¡°Little man, why don¡¯t you go back to your vehicle and pretend you never saw anything.¡± The creature¡¯s voice is gruff and carries a note of warning. I stay, paralyzed, at the foot of the steps and stare dumbly at the battered body of the man who was so kind to me mere ago. Though my body is frozen my mind runs a mile a minute. I keep hearing that voice in my dream telling me to save him, to save that man. How, though? I¡¯m just a carpenter, just a guy who happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Alyssa has always been the brave, outgoing one of the family. I take a step forward. The creatures frown, but instead of advancing towards me they back away. I take another step forward, and they take another step back. The creatures start mumbling amongst themselves, but I don¡¯t pay them any attention. My heart hammers in my chest as I kneel beside Father Finnian. I try not to vomit as the stench of blood and bodily fluids wafts over me, stronger than ever before. The priest¡¯s lips move again but still no sound comes out. I gingerly take him in my arms. For a moment I close my eyes, waiting for the creatures to attack. Instead, I feel a gust of warm wind sweep past me. I open my eyes and see my car beside me, with nothing else but barren fields all around. Not even the church remains, though the weight of Father Finnian was still heavy in my arms. At least I know I¡¯m not delusional My clothes are normal again too, albeit torn and covered in grime. The dim light of early morning snaps me out of my shock. I jump to action, unlocking my car, opening the backseat door and shoving Father Finnian in as gently and quickly as I could. I jump into the driver¡¯s seat and turn on the car, not even bothering to wonder why I suddenly have a full tank of gas now. All that matters now is getting to Alyssa¡¯s place as fast as possible. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. I floor it, not bothering to look at the speedometer, and pulled my phone out of my pocket. Oh, shit. Somehow, I¡¯d missed 50 calls and 20 texts from Alyssa and my parents. I called Alyssa first, because if I didn¡¯t, she would probably skin me when I get to her place. The phone does not even finish one ring before she picks up. ¡°Joe you little fucking asshole what¡¯s wrong with you!? No calls in two days, two fucking days! Mom and dad were ready to report you missing!¡± Alyssa¡¯s voice is panicked and angry. My head swims. ¡°Two days?¡± I ask in return. ¡°I have only been gone for one night.¡± There is a pause. When Alyssa speaks again, she sounds worried. ¡°Joe what the hell happened?¡± ¡°It¡¯s too much to explain right now. I¡¯m coming to your house and bringing someone with me. You¡¯re going to need your med kit.¡± I speak slowly, trying to stop my voice from shaking. Father Finnian groans in the backseat, so loud I am sure she can hear it. ¡°Okay okay, bring ¡®im into the kitchen when you get here. You know the drill.¡± Alyssa hangs up abruptly after that, and I focus on getting to her place as fast as I physically can without crashing. Many people would probably ask me why the hell I would bring a critically injured person to my sister¡¯s place instead of the hospital. Truth be told, my sister is basically a one-man hospital. Before Alyssa retired, she¡¯d gone through two missions with special forces as a medic. Her wealth of knowledge is astounding, and most of the people on the little cul-de-sac where she lived went to her for advice despite the occasional oddities that would have otherwise made her a pariah. Every once in a while, Father Finian would groan, or try to speak, from the backseat. My back is steeped in cold sweat as I drive, feeling guilty somehow, as if I had smuggled the priest away rather than rescued him. When the creatures appear in front of the car I almost had a heart attack. The sun is fully in the sky now, and those strange things are just¡­ standing there in broad daylight. It just doesn¡¯t seem natural. The few times I¡¯ve gone to church my priest has always said creatures like that belong in the dark, that they have no place in the light. I guess he was wrong. They disappear the next second, as though a figment of my imagination, yet when I look in the review mirror, I could still see smoke rising from the places they had stood, and black sears, like hoofprints, on the road. My heart hammers but I do not stop driving until I see Alyssa¡¯s long driveway come into view. Alyssa¡¯s house is the easiest one to find on the cul-de-sac, for a multitude of reasons. Firstly, the moment Alyssa had moved in she painted the entire exterior of the house a gaudy violet, with the window frames and doors done in black. Second was the giant pride flag hanging on a flagpole near the house, always waving in the wind. I pull in next to Alyssa¡¯s army green Jeep just as she runs through the door, still dressed in pajamas. She opens the passenger side door as I get out of the car, and quickly orders me to carry his legs. ¡°I knew I shoulda snagged a stretcher too,¡± she mutters as we lug him into the house. Alyssa, true to her word, has already divested the kitchen table of its acorn-themed tablecloth and plethora of knickknacks, leaving just the smooth mahogany to place Father Finnian on. ¡°Do you need help?¡± I ask quietly as she starts getting to work, grabbing several towels and a basin of hot water that she prepared, along with sterile solution and other tools I can¡¯t even begin to name. ¡°Not right now, I just need you to sit down in that chair over there,¡± she says, pointing to a chair in the far corner of the kitchen, ¡°and tell me exactly what happened. Don¡¯t leave out anything, this dude looks like he¡¯s been through hell and back.¡± I sit down, taking a deep breath to compose myself. I take in the familiar scent of lavender which always seems to permeate the air in her house. Somehow, just being in a familiar place again makes me a little calmer. I tell Alyssa everything, from losing gas to the weird creatures. She listens as she works, occasionally nodding, occasionally muttering under her breath. When I finish the story, I feel as though a hundred pounds had been lifted from my shoulders. With a sigh, I leaned back in the chair and try not to watch my sister sew up a particularly deep cut. As Alyssa works exhaustion finally sets in, and I drift off into a blessedly dreamless sleep. I awake to my shoulder being violently slapped. ¡°Gee thanks sis, I really needed that after my near-death experience,¡± I mumble through a yawn. Alyssa just laughs. She looks invigorated; she always does after a job well-done. ¡°Well I just spent almost two hours patching up mr. magic here-¡° ¡°It¡¯s Father Finnian, actually,¡± I interject. ¡°Whatever, the point is I just finished patching him up. If I didn¡¯t know you, bro, I would have said you were on a bad acid trip. The wounds on this guy were weird though, and so was his clothing. I¡¯ve never seen hand-spun wool clothing on anyone before. It confirms the shit you said.¡± ¡°It¡¯s weird, isn¡¯t it,¡± I say, trying to ignore the chills that suddenly wrack my body. I was hoping for Alyssa to prove me wrong, not for her to agree with me wholeheartedly. ¡°Yes, but until he wakes up, we won¡¯t get any answers. I hope Father Finnian doesn¡¯t mind being wearing your spare clothes for now, because his are totally unsalvageable.¡± I shrug my shoulders. ¡°Where did you put him?¡± ¡°In your room,¡± Alyssa replies nonchalantly. Alyssa¡¯s house has three bedrooms: her room, a guest bedroom, and my guest bedroom. I have stayed at her house often enough for deliveries that I had my own bedroom. In fact, we often joked that one day I should just move to the cul-de-sac. ¡°I¡¯m going to go sit next to him. I would hate to wake up alone in an unfamiliar place,¡± I say quickly, and leave Alyssa to clean up the bloody kitchen. I really don¡¯t think I can stomach the stench of any more blood. Alyssa just waves me away as she cleans . I walk through the wood paneled living room with its floral couches, up the stairs, and into the hallway covered with posters of vintage actresses. My bedroom is the last door on the left, the dark door currently flung wide open to let in some air. I walk in, quietly as I can, trying not to wake Father Finnian. The priest lays on the bed, face calm, chest rising and falling. After Alyssa had cleaned him up, I finally recognize that lovely regal face again, dark hair laying around him in curls. Occasionally his thin lips move, as though he¡¯s trying to say something. I move to the dark nightstand, pouring him a glass of water from the jug on the nightstand for when he woke up, just to occupy myself. I place the back of my hand against his forehead, as if to double check that he doesn¡¯t have a fever. Father Finnian was quite lucky, in retrospect. He had suffered so many injuries at the hands of those weird creatures, yet all he needed was a few stiches and a lot of bandaging. Around twenty minutes later, as I am zoning out out, Alyssa creeps into the room. ¡°Come on bro,¡± she whispered, ¡°I gotta ask you something.¡± I quickly leave the room with Alyssa, and we head back downstairs, this time to the living room. She¡¯d burnt some incense to get rid of the smell of blood, and the tv is on for some white noise. As we sit down on the plush sofas, she turns to me with a look of the utmost seriousness. ¡°Joseph, what are you going to do with that guy?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°He could be into some real serious shit, this could be human trafficking or Area 51 stuff I don¡¯t know,¡± Alyssa replies, throwing her hands into the air. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s either of those. I really don¡¯t know. I was just going to wait until he woke up and ask him what happened,¡± I say. ¡°Okay, but we have to proceed carefully you know,¡± Alyssa sighs. I nodded, then throw my arm around my older sister. ¡°Come on ¡®Lyss, we¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s nothing too weird,¡± I laugh. Alyssa joins in, and the moment of tension snaps like an elastic band. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you still have a good head on your shoulders Joseph, now go watch over your Mr. Mystery,¡± Alyssa teases. ¡°I thought he was Mr. Magic?¡± ¡°Nah, Mr. Mystery sounds so much better, don¡¯t you think?¡± Three As Alyssa and I are basking in the moment when I hear faint coughs coming from upstairs. Excitement rises in me as I shoot up from the couch so fast pain shoots up my stiff limbs. ¡°He¡¯s awake,¡± I say. Along the excitement I can feel nerves curling in my stomach like a snake, crawling up to my throat. I look to my sister for assurance as my legs freeze up. The coughing upstairs has stopped by now. ¡°I know bro, I can hear him too.¡± Alyssa says with her usual airy laugh. She could laugh through anything; I suppose that happens when someone goes through hell. ¡°why don¡¯t you go ahead and check on ¡®im first. You¡¯re the one who found him, and I¡¯m afraid seeing too many people at once would freak Mr. Mystery out.¡± ¡°Got it,¡± I say quickly, darting up the stairs. When I get to the door of the bedroom, my guest bedroom, I stop. The anxiety that has plagued me since I was a little kid rears it¡¯s ugly head. Fear, like poison, pumps into my veins and slows my movements. What if the priest drugged me, what if it was some kind of weird acid trip, what if he is a deranged killer? Alyssa would be so pissed if I brought a deranged killer into her house. I shake my head and push the intrusive thoughts to the back of my mind before I finally open the door. Father Finnian sits upright, sipping from mug of tea Alyssa left hours ago. It must be stone cold. He looks at me with something like wonder, the delicate bandaged fingers of his right-hand brushing against the soft comforter. He is all cleaned up now, the once-matted hair falling neatly around bony shoulders. His face is skeletal and sickly, but the smile is gentle as a spring breeze. ¡°So¡­it was not a dream. Have I been freed?¡± The priest¡¯s voice is as soft and gentle as I remember it being before the incident, and my heart clenches. ¡°Not a dream Father, unless we were both sharing the same dream. I am sure you feel awful, but I need to know what happened. I know why it happened.¡± Unconsciously my voice drops to a whisper, as though trying not to disturb the odd stillness of the room. Father Finnian looks apprehensive, but resigned. When he speaks his voice is heavy. ¡°I am afraid I must take up a great deal of your time, for the story is not a short one, nor is it very believable. I find that many of the facts have become a jumble in my head, and I must unsort them as I tell my tale.¡± Something about the words send a chill down my spine, and I think of the creature from the dream, of its words. It told me I had the power to see. What did it mean, was this what it wanted me to see? The truth in Finnian¡¯s words? I look at Finnian a second too long, then pat his unbandaged leg and speak before the silence can get too awkward. ¡°If it¡¯s a long story, I¡¯d better grab Alyssa. She is my sister, and the one who nursed you back to health actually. I couldn¡¯t have done much to help you without her, other than get you out of that place.¡± Finnian¡¯s hands clench to fists around the comforter, knuckles going white. ¡°Your sister nursed me back to health? I must thank her, I have troubled too many already,¡± Finnian says. He sounds so regretful I put up my hands in a placating gesture as I stand up. ¡°Really, Father, it¡¯s totally fine, if it was too much of a bother for Alyssa, she wouldn¡¯t have patched you up in the first place,¡± I say earnestly. I practically run down the stairs to grab my sister, curiosity piqued by Finnian¡¯s words. ¡°A long story, huh?¡± Alyssa says as we walk up the stairs. I nod vigorously. ¡°He looked pretty freaked out too.¡± ¡°Oh shit, you think he¡¯s in trouble with the law or something?¡± ¡°Nah,¡± I quickly refute, ¡°he seemed more ashamed than actually nervous, you know?¡± ¡°Whatever,¡± Alyssa shrugs, ¡°We¡¯ll see soon enough.¡± When Alyssa and I walk back into the room Father Finnian is still sitting upright, wringing that bit of duvet in his hands so hard it looks painful. ¡°Relax, Father, I would rather not have to fix up your hands again,¡± Alyssa says quietly. Father Finnian¡¯s eyes widen in shock, then quickly dart away. My sister, notices and her eyes narrow at him. ¡°What is it?¡± she asks sharply. Alyssa hates it when people give her weird looks, bullying set a pretty bad precedent for her. ¡°I do not mean to offend Miss Alyssa, but I have never met a person from the eastern continents before. I would not have taken you for siblings,¡± Father Finnian admits. His ears turn a little pink. I laugh. I can¡¯t help it, the thought of never having seen an Asian person in the twenty-first fucking century is mind-blowing. Now I¡¯m even more curious ¡°Well now you¡¯ve met one. Joseph is adopted, by the way, so we get that a lot,¡± Alyssa says. ¡°In any case, I think you¡¯d better start explaining, Father. The both of us would like to know what happened,¡± I cut in quietly. For a long moment the air is still with silence. Then, Father Finnian opens his mouth. The lovely voice trembles as he begins his tale. ¡°I have already told Joseph that my story will be unbelievable, but he has already seen some of the unbelievable with his own eyes. It may be more difficult for you, miss, to believe my story. Even in my own time I have found that those who work with healing and alchemical arts are governed by logic and reason rather then faith. My story requires faith and reason in equal measures to truly understand.¡± Finnian pauses, then closes his eyes. It¡¯s obviously very difficult for him to talk about his life. Still, he takes another shuddering breath and soldiers on. ¡°I was born in the year of our lord, 1125. My name has always been Finnian. I am the son of serfs who served under King Domnal. He was the lord of a small kingdom in a small part of what they now call Ireland. To me, however, his lands seemed endless. Our folk were a little better off than the serfs of lesser lords. At least we always had decent food and a King who cared. I had the fortune, through the kindness of the eldest son of the king, to attend the seminary. The prince noticed me once, my hoe abandoned, as I stood my ground in a fierce debate with a lay priest. Rather than punishing me, as would have been proper, Prince Cenel brought me before his father, with a recommendation that I start my studies in the seminary. 16 was considered far too old to begin my studies, especially in the seminary. Still, an abbot would certainly never turn down a pupil recommended by the Lochlain family, it would be a deadly insult- ¡° ¡°Hold on for a second, just hold on,¡± I interrupt. The story already sounds pretty out there. Alyssa stares at Finnian with incredulity, ¡®bullshit¡¯ written all over her face. The priest chews on his bloodless lips. He looks at us with desperation. Finnian looks so raw, so vulnerable. I think back to the moment I woke up, that straw bed and the wool nightgown. The building itself looked so old, so medieval. Maybe it¡¯s just crazy enough to be true. ¡°Oh no no no. This kind of shit only happens in movies, there is no way I am looking at someone who is over eight hundred years old. I¡¯m sorry buddy, but there is no way I¡¯m believing it.¡± Alyssa speaks a little too quickly to be calm. When Father Finnian opens his mouth she holds up a hand, then paces around us a few times before speaking again. ¡°I promised I would hear the story, so I will, but you had better have some pretty fucking airtight proof afterwards.¡± ¡°Come on, ¡®Lyss, Father Finnian said there was a rational side of this, so he must have proof,¡± I say. I don¡¯t tell Alyssa, but I just have a gut feeling, the most intense of my life, that Father Finnian would not lie about this. Alyssa nods minutely. Father Finnian continues. ¡°I arrived at the little seminary near his highnesses¡¯ estate and began my education. My studies were the highest point of my life, and I threw myself into learning with all the zeal of my youth. I no longer had to toil in the fields, and I no longer had to sneak looks at the books which wealthy visitors frivolously discarded. Studies were something in which I excelled. The complex ideas of our saints and their holy books were a puzzle just waiting to be unraveled, while the Greek and Roman antiquities called to me like a siren song. Best of all were the debates between the students and masters, where no idea was left untouched, no stone unturned.¡± Finnian took a sip from his tea, blinking furiously. We pretended not to see the tears, like dewdrops, on his lashes. ¡°Really, I should have seen this coming. I have always prided myself on being rather intelligent, yet I could not see the jealousy of my peers. They had the experience, tutelage, and privilege far beyond me, yet I bested them time and time again. The resented me as well, the peasant who learned to read with the help of an old priest, practicing letters and words in the dirt.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. By the time I graduated from the seminary I had a requisites and honors that would have otherwise been only a dream for a serf like myself. To become a man of the cloth was to free myself from an otherwise predestined fate. To show my thanks to His Highness I entered a monastery on the king¡¯s ground, and preached sermons in the little village church to old friends and some poor folk who couldn¡¯t afford the tithes of larger churches. At times even members of the estate would come down to hear me speak. I held my head up high for the first time in my life. My life had been like a beautiful dream for six years; every day I prayed, preached, and even occasioned to teach the less fortunate to read when I had moments of leisure. My brothers in the monastery would sometimes mock me. They called me ¡®little saint¡¯ with a sneer, and would push their work on to me. I didn¡¯t mind, of course, a serf could not hope to be the better of wealthy men even with a monk¡¯s habit. Still I had no idea how deeply their resentment ran, how they waited and watched in the shadows.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what happens when you stand out,¡± Alyssa sighed. ¡°Indeed,¡± Finnian said despondently. As he continued his voice grew heavier. ¡°Though I was part of the monastery I lived in a house separate from the other monks. This was due to¡­ certain proclivities which those in the village had turned a blind eye to. As I feared being found out and cast away, I went to the Abbot. He was none the wiser, as I had always been a solitary and studious man, and asking for lone accommodation was nothing out of the ordinary. The monastery always had a few little shacks on the property for wanderers, in any case. What I could never have predicted was that three of the monks in my order had dug deeply into my life, and past. They had learned the penchant which I had taken great pains to hide from my theological brothers. It began with nothing too sinister, merely strange notes which I took to be from mischievous children around the monastery. The often played such games, and I took no notice of it. In a short while, however, the letters became more and more threatening. I spoke to the abbot, but he seemed utterly flippant of the whole matter. That arose my suspicions, as Father McLeod never took threats lightly, he was a survivor of the first crusade after all.¡± ¡°I guess things escalated from there,¡± Alyssa said dryly, ¡°considering you are now quite a few centuries away from your time.¡± ¡°Yes, they escalated to a degree unimaginable to me at the time. The letters, and some threats at exposing my secret, all lasted for three agonizing weeks. Just as winter began in earnest, I received a knock on my door. It must have been quite late as all the monks and laymen slept, and there was hardly a stir even from the animals that frequented the monastery. The knocking was so loud it sounded like a drumbeat, and the sound filled me with unimaginable anxiety. It was so cold yet fear had me answer the door in nothing but my ragged dressing gown.¡± I think of that dream from yesterday, of the person in the ragged clothes, running as though their life depended on it, of the strange creature with the burning grip, and its words. Chills ran through me as Finnian continued his tale. ¡°I hovered for a long while before the door, like a ghost, as the knocking grew louder and louder. I only opened the door when the whole shack began to shake, as though a battering ram were hitting it. When I opened the door however, there were two old men standing there, cardinals by the look of things.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know much about religion. Still, Cardinals in some remote little monastery on the land of an Irish king, doesn¡¯t seem very likely,¡± Alyssa murmured Finnian took a sip of his tea. She was utterly engrossed in the story by now. I wondered if she could feel it like I could, that somehow Finnian was being utterly truthful. ¡°I thought the same as you miss. There was no way that two such distinguished members of the church would be knocking at my door. Besides that, around them hung the foulest odor of rotting flesh. It was so strong it was practically a miasma. Though it was inexcusably rude I could not help but retch; I even went so far as to try and close the door. As I closed the door, however, the so-called cardinal reached through the threshold and his form changed, right before my eyes. I am, of course, a very religious man. Despite this I had never given serious thought to the problem of demons affecting myself or those around me. We were all a pious people, and never could I have imagined any of our order could stoop so low as to form a pact with one of Satan¡¯s own servants. Nevertheless, they were there and there was little I could do. I had little salt, for it was an expensive commodity, and these demons were ranked highly enough among the prince of darkness that they were little affected by my rough-hewn crosses. I had no time to fetch the crucifix beside my bed, so I had no choice but to run out into the bitter cold darkness. I supposed I was not thinking at the time, so great was my fear. I should have run to take the crucifix, but it is too late to dwell on that now. ¡®We have come to punish you for your sins,¡¯ they cackled after me. I asked them why I should be judged by creatures of hell rather than St. Peter, as all men are. I received the most curious reply from them. These creatures told me that only humans considered my penchant a sin, and it was humans who ordered them to find me, so-¡° ¡°Those dirty fucking bastard monks,¡± I interject angrily. How could a monk do that to a member of his own order? What happened to fucking brotherhood? ¡°As you, so colorfully, put it, those of my brotherhood had betrayed me. I was stuck in the cold, freezing and unable to run from these creatures. Well, you can imagine what happened.¡± ¡°You were trapped,¡± Alyssa said simply. ¡°Indeed, I was. The demons drove me back inside and sealed me in the very shack I had called home. It was a curse that the monks forced the demons to put me under. I was not allowed to expire upon my time, nor was I allowed to venture to the outside world. Simply put, I was at the demons¡¯ mercy for all of time. However, due to the ever-watchful eye of the heavens, there was something of misstep in the curse. The shack, which should have become invisible to the human eye, slowly began to change. The quality of the wood became better, it grew more spacious. Little by little the shack became a quaint cottage, then a beautiful Parish house. Then, it moved. I couldn¡¯t feel it, but when I looked outside, I was surrounded by fields of lavender. I had never seen the flower, but somehow, I knew what it was, and the name of a town floated into my head. I was in France. I didn¡¯t know how I did, but the information was there inside my head. I received my first visitor then, too. He was a soldier, tired, hungry, and lost. I provided him with food, conversation, and hope. The demons hovered over me the whole time, yet he could not see them. After having rested, he went on his way and I was once again alone. The demons were frantic to find out what was causing these changes at first, but, as they hardly affected their own mission, they let it be. The most curious part was, with every time the house moved and every conversation I had, it seemed as though something was giving me the information, I needed about that time, and that place. In the beginning this was just another torture for me, to learn of the changes in the outside world, good and bad, and to be unable to experience them for myself. Every night, after the tortures, I would be hauled back to my quarters. There I would pray, sometimes for hours, to the Lord and his angels, to give me guidance, some sign as to why this was happening to me. Then, a sign came, a true vision, such as I have only read about in the histories of the saints. It happened around 1810, a particularly miserable year where wanderers were few and the areas where the house appeared were unusually remote. I was praying in that miserable dungeon the demons created, when a creature approached me. It was as tall as three men stacked, and though its entire body was covered in wrappings a light so strong I could hardly see seemed to radiate from it. ¡®I cannot reveal myself to you, but I come to tell you that there is a way out of this torment. You must wait many more decades; you will endure far more torment than you can image. One day, however, a man will come who can see through the mist which these foul demons have cast upon you. Your soul was not meant to be shrouded in darkness, for you are a bringer of light.¡¯ It disappeared an instant later, and I have not had any other visions since then. The rest of my story is, I suppose, rather mundane compared to the rest. I waited since then, hoping against hope that the next wanderer would be the one the angel mentioned. Many men came and left, and I feared the one the creature mentioned never would arrive, until you showed up Joseph.¡± As we sit in the heavy silence of that impossible confession my mind is racing a mile a minute. The creature, possibly an angel, that visited Finnian sounded eerily like the terrifying thing from my dream. I couldn¡¯t help the words from tumbling out of my mouth. ¡°Father that creature that spoke to you, did it touch you? Did feel your skin burning as it touched you?¡± Finnian started, then nodded vigorously. ¡°It did, and that is why I came to believe it was an angel. The creatures which the bible describes are good, though fearsome. They must be, to be warriors of our Lord.¡± He replies quickly. ¡°I had a dream as I slept in the parish house,¡± I began, ¡°I think you were in it, I think you were running from the demons, and that same creature gripped my shoulder and told me I was the only one who could see.¡± Alyssa looks from him to me, then slumps down in her chair. She lets out a long, loud groan. Then, she sits upright again and begins to speak, as though to herself. ¡°How have my life choices led to this, why am I listening to a man who says he¡¯s from the fucking middle ages! Why do I fucking believe him?¡± ¡°I do have proof Miss-,¡± ¡°It¡¯s Alyssa. We are obviously destined to know one another as well so it¡¯s easier if we drop the formalities. I¡¯m Joe¡¯s older and wiser sister, and he¡¯s adopted obviously.¡± Every word is snarky and forceful, but it¡¯s pretty obvious Alyssa is trying to process everything. I¡¯m ninety-nine percent sure Finnian just broke her brain with that shit. ¡°I do have proof Alyssa, if you would like to see it?¡± ¡°I will take whatever you have.¡± Finnian reaches into a medium-sized leather pouch around his neck, the only thing that Alyssa has not taken from him when she fixed him up, and pulled out several small rolls of parchment paper. He hands them over dutifully, and Alyssa takes a look at them. Her jaw drops. ¡°shit bro, take a look at this,¡± she mutters, and I lean over. They are all letters, dated in the twelfth century and cramped with tiny handwriting. The signed names are different, but all the letters are addressed to Brother Finnian Doyle. Alyssa hands them back, then stands up to crack her stiff joints. ¡°If you were a monk,¡± she asks, ¡°Why are you a priest now?¡± ¡°My habit transformed into the garb of a priest when the visitors began coming, I suppose a priest is more appealing to people than a monk.¡± ¡°Ok. So, Father or Brother or whatever, how much did you learn about the future in that house?¡± Alyssa suddenly asks. ¡°You believe me?¡± Finnian asks, desperate hope in his voice. ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot, of course I do. The story that I heard from you and the shit that Joe has seen are almost exactly the same, and you really do seem like a gentle guy. A serial killer would have already figured out a way to get to us. Besides, the letters seemed real to me. I¡¯m a simple girl, what I can see I believe.¡± ¡°T-thank you for your trust in me. As for your question, well, I have learned about the advancements of the modern world, both in technology and culture. I have never seen them, however, until Joseph freed me from the house.¡± That explained why he was squinting with the lights on. ¡°Well shit, you have a lot of catching up to do! Welcome to the twenty-first century, Father Finnian,¡± Alyssa says, a smile blooming on her exhausted face.