HorrorHead
04-10-2009, 12:41 PM
Hey guys, Another of my ramblings.... Comments are welcome, as they are for all of my stories.
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Sunday morning in the village. The sun had only been up for a couple of hours and a heavy coating of dew still clung to the leaves in the trees. It also covered the grass, highlighting the tiny little spider-webs supported between some of the taller blades of grass. The dew was heaviest in the little graveyard around the old church where thousands of miniature flytraps glistened in the morning breeze, but the sky was clear and the sun was warm and the dew would soon burn off.
In the early hours, the only sign of life could be found in the church where Father Lucian was already at work preparing for Sunday mass. It was going to be a very special event and he had been working hard throughout the night to ensure that everything was in place. Everything had to be perfect today. There would be no second chances, no way to start afresh if things should go wrong. This was going to be a one time only performance. He worked alone as he had done for over fifteen years, which was his way and a matter of pride. Lucian was a man of habit if nothing else.
He also worked in silence; he found that the quiet and solitude helped him to think, to plan. He liked to plan ahead, leading even such a meager congregation every day of the year was a hard battle and he preferred to consider his method of attack very carefully. Today, however, he was particularly tense and found concentration rather difficult. He had been waiting for this day for many years and was having trouble keeping his mixed emotions in check. Especially the fear, the fear was like a ticking bomb inside his mind, waiting to detonate and obliterate his thoughts. But that didn’t matter anymore. He was as ready as he would ever be. The preparations were done and everything was in place. With a few well placed strokes of the chalk, Lucian finished the design on the small blackboard that hung in front of the pulpit. He took a couple of steps back, a frown of concentration furrowing his brow as he examined his handiwork. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, he began to clear away his various tools, taking care not to cut himself on the curved blade of the knife.
The sound of footsteps began to echo across the silent pews, bouncing around the cavernous interior of the church until they reached him, chittering like gremlins in his ears, punctuated by an occasional drip reverberating through the nave. A quality of the echoes somehow suggested that the footsteps were approaching from somewhere much farther away than the stone foyer of the church. The sounds ran the length and breadth of the ancient church, bouncing back and intensifying each new noise until Lucian felt that he would be driven insane by the cacophony that had built up inside his head. It was only with a supreme effort of will that he was able to regain control of his racing heart and jangled nerves.
"You're late", said Lucian, without turning. He found that he was unable to contain the nervous tremble in his words.
A voice came back to him, "Your watch is fast." The voice licked of tombstones. It had weight, possibly fatal weight. It spoke of untold centuries in the darkness, of blind cruelties and buried atrocities. And still the footsteps echoed.
"You're sure?"
"Of course. I'm never late. Never." The final word sounded more like a threat than a statement. 'Challenge me', that word said, 'challenge me and just see what happens'.
"So, it's time then?"
"Yes", the footsteps came to a halt right behind him and a cool hand came to rest lightly on Lucian's shoulder. Immediately, gooseflesh began to rise all over the priest's body. Lucien resisted the urge to flinch away from the physical contact. This was no time to be getting squeamish. "It's time". There was a finality to the voice which suggested that resistance was futile, but Lucian held his ground. This was not right. There was a force behind the hand on his shoulder, a force that could possibly crush mountains. It made him want to buckle; to submit and be led away by the hand, weeping like a lost child, but he remained steady as a rock, kneeling in front of the altar. He had things he wanted to say.
"He's supposed to collect me, you know that. It was part of the deal, remember?"
"No one has forgotten the deal", came the reply, "least of all us. He's waiting outside for us. He doesn't like churches, not even one of his own. They remind him of old wounds."
"Do we have time?"
"A little."
"Good. I only want to talk a little."
A resigned sigh issued from somewhere behind Lucian. "I do hope this isn't going to be some tedious confession or a plea for mercy. There is no mercy." Lucien caught a whiff of exhalation then; fetid and nauseating, like the smell of an open plague pit.
"None at all?"
"No ... only absolution."
Lucian nodded. He didn't really understand, but he knew better than to argue. He knew that absolution was beyond him now, as it had been for years. There was no way the mother church would or could forgive his sins, no matter how fervently he might repent, not now. Not after this. After a pause, he said, "Do I really want to see your face?"
"You won't mind for now, but not for long."
"I see ... I think I'll stay where I am all the same." He bent over the altar once again, pretending, for the sake of appearances, to tend to a few last minor details. Anything to occupy his hands.
"As you wish ... for now." The voice tried for nonchalance and failed, nonchalance doesn't sound anything like a tombstone. "Nice work, by the way. Couldn't have done better myself. It still irks me that you people have such a better eye for presentation than those who've played the game their whole lives do. Very poetic, I think." There was a pause as the voice seemed to consider. "I've often thought that it must be some joke of his." The undisguised venom in the voice left no doubt as to who 'he' was. "Y'know, we were made for this kind of work, literally, but still you manage to beat us at every turn, when you put your mind to it. It's a good thing that more of your kind don't take up with the other side, we might be in real trouble then."
Lucian ignored the somewhat acidic complement. "What about the church ... the congregation? I've worked so hard, it seems a shame to waste it…" Lucian let the sentence hang in the chilly air, its implied continuation left unspoken. He was tired of filling the silences; he felt it was time for a few answers of his own.
"Arrangements have been made. A young priest from London has been recruited, he will take your place shortly. It's easier for us there, the degradation of the city wears the soul thin. But, of course, that's why your work here is so valuable. Corruption is not so easily sown in places like this."
"I know", replied Lucian, nodding once again. "I spent a little time there a long time ago, before the deal was made." A frown of concentration furrowed his brow, "Why isn't the replacement here now?"
"We have to claim the power back from you before we can pass it on to him. These things have to be done a certain way. There are rules, you know. Besides, people will notice if there is a new man waiting to take your place before you even disappear. This way is for the best, everyone will think that you're an evil pervert of some kind." The creature chuckled, not a pleasant sound. "Not so far from the truth, really", it intoned almost under its breath. "Anyway, when the new man arrives, everyone in the village will hail him as their saviour"
"Oh. Yes. I see. It will be better that way." A touch of bitterness seemed to enter Lucian's voice then. He began to pick up the last of his tools, compulsively wiping his hand on a rag as he moved through the display. For a moment the silence was unbroken, save for an irregular drip and the buzz of a few early flies.
"Don't take it personally, everyone gets treated this way. You've been more valuable to us than most mortals who've tried to make a deal over the centuries. The corruption that you have seeded here will flourish in the coming decades. The children will move away eventually and take their corruption with them. In twenty or thirty years the harvest of souls will be good, very good. You've kept your side of the deal excellently."
"Thank you", said Lucian with quiet modesty. He didn't know why he should be feeling such pride over this sordid matter, but he did all the same. He paused once more, a few seconds stretched to eternity. One more question, one small question and then maybe, just maybe, he would be able to face his fate. "Tell me truthfully ... Will it be bad?
"It will be unbearable at first, for a long time, in fact. It always is. Of course, you've done a lot for us over the years, that will stand you in good stead. Plus you've got ambition and a fine twist of mind. Now that, even I can appreciate. I think you could go places."
"Twist? Don't you mean 'turn of mind'?", asked Lucian, puzzled.
"No, I mean twist. And I always know what I mean", came the firm reply. Something about it sent shivers down Lucian's spine. There was the suggestion of a frown in the undertones of that voice. "Come on, it's time to go."
"Of course", said Lucian. The hand slipped, almost reluctantly, from his shoulder. "We can't keep the lord of the Seventh Circle waiting, can we?", he said with more than a trace of bitterness. Slowly, carefully, he stood and turned to face his escort for the first time. Before him stood a neat, nice-looking young man in his mid-twenties. He was wearing a clean, pressed charcoal-grey suit with lines so sharp and perfect that it could have been mistaken for an Armani. He could have been a keen young executive on his way to a board meeting were it not for the unusual context. This was the place for meetings of an entirely different sort. The perfect image was only marred by his watery, red eyes that seemed to swim disconcertingly under their heavy lids.
"Follow me", said the demon, turning away from the vignette that Lucian had so carefully prepared. The altar boy crucified on the huge cross above the altar, his still warm intestines hanging in loops below his exposed sternum. Below him, on the blood soaked altar, lay his mother. Once a picture of beauty, she was similarly defiled; her innards spread around the altar in subtle patterns, her sex exposed and open to the down-turned eyes of the dead boy. "By the way, why them?", asked the demon.
Lucian shrugged. "They wouldn't turn. The mother was raised in the old ways and had passed the devotion on to her son. He was starting to become suspicious. I could see it in his eyes sometimes when he looked at me." Lucian felt rather than saw the demon nodding in agreement with his reasoning.
"There's no-one else who might have realised?"
Lucian shook his head emphatically. "Not a chance. I spent a lot of time with my flock. I would have noticed by now if any of them had suspected."
"Do they have any family?"
"No. The mother's parents are dead and the boy's father walked out on them when he was just a baby. That's probably why she was so devoted. I've seen it happen before."
"Very good, Lucian, I'm impressed. And that's not something that happens every day, you know."
They began to walk slowly down the aisle, taking their time. Two sets of footsteps now chittered in Lucian's ears. "If you can manage to discard your humanity", continued the demon after a few seconds, "then perhaps our lord might grant you absolution, and with absolution comes a chance to rise up the ranks, as it were. Without absolution, you'd be just another lost soul spending eternity in the lower bowels." Lucian said nothing, not wanting to be drawn into conversation. He knew that the creature was trying to goad him into making a mistake of some kind, perhaps for an excuse to exact a punishment of some sort, and Lucian had no intention of rising to the occasion. He only watched his feet in silence as they passed the empty pews. "Of course, you can always spend eternity in the lower pits, it's your choice. I hear that some people actually learn to enjoy it." Lucian refused to join in the conversation, unsure of where it was leading.
They stepped out, into the morning sunlight, and the demon carried some of the shadows from the church to protect him from the harsh, unforgiving light. It was a particularly anti-climactic effect. There were no chants, no displays of power, instead the rays of the sun merely failed to make contact with the creature's flesh.
Lucian found himself drawn to turn and take one last look at the place he had called home for so long. Looking up, he took in the ancient carving of the Green Man set above the arc of the church doors. He wondered if any of his parishioners were aware of the pagan origins of their sacred place of worship. And he found himself also wondering what those Old Gods thought of the struggles of the younger upstarts, the dance of Jehovah and his old friend Lucifer.
"This way. Round the back." He turned the corner to face judgement of an entirely different sort and possibly, or so the demon said, absolution. Their lord and master was waiting in the shadows for them.
The lord of the Seventh Circle eyed Lucian carefully, who was still watching his own feet. "Well, Lucian, at last we meet. I've waited a long time for this, you know ... Look at me when I speak." The voice of hell was worse than that of the demon's and Lucian could not resist his command. He looked up. Their eyes met and through them Lucian saw the prince of lies as he really was, his human disguise thrown off.
For at least two milliseconds, Lucian's mind refused to believe what it was seeing. Then it snapped. A slight smile played briefly across his lips. "Oh, so that's what you mean by absolution." From somewhere deep inside his shattered thoughts, an endless giggle began to flow. It quickly intensified into hysterical laughter.
A smile of satisfaction spread across Lucifer's false face. "Oh, yes. I think you'll go places", he whispered. Behind him, reality tore open quickly and quietly, behind it the black emptiness of the Abyss waited eagerly. The prince of lies led Lucian into the Abyss while his insane cackling still echoed across the graveyard. The demon escort followed suit, and the hole closed again, just as quietly.
But still Lucian's laughter could be heard echoing amongst the tombstones. In the village, babies woke, screaming in their cribs, children moaned and thrashed in their sleep and even the parents shivered and turned over, unconsciously turning away from the place that, in a few short hours, they would all flock to in the hope of cleansing their souls and absolving their sins for another week.
And it wasn't long before the sound of laughter became the sound of another lost soul screaming deep within the eternal night of the Abyss.
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Sunday morning in the village. The sun had only been up for a couple of hours and a heavy coating of dew still clung to the leaves in the trees. It also covered the grass, highlighting the tiny little spider-webs supported between some of the taller blades of grass. The dew was heaviest in the little graveyard around the old church where thousands of miniature flytraps glistened in the morning breeze, but the sky was clear and the sun was warm and the dew would soon burn off.
In the early hours, the only sign of life could be found in the church where Father Lucian was already at work preparing for Sunday mass. It was going to be a very special event and he had been working hard throughout the night to ensure that everything was in place. Everything had to be perfect today. There would be no second chances, no way to start afresh if things should go wrong. This was going to be a one time only performance. He worked alone as he had done for over fifteen years, which was his way and a matter of pride. Lucian was a man of habit if nothing else.
He also worked in silence; he found that the quiet and solitude helped him to think, to plan. He liked to plan ahead, leading even such a meager congregation every day of the year was a hard battle and he preferred to consider his method of attack very carefully. Today, however, he was particularly tense and found concentration rather difficult. He had been waiting for this day for many years and was having trouble keeping his mixed emotions in check. Especially the fear, the fear was like a ticking bomb inside his mind, waiting to detonate and obliterate his thoughts. But that didn’t matter anymore. He was as ready as he would ever be. The preparations were done and everything was in place. With a few well placed strokes of the chalk, Lucian finished the design on the small blackboard that hung in front of the pulpit. He took a couple of steps back, a frown of concentration furrowing his brow as he examined his handiwork. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, he began to clear away his various tools, taking care not to cut himself on the curved blade of the knife.
The sound of footsteps began to echo across the silent pews, bouncing around the cavernous interior of the church until they reached him, chittering like gremlins in his ears, punctuated by an occasional drip reverberating through the nave. A quality of the echoes somehow suggested that the footsteps were approaching from somewhere much farther away than the stone foyer of the church. The sounds ran the length and breadth of the ancient church, bouncing back and intensifying each new noise until Lucian felt that he would be driven insane by the cacophony that had built up inside his head. It was only with a supreme effort of will that he was able to regain control of his racing heart and jangled nerves.
"You're late", said Lucian, without turning. He found that he was unable to contain the nervous tremble in his words.
A voice came back to him, "Your watch is fast." The voice licked of tombstones. It had weight, possibly fatal weight. It spoke of untold centuries in the darkness, of blind cruelties and buried atrocities. And still the footsteps echoed.
"You're sure?"
"Of course. I'm never late. Never." The final word sounded more like a threat than a statement. 'Challenge me', that word said, 'challenge me and just see what happens'.
"So, it's time then?"
"Yes", the footsteps came to a halt right behind him and a cool hand came to rest lightly on Lucian's shoulder. Immediately, gooseflesh began to rise all over the priest's body. Lucien resisted the urge to flinch away from the physical contact. This was no time to be getting squeamish. "It's time". There was a finality to the voice which suggested that resistance was futile, but Lucian held his ground. This was not right. There was a force behind the hand on his shoulder, a force that could possibly crush mountains. It made him want to buckle; to submit and be led away by the hand, weeping like a lost child, but he remained steady as a rock, kneeling in front of the altar. He had things he wanted to say.
"He's supposed to collect me, you know that. It was part of the deal, remember?"
"No one has forgotten the deal", came the reply, "least of all us. He's waiting outside for us. He doesn't like churches, not even one of his own. They remind him of old wounds."
"Do we have time?"
"A little."
"Good. I only want to talk a little."
A resigned sigh issued from somewhere behind Lucian. "I do hope this isn't going to be some tedious confession or a plea for mercy. There is no mercy." Lucien caught a whiff of exhalation then; fetid and nauseating, like the smell of an open plague pit.
"None at all?"
"No ... only absolution."
Lucian nodded. He didn't really understand, but he knew better than to argue. He knew that absolution was beyond him now, as it had been for years. There was no way the mother church would or could forgive his sins, no matter how fervently he might repent, not now. Not after this. After a pause, he said, "Do I really want to see your face?"
"You won't mind for now, but not for long."
"I see ... I think I'll stay where I am all the same." He bent over the altar once again, pretending, for the sake of appearances, to tend to a few last minor details. Anything to occupy his hands.
"As you wish ... for now." The voice tried for nonchalance and failed, nonchalance doesn't sound anything like a tombstone. "Nice work, by the way. Couldn't have done better myself. It still irks me that you people have such a better eye for presentation than those who've played the game their whole lives do. Very poetic, I think." There was a pause as the voice seemed to consider. "I've often thought that it must be some joke of his." The undisguised venom in the voice left no doubt as to who 'he' was. "Y'know, we were made for this kind of work, literally, but still you manage to beat us at every turn, when you put your mind to it. It's a good thing that more of your kind don't take up with the other side, we might be in real trouble then."
Lucian ignored the somewhat acidic complement. "What about the church ... the congregation? I've worked so hard, it seems a shame to waste it…" Lucian let the sentence hang in the chilly air, its implied continuation left unspoken. He was tired of filling the silences; he felt it was time for a few answers of his own.
"Arrangements have been made. A young priest from London has been recruited, he will take your place shortly. It's easier for us there, the degradation of the city wears the soul thin. But, of course, that's why your work here is so valuable. Corruption is not so easily sown in places like this."
"I know", replied Lucian, nodding once again. "I spent a little time there a long time ago, before the deal was made." A frown of concentration furrowed his brow, "Why isn't the replacement here now?"
"We have to claim the power back from you before we can pass it on to him. These things have to be done a certain way. There are rules, you know. Besides, people will notice if there is a new man waiting to take your place before you even disappear. This way is for the best, everyone will think that you're an evil pervert of some kind." The creature chuckled, not a pleasant sound. "Not so far from the truth, really", it intoned almost under its breath. "Anyway, when the new man arrives, everyone in the village will hail him as their saviour"
"Oh. Yes. I see. It will be better that way." A touch of bitterness seemed to enter Lucian's voice then. He began to pick up the last of his tools, compulsively wiping his hand on a rag as he moved through the display. For a moment the silence was unbroken, save for an irregular drip and the buzz of a few early flies.
"Don't take it personally, everyone gets treated this way. You've been more valuable to us than most mortals who've tried to make a deal over the centuries. The corruption that you have seeded here will flourish in the coming decades. The children will move away eventually and take their corruption with them. In twenty or thirty years the harvest of souls will be good, very good. You've kept your side of the deal excellently."
"Thank you", said Lucian with quiet modesty. He didn't know why he should be feeling such pride over this sordid matter, but he did all the same. He paused once more, a few seconds stretched to eternity. One more question, one small question and then maybe, just maybe, he would be able to face his fate. "Tell me truthfully ... Will it be bad?
"It will be unbearable at first, for a long time, in fact. It always is. Of course, you've done a lot for us over the years, that will stand you in good stead. Plus you've got ambition and a fine twist of mind. Now that, even I can appreciate. I think you could go places."
"Twist? Don't you mean 'turn of mind'?", asked Lucian, puzzled.
"No, I mean twist. And I always know what I mean", came the firm reply. Something about it sent shivers down Lucian's spine. There was the suggestion of a frown in the undertones of that voice. "Come on, it's time to go."
"Of course", said Lucian. The hand slipped, almost reluctantly, from his shoulder. "We can't keep the lord of the Seventh Circle waiting, can we?", he said with more than a trace of bitterness. Slowly, carefully, he stood and turned to face his escort for the first time. Before him stood a neat, nice-looking young man in his mid-twenties. He was wearing a clean, pressed charcoal-grey suit with lines so sharp and perfect that it could have been mistaken for an Armani. He could have been a keen young executive on his way to a board meeting were it not for the unusual context. This was the place for meetings of an entirely different sort. The perfect image was only marred by his watery, red eyes that seemed to swim disconcertingly under their heavy lids.
"Follow me", said the demon, turning away from the vignette that Lucian had so carefully prepared. The altar boy crucified on the huge cross above the altar, his still warm intestines hanging in loops below his exposed sternum. Below him, on the blood soaked altar, lay his mother. Once a picture of beauty, she was similarly defiled; her innards spread around the altar in subtle patterns, her sex exposed and open to the down-turned eyes of the dead boy. "By the way, why them?", asked the demon.
Lucian shrugged. "They wouldn't turn. The mother was raised in the old ways and had passed the devotion on to her son. He was starting to become suspicious. I could see it in his eyes sometimes when he looked at me." Lucian felt rather than saw the demon nodding in agreement with his reasoning.
"There's no-one else who might have realised?"
Lucian shook his head emphatically. "Not a chance. I spent a lot of time with my flock. I would have noticed by now if any of them had suspected."
"Do they have any family?"
"No. The mother's parents are dead and the boy's father walked out on them when he was just a baby. That's probably why she was so devoted. I've seen it happen before."
"Very good, Lucian, I'm impressed. And that's not something that happens every day, you know."
They began to walk slowly down the aisle, taking their time. Two sets of footsteps now chittered in Lucian's ears. "If you can manage to discard your humanity", continued the demon after a few seconds, "then perhaps our lord might grant you absolution, and with absolution comes a chance to rise up the ranks, as it were. Without absolution, you'd be just another lost soul spending eternity in the lower bowels." Lucian said nothing, not wanting to be drawn into conversation. He knew that the creature was trying to goad him into making a mistake of some kind, perhaps for an excuse to exact a punishment of some sort, and Lucian had no intention of rising to the occasion. He only watched his feet in silence as they passed the empty pews. "Of course, you can always spend eternity in the lower pits, it's your choice. I hear that some people actually learn to enjoy it." Lucian refused to join in the conversation, unsure of where it was leading.
They stepped out, into the morning sunlight, and the demon carried some of the shadows from the church to protect him from the harsh, unforgiving light. It was a particularly anti-climactic effect. There were no chants, no displays of power, instead the rays of the sun merely failed to make contact with the creature's flesh.
Lucian found himself drawn to turn and take one last look at the place he had called home for so long. Looking up, he took in the ancient carving of the Green Man set above the arc of the church doors. He wondered if any of his parishioners were aware of the pagan origins of their sacred place of worship. And he found himself also wondering what those Old Gods thought of the struggles of the younger upstarts, the dance of Jehovah and his old friend Lucifer.
"This way. Round the back." He turned the corner to face judgement of an entirely different sort and possibly, or so the demon said, absolution. Their lord and master was waiting in the shadows for them.
The lord of the Seventh Circle eyed Lucian carefully, who was still watching his own feet. "Well, Lucian, at last we meet. I've waited a long time for this, you know ... Look at me when I speak." The voice of hell was worse than that of the demon's and Lucian could not resist his command. He looked up. Their eyes met and through them Lucian saw the prince of lies as he really was, his human disguise thrown off.
For at least two milliseconds, Lucian's mind refused to believe what it was seeing. Then it snapped. A slight smile played briefly across his lips. "Oh, so that's what you mean by absolution." From somewhere deep inside his shattered thoughts, an endless giggle began to flow. It quickly intensified into hysterical laughter.
A smile of satisfaction spread across Lucifer's false face. "Oh, yes. I think you'll go places", he whispered. Behind him, reality tore open quickly and quietly, behind it the black emptiness of the Abyss waited eagerly. The prince of lies led Lucian into the Abyss while his insane cackling still echoed across the graveyard. The demon escort followed suit, and the hole closed again, just as quietly.
But still Lucian's laughter could be heard echoing amongst the tombstones. In the village, babies woke, screaming in their cribs, children moaned and thrashed in their sleep and even the parents shivered and turned over, unconsciously turning away from the place that, in a few short hours, they would all flock to in the hope of cleansing their souls and absolving their sins for another week.
And it wasn't long before the sound of laughter became the sound of another lost soul screaming deep within the eternal night of the Abyss.