Hello? Is anyone there? Reddit is still one of the only websites I can connect to right now. I’m writing this from… Well, that’s not important right now. Suffice to say I accepted that ride - wait, you already knew that. I posted from the car, didn’t I? I’m sorry. Some things have happened - less than an hour ago, I think - and I need to tell someone while the events are still fresh in my memory. I think I might be going crazy. Please tell me I’m not going crazy.
~*~*~*~
I sat in the passenger seat as Lester Flynch drove us through the quiet streets of the town. I had caught him up on events – briefly, going into as much detail as I could stomach. I didn’t mention the hellish thing that had caused my crash in the first place.
“I’m sure I can arrange for someone to take a look at your car,” Lester said as casually as though he were talking about a busted taillight.
“I don’t think you understand. It was completely wrecked. I’m honestly lucky to be here talking to you now.”
“Oh, don’t be so sure,” he replied, turning his gaze to look at me.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You’d be surprised. We have a very good mechanic.”
I didn’t argue, but I had my doubts.
“As for the man you mentioned. The gunman,” Lester said.
“The… deceased, yes.” I replied. It was still fresh in my memory. I’d seen death before, but… not like this.
“Such concern for a man who attempted to end your existence. You really are a good sort, aren’t you?” Lester said with a twinkle in his green eyes.
Luna let out a low growl from inside her carrier, placed in my lap. She clearly didn’t care for Lester. I know some people say animals are good judges of character, but I didn’t usually put stock in stuff like that. Half the cats I tried petting on the street ran from me, while others practically fell over themselves to greet a stranger, so surely it was more about the personality and experiences of the specific animal. Plus as much as I love Luna, she was four years old before she figured out she could push open partly ajar doors instead of standing on the other side meowing.
Still, part of me was starting to wonder. I pushed the thought aside. This man had been nothing but friendly so far. I wasn’t going to question his character on the basis of my pet cat.
“All the same, we can’t well leave him there for the flies. I’ll let Officer Randall know, and with luck, all this will soon be little more than an unhappy memory for you,” he continued.
“Right…” I didn’t think it was the kind of thing one got over so easily. I absently fingered the clasp of my satchel, thinking of the little bottle of Zoloft inside. I really hoped this town had a good shrink.
Lester’s Cadillac turned a corner. Appearing out of the mist I could see a white clapboard church with a charming little steeple. It was actually kind of pretty. If the inside was as pleasant – and the large windows giving room for plenty of natural light looked promising – Well, I wouldn’t mind preaching in a place like this.
Before I could open my mouth to speak, the car drove past the building, not even slowing. It was then that I noticed the sign out front. “Castle Rock Congregational Church”. Not our destination, then.
But now the car was slowing, at last. At the end of the street, located a way back from the road, was a Gothic church composed of strikingly dark stone. It reminded me of a French cathedral I’d read about, built from black lava stone. A single belltower rose high above the structure, its windows bricked up. And around the church… A sprawling churchyard, dotted with crumbling headstones and monuments. A rusty signpost creaked in the wind. “ST. BARTHOLOMEW’S EPISCOPAL CHURCH”.
I’d seen better kept churches, but I tried to be understanding. Making ends meet was a constant struggle for smaller congregations. I remembered my old church down east, which had had to apply for a state grant for the preservation of historical buildings just to conduct needed repairs.
“Well, here we are,” Lester said, pulling into the drive.
“It’s… nice.” I wasn’t entirely lying. There was something appealing about this type of architecture.
“Come,” he said, stepping out of the vehicle. “The others will be waiting in the parish hall. We can go through the nave.” He pushed open the red double doors to the building. I considered whether or not to leave Luna in the car. Lester clearly wasn’t stopping to wait for me, so I quickly made up my mind and left her on the passenger seat. I had rolled the window down earlier, so she would have plenty of air.
I felt myself gripped by a sudden unease. Beware, the wind whistling through the tombstones seemed to be saying. Danger…
And I don’t mean in a metaphorical sense. I could hear the words… Faintly, vaguely, but they were there. I was worried now. Could concussions cause auditory hallucinations? Maybe I wasn’t as unscathed from my car accident as I had thought.
There was something else mingled among the whispers now. A familiar low rattling on the breeze… I stopped, my heart pounding. There out of the mist, on the far side of the churchyard, I saw a pair of red eyes.
The beast. I grabbed Luna’s carrier from the car and ran for the building. I don’t know what I was expecting - the creature I had seen could probably make splinters of the church doors. Lester gave me an odd look as I hurried in after him. “Something wrong?”
“Uh… No. I think I just might have - I don’t know, seen a wild animal or something. Could we… lock the doors?”
He raised an eyebrow. “If it makes you feel better.”
I followed him through the narthex and into the main body of the church, dimly lit only by rays of sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows. The baptismal font, standing near the entrance, was of a dark marble and curiously carved with designs of serpents and cherubs intertwined. But I didn’t have time to dwell on that before one of the windows, closest to the door, caught my eye. Unthinkingly, I stepped toward it to get a better look.
Captured in stained glass was a grisly scene of a man being flayed alive, clutching at his own skin as it was stripped from his flesh.
“That’s uh… That’s quite a… thing,” I said. “And here I thought it was just the Catholics who liked the gory stuff.”
Lester moved to stand next to me, craning his neck to study the window’s details. “The Martyrdom of St. Bartholomew,” he said in a low, almost reverent tone. “As the old legend goes, he converted Polymius, king of Armenia, to the Christian faith. And for it, he paid the price. But of course, as I’m sure you know from your studies in seminary…”
“…There’s no record of a king by that name,” I finished.
“Yes,” Lester said, quietly. “It’s funny, isn’t it? The lies people are willing to tell themselves.” He looked at me now. In the darkness of the room, his eyes – illuminated by the window – seemed almost hypnotic. “How much else that we take for granted will people look back on with derision one day?”
I hesitated. “In matters of faith… To doubt and to question is essential to truly appreciating and maturing in one’s outlook. Questioning assumptions is part of what we do. Better to evolve and to grow than to blindly accept the conclusions of others. That’s what sets us apart from the fundamentalists, isn’t it?”
“Well said,” he nodded. “Now, we’ve tarried long enough. Come along, my young friend…” He turned on his heel and made his way towards a door in the back of the church. I remained for a moment, taking in the details of the window. Bartholomew’s expression of agony. The grim determination of his tormentors. And standing apart from the others, a shadowed figure with bright eyes. The mythical king’s brother, I supposed, the one said in the story to have ordered the execution.
I blinked. When I opened my eyes again, it felt as though the shadowed figure was standing closer to the others than before. A trick of the light, perhaps.
And then it reached out a cold, shadowed hand and grabbed me by the throat.