The shy Father was simply paying a solemn visit to the resting place of a brother priest though I do wish I had got a moment to talk to him! Of greatest interest, however, was the date of his friend’s death, May the 30th, the twentieth anniversary of which was only a week away! How doubly kind it was of the priest to visit the grave to mark the date as closely as possible.
On my walk home I was beset with pangs of worry. The loudness of the Oak’s death seemed to echo in my head for hours afterwards and sudden violent images of my body being flattened beneath it came to me in my dreams. I did not sleep well for a few nights. During this time Eliza was good enough to stay with me and helped to conduct me to the door of the church on Sunday morning. She returned that night but I was awoken by her cries in the early hours on Monday. I went across the way to her small servant’s room to find the poor girl lying helpless on the floor by the bed!
“It’s my ankle Miss,” she said pitifully and she was correct for her right ankle was aflame and swollen. I gently consoled her and promised to get her to the doctor in Wirral. With difficulty I got her on back upon her bed and fetched the wheelchair that had been sent with me from Birmingham should I require it. I successfully got her to sit in it, got dressed, and off we went into the black night! The two of us had built up a good rapport over the weeks and I took a great joy in being able to help her thus.
~ “Whatever you did unto the least of my brethren, you did onto me” ~ Matthew 25:40.
We passed by the fallen Oak, now cleared from the laneway and past the church and on through the night! At last Eliza fell asleep and I made certain she was strapped into the wheelchair in case she should tumble out! As the birds began to sing and the first light of the coming day made its humble mark we arrived at the Doctor’s house in whose care I left the girl and made my way home tired but happily exalted from having done a good deed. My mind was filled with many thoughts largely good but as I crossed myself on passing the shadow of the church once again my old pains returned with unforewarned suddenness. I groaned and clutched my right shoulder with my good hand and rubbed it to try and soothe the onrushing discomfort. Then, with the same unsettling trepidation, my mind recalled the last time I was seized with my pains; the night I had seen the hooded shape in the field beyond the garden. The familiar fear arose in my heart which felt as if it had been skewered by a thousand freezing needles when I raised my head to look before me. In the middle of the road, where the Oak had lain, stood the same, tall black form. It made no movement nor did it speak any word. I could see no eyes upon its visage or indeed any orifice signifying any recipient of the senses. No nose, no ears, no mouth, merely a plain black hood that draped it entirely. My left hand shook as it touched the Rosary in my bag as I began to recite the Lord’s prayer. The being did not flinch. When I had finished the prayer, the right side of the creature leaned briefly in the direction of the Oak.
“What is this?” I asked it with defiance.
It said nothing.
“Speak!” I ordered it!
In response it repeated the gesture towards the fallen tree. Then I understood its cruel meaning! It, and not the storm, had been responsible for the tree’s fall! The very fall that had come within mere inches of crashing down upon me but for the timely intervention of that saintly priest! My wide, wet eyes were transfixed upon the carcass of the tree as the revelation that this evil thing conspired to kill me. I was about to turn and face it again when an abruptly strong breeze struck me in the face in a way that made it feel as if it momentarily coiled around my neck and upper body! I thrust both my arms in no particular direction and when it had dispersed as suddenly as it had come I looked to where the shade had stood only to find that the apparition had gone!
In a shakened state I trotted on back down the lane to home. I was inclined to return to the village but what on earth could I have told the people? Also I was weary from having been awake for most of the past night and wanted nothing more than to reach my warm bed and sleep in peace. However the tempests of nature, perhaps at the behest of the creature, now arose to try and defeat me! In a matter of seconds the blue sky of the early morning became grey as if some sepulchral dye had stained the firmament. From the north came dark clouds that promised rain followed by an unrelenting wind. I made a renewed effort to walk faster but my legs were weary and my feet had been aching even before I had gotten Eliza to the Doctor’s house. With an unnatural violence the rain fell to earth like bullets and began churning up the laneway’s little stones and weak soil, transforming it into a stream of mud. The rain, meanwhile, was bitterly cold. In only a few minutes I had been soaked to the marrow. It rolled down my neck like icy fingers while my jacket, dress and underclothes were so very soaked that one would have thought I had walked up the river itself! My panged feet trudged on through the mud which gathered thickly upon my damp shoes in lumpy clusters. My progress was slow but with gritted determination I at last came to the cottage which seemed to emerge from nowhere as its whitewashed stones were cast in a sheen of grey by the dismal light of the oncoming storm.
I unlocked the front door of the cottage and pushed open the door. The storm followed me inside, wrecking its blustery havoc; sending pictures from the wall onto the ground as it swept down the hallway and into every chink and corner of the house. With some considerable difficulty, due to my poor strength, I eventually managed to push shut the front door and bolt it tightly. I undressed myself and with some hardship filled a hot bath. Some time later as I lay recuperating in the soothing heat of the water there came a knocking at the window. Three simple yet firm raps were made against the pane. Knock, knock, knock. I knew the lay of the cottage so well that I can tell you with certainty that there was no tree by the bathroom window. The fact obviates the suggestion that it was a branch, prompted by the storm, that was the source of the tapping. During my ordeal in the rain I had been driven by the strong urge to arrive home which caused any thought of the creature in black to disperse from my mind. Now, with the cold, stony tapping, I remembered it again! I was alone in the isolated cottage with this being mere yards hence! I rose slowly from the bath then carefully stepped out onto a dry, warm towel. If the beast had planned for me to slip I would ensure its disappointment. But it was a cunning fiend. I had elated smoothly onto the towel and was reaching to dry myself. There then came another noise from the window; a faint scarping sound like a frozen pond makes when the ice begins to thaw. I looked and saw the frosted pane splinter into a series of lines and circles akin to a spider’s web. Before I could react it disintegrated. Shards of glass struck my naked body and at the same moment I was engulfed by the outside air which felt icy to the touch due to the wetness of my skin. I shut my eyes and raised my arms to try and protect myself but I already sensed faint streams of solid blood trickle down my body from the many small wounds inflicted by the glass. My crazed gestures were all the more defensive for I anticipated the imminent manifestation of the creature however nothing happened and after several furious seconds I stretched out my legs and with long steps, in order to avoid the fallen glass in my immediate proximity, I escaped from the bathroom and slammed shut its door behind me. I dashed to my bedroom where I managed to clean off the blood and partially dry myself. But I was racing against the time for it was apparent to me that the black apparition sought a confrontation of violence. I dressed hurriedly into a set of dry clothes and flat shoes then picked up my crucifix. ‘Dear God help me’, I was thinking as I kissed the Christ figure’s; His son’s, feet. I must have been overcome with nerves from my head to the tip of my toes for I was suddenly aware of a trembling sensation running up and down my body. Then came the realisation that it was not me that was trembling but the very ground itself! Indeed the entire house was now vibrating! Fine dust sprinkled from the rafters, the windows rattled and in the hallway the front door crashed to the floor. Out went the candles as the icy wind swept indoors once again. In the faint light the curtains danced as the gale uplifted them but as their movements intensified I became acutely conscious of another, more powerful force, at work. Every object in the room began to move; the bed, my hairbrushes, candlesticks, clothes; all leapt into life and with terrifying violence commenced to fly around the room as such speed that they became phantasmic blurs! All the while the foundations of the building danced with them so that I dropped to my knees in fear amidst this hellish chaos. The flight of the objects barred my escape; if the bed sheets would not entangle me then I’d be skewered by the coarse metal of the others. I admit that my heart gave up for beyond the hall came a roar as of some violent confrontation. Indeed, I thought I heard the word ‘Deus’. There followed another roar, this time that of some wild beast like a Lion from Africa. At this the objects slackened their pace but I was still trapped. I then looked to the bedroom door and my heart panged as a slim, black shape appeared in my threshold. It had come for me. But truly it hadn’t. In stepped a man, a man clad in black, the black gown of a priest! I think he then spoke a command in Latin with a loud, deep voice and at his utterance the objects and curtains and bed sheets fell to the floor leaving only the noise of calm wind from beyond. The priest, whose face was striking and handsome, reached out his hands to me and alighted me to my feet once more.
“We must get to the church!” he said.
He took my hand and pulled me gently but firmly down the hallway, out the door and into the stormy night! The priest clasped my hand tightly and implored me to run with him and not let go. I did my best. The wind blew up again with renewed fury, seemingly intent on barring our way but the priest pressed on relentlessly. Around me I began to hear voices. They were prideful, indignant, scathing, hateful, deceitful, full of envy, malice and outright arrogance. As we ran along the road there were times when, through half-shut eyes, I thought I saw their faces; the contorted, grimacing, sad, vengeful, determined, demonic, sin-hungry faces of the children of Hell. There was the church. Tall, resolute, strong; it was our fortress in this war!
“The key,” said the priest when he reached the door. My poor heart! I was certain I had not brought it with me but I felt in my side pocket and felt a long, cold familiar piece of metal. It had remained in my other clothes that I just changed into ~ He works in mysterious ways. I handed the priest the key who rapidly unlocked the door and in we went. The priest then locked the door behind us and beckoned me to the vestry.
“Light the candles on the altar. Do everything you do when preparing the church for Mass!” he said hurriedly.
I watched in amaze as he entered the vestry, opened the cupboard wherein the vestments are stored and began to dress. From his speedy actions it was apparent that he knew where everything was! I went and did what he had instructed me and soon had everything ready. He then beckoned me back into the vestry and said to me solemnly; “Whatever happens, this must be completed! Do you understand?” I answered that I did however I did not ask why as I trusted him implicitly and, to speak honestly, the truths he appeared to know would have terrified me.
“Now, take your place,” he said.
I knelt down at the front row as the bell rang. The Mass began and the priest strode solemnly up the aisle and knelt at the altar with his back to me. He spoke beautifully in Latin and his every word and gesture seemed to be guided by a Holy and solemn sensitivity. At “Osténde nobis, Dómine, misericórdiam tuam” the blood in my veins froze for some distance behind me there arose a disembodied cackle that mocked us. I dared not turn my head and in any case the priest raised his voice as he continued.
“Et salutáre tuum da nobis,” I said.
“Dómine, exáudi oratiónem meam,” proclaimed the priest loudly.
The laughter lingered but I now felt safe and my confidence in the priest was absolute. We reached the Gospel and at every utterance of the Lord’s name the cackling voice altered to emit a prolonged groan of misery. The priest gave no sermon but despite his desire for haste he conducted himself with remarkable fortitude and calm. At no point of the service did he ever flinch, not even at the devilish laugh. Then I realised why. The worldly, or other worldly, gaze in his eyes told me he had encountered such things before! Who was he? Where had he come from? For a brief while the repugnant voice lapsed into a long, low moan that developed into a veritable, childish sob as we approached the consecration of the Blessed Sacrament. When I shook the bell at the vital moment it said “No” and for a time after I received Holy Communion from the priest’s hands there was nothing but silence in the church! Then during the closing prayers it came back again with the same awful laugh that still resounds in my mind while to either side along the church its dozen stained-glass windows began to rattle! Like before in the cottage I felt the building that is God’s house begin to shake! The priest spoke faster at the final blessing.
“Pláceat tibi, sancta Trínitas,” he began. I closed my eyes and spoke it with him and as we did there came the powerful laughter of many wicked voices from outside!
“Pater, et Fílius et Spíritus sanctus.”
“Amen!” I said.
There was an onrush of wind then all fell silent. The ground became as firm as it had always been. I looked at the priest who had finished whispering his Trium puerórum and was looking directly at the door of the church behind me! With grave caution I too tilted my head around to see it. Blacker than pitch it stood. Tall, shapeless and from the intense heat that radiated about it came also a wilful, poised malevolence. With a throbbing heart my injuries arose once again, more agonising than ever before and in seeing this demon incarnate from my position by the altar and in the dim light I realised that even before I had come to the Magister’s Cottage that I had already seen this beast! Not in dreams or visions but in the cold light of a normal day. It was on the day, months past, when the carriage horse trampled me. I must be brave and swear to you that on that dreadful, dark, December day at four o’clock in the afternoon my glance had chanced upon the same figure in the busy throng as I carelessly stepped out in front of the horse and carriage that crushed my arm. Amidst the crowd it had only been visible to my eyes! And since that very moment when it collided with my body and sent me to the cold stony cobbles of Moor Street the shade that had distracted me had gone from all my memories until that night when it stalked me in the fields. Yet only now did I recall its role in my accident in the city. Only now did I remember it! Then there had been the fallen Oak and its siege on the cottage. As I looked I knew it glared back at me with its invisible sight and I felt all the gathered spite and rage of many centuries and of what it wanted; it wanted me to die! Then came the voice of the priest to dispel my fearful despair and stoke the fire of the fading embers of my defiance!
“Now is the third hour when all evil things hold sway upon the world and mock the Holy Three; the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost but we the faithful stand firm and resolute bolstered by the truth and the power of He who is above all thrones and dominions!”
He placed his strong hands on the altar and with one nimble bound leapt over it! I stepped from my seat and ran to his side to face our foe.
“The goodness of humankind has been corrupted by its own fragility and the whim of unnamed demons from places worse than Hell,” he shouted at the beast. “I will give you a chance to leave now or be destroyed!”
“Fool”! it croaked. “I cannot die.”
The priest sighed then said; “I was a priest of one Christian faith but I have seen other powerful truths and wisdoms that the senses of living people cannot begin to gauge in their mortal forms. These are good things that must be upheld forever. You are one, who through debase ignorance and primitive, selfish hatred would destroy everything for the sake of it. Once before you stopped me but I have been given another chance to finish you!”
I looked at the priest in utter amazement. His words I did not fully understand but they were spoken with such sincere conviction and power that in the absurdly weird circumstance in which I found myself I could only believe them and love him all the more. No longer was he a Roman Catholic priest but a champion of man; the benign scion of all of humankind; of every faith and skin colour, of every man, woman and child that has ever lived, is alive today and will be born in the ages hence. Here he stood against our worst enemy with a burning and unshakable resolve to see out its destruction, a hero standing with humility that any subscriber to goodness from any race of man could identify with and exault to victory.
“I killed you once before man of truth,” growled the shade in its lustful longing for violence.
“I will kill you again.”
The priest, in response, moved defiantly forward and held something aloof! Whether it was a bible or a cross or some other holy weapon I cannot say. Perhaps his body itself served as an instrument to defy that which was there and merely by confronting it so was enough to vanquish it. The poor light rendered everything dim to me but I discerned something that shone out with a pristine brightness! What occurred next remains faint and uncertain in my memory. I was conscious of the priest stepping forward to battle the beast. There was a massive roar of noise as if two great streams of powerful energy met in a collision. Around me the wind intensified and my vision became uncertain as both the priest and the thing were caught up in an epic, violent struggle. Perhaps I fainted for the next thing I can recall was utter quietude and the meagre shards of an early dawn light dared to pass through the high windows of the silent, undamaged house of God. A strong hand pulled me to my feet and caressed my burning forehead.
“Father,” I said for I knew it was he, “are we alive?”
“You are indeed alive madam,” he said.
His tone had lost its exhausted, frantic qualities. It was peaceful and I saw such contented grace glisten in his brown eyes along with more than one tear. I hurled my arms around him and thanked him. Never in my life had I experienced such grateful relief but still I had so many questions.
“That thing Father,” I enquired pointing to where it had stood. “Was it the Enemy? Was it the Devil?”
The Father looked at me flatly.
“Worse.” he said.
Before I could ask further the priest began to glow! Yes, glow! A faint yellow haze enveloped him slowly and when it disappeared shortly after I could see right through his black biretta for he was now transparent just like Jacob Marley’s ghost! I fumbled for words and this was all I could muster;
“It claimed, for I heard it say so, that it had killed you once before Father. Now I see that it was speaking the truth!”
“Don’t be afraid Emily,” he said with reassurance.
“I am not Father. I am just struck by how little I know about the world,” I said making a questioning gesture before I lapsed into tears.
“Trust in what you do know Emily,” said the priest. “You have perhaps seen too much but that was unavoidable. It set out to destroy you because you are a blessed soul but it has been defeated. As for me, I have now atoned as I have saved you from it.”
I looked at him intensely. Words cannot express my feelings at that time Margaret and even now, a week later, I am overcome by it.
“Twenty years ago this morning it claimed me,” said the priest. “I had promised to say a Mass in memory of an infant girl. As I rode my bicycle here some black force knocked me from it and I hit the ground hard. I have become privy to many secret things since then. One day I think you too will know them for you are worthy and I have said my last Mass for a long dead baby girl. Now I must go.”
We walked in silence to the door then out into the bright dawn of the waking day. The birds and bees were already busy, the sun promised a glorious day ahead as it lavished the greenery with its growing light. For a moment we stood there surveying the joyful scene. Then he introduced himself with outstretched hand which I clasped with both of mine.
“I am Father Cuthbert Ainsley. I was pastor here for a time,” he said with the nicest smile I have ever beheld.
I was in tears of joy.
“I know who you are Father and I think that now you can depart in peace,” I said to him.
“And on such a day as this with a shining sun,” he said wistfully, leaning back to take in the blue sky above us. “It would be nice to linger for a while but I am being called to my rest.”
He looked at me kindly.
“Farewell then Emily dear. God bless you.”
And with that Father Cuthbert turned and walked away. I closed my tear-filled eyes only for a moment and when I opened them again I was alone in the warmth of the morning.
Now Margaret, are you shocked, scared, disbelieving? If you are then you cannot be blamed for I have experienced the same feelings over the past several days. I wonder if my life will ever have the same sense of normalcy as before but I know what is certain. I love life all the more. I love God all the more. I have seen things I may never fully understand and some of them almost killed me through fear. Despite these evils, and all those other evils that remain, through the window of hope I have seen that God is real and I live in hope that one day I will know and share the truths that Father Cuthbert knew (and knows). I have pointedly seen the goodness of God’s world and the worth of all his peoples. That is something I will always cling to and when I return to the city next week I can elaborate my thoughts more clearly to you. I hope we can revel in them and look to the days to come with optimistic joy. Please forgive this bulky letter and the extra postage it may have incurred you but I needed to tell someone and the cat is hardly a substitute with which to share my story. You may wish to keep it, or burn it or throw it away or perhaps one day, one hundred years from now, it will be uncovered in a case of junk in somebody’s attic space! Let us not therefore proclaim it for while I care not that people will doubt me what matters is that I have been strengthened in body and soul and can, in turn, assist those that need help the most! Therefore until I see you again my friend I must go for the garden needs tending and the Tea is getting cold! Farewell!
Yours in Faith,
Emily ~
