Conscience
THE normally beautiful countryside that surrounded the long winding path up the hill to the cathedral was not visible through the deep fog. Even the bright glare of the full moon was not enough to penetrate through the murkiness. The night air was cool but yet hot and humid. A chill breeze blew around the hill and the cathedral. As I walked up the path to the cathedral that I had walked so many times before I couldn't help but notice the change to the normal atmosphere of the path. Although it was nearing midnight, the path usually felt like a safe and secure place to walk. Today though, I remember noting, that this was not the case. While I walked up the path in the thick fog, I felt that something was going to happen here. Tonight. The path had an unusual aura as if it was attempting to tell me something. I felt a sick feeling in my stomach as I thought more and more about it. Don't be stupid, I told myself. Nothing is going to happen, why am I getting anxious over nothing? As I walked further up the path, getting closer to the cathedral, the fog seemed to become much denser although I put this down to my overactive subconscious mind. Though we hardly ever got fog in this area, especially on the hills where it was a very rare occurrence. Still, I carried on walking up the hillside path to the cathedral. I promised to meet her in the cathedral at midnight, as we had done every midnight for the past three weeks. A little bit of fog and an overactive mind weren't going to stop me tonight. But even with her on my mind, I still felt slightly apprehensive.
As I carried on along the path to the cathedral, I grew more anxious. The closer to the cathedral I progressed, the more anxious I became. Why am I so anxious, I shouldn't get anxious over a bit of fog on a cool winters night. I am not typically a nervous person. With this in mind, to distract myself from my anxiety, I let her creep into my mind. It was like this, whenever I was anxious or downcast she was there for me, either in reality or in my mind. As I walked the last section of the path, her voice resided inside my head, and I could hear her beautiful voice. I carried on walking and as I did so gazed towards the ground, letting her voice drift through me.
I realised when I glanced up that I had stopped walking, although I was almost at the top of the hill. I was unsure how long I had remained in that one spot, just thinking about her. I started walking again, at a brisker pace now, as I knew that it was already probably passed midnight. As I finally reached the top of the hill, the fog seemed to slowly dissipate. See, I told myself, there was nothing to fear, it was just a bit of fog. By the time the cathedral came into view, the fog had almost completely dispersed. The full moon now shone brightly and illuminated the external features of the cathedral. I stopped for a moment to gaze in awe at the beauties of the gothic architecture. The intricate stone cut angels and sophisticated gargoyles fitted flawlessly with the remainder of the cathedral. I walked towards the cathedral's entrance and out of the corner of my eye, noticed a glimmer of light that was most likely the reflection of the cathedral in the lake below.
I remember striding slowly to the cliff edge by the cathedral, so that I could gain a better look at its reflection. I imagined that it would be as pleasing to the eye as the cathedral itself. As I looked down into the gloomy waters of the lake, I was taken aback by the cathedrals reflection.
I was expecting to see a reflection almost identical to the cathedral in every way except for the odd ripple in the water. Instead, the gargoyles and angels in the reflection seemed to stir. I hastily took a couple of steps backwards in disbelief. Surely they didn't move. They are made from stone. I didn't dare turn around to look towards the cathedral to see if they were still there. I was frozen dead on the spot, unmoving.
After what seemed like hours but in reality what was probably only a few minutes, I gathered the courage to take another look into the murky waters at the reflection. As I took a quick glance over the edge of the cliff, I saw that the angels and gargoyles were still there, unmoving in the reflection of the stonework. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. My mind had been playing tricks on me again; it was just the water rippling around. I turned slowly, still thinking how stupid I had been to think that stones could move of their own accord. I looked up at the front of the cathedral now, noticing for the first time how beautiful the rose window was. Its panes of stained glass shone brightly in many different colours from the candles on the inside of it.
I started to walk slowly towards the hefty oak doors of the cathedral, which were tightly shut, although I knew perfectly well that they were not locked. They never were. As I glanced up for the last time before entering the cathedral, I became aware of a small bird perched upon one of the gargoyle heads above the door. A raven. I knew all of the superstition surrounding ravens, I remember my grandmother once calling them the bringers of ill omen, the messengers of death himself. I didn't believe in any of that superstitious drivel though. I gazed at the bird for a few seconds, still thinking about the stupid superstitions and I had the feeling it was looking back, although it was sitting completely still. I looked back at the oak doors and sauntered towards them, reaching them and pulling heavily on the large metal handles. The doors swung open with relative ease and I stepped inside the cathedral.
The cathedral was usually a warm place, a place of worship and of love. Today it felt like none of those things. As I closed the doors behind me, I felt even colder than when I was outside in the cool night air. I took a quick glance around as I did every night when I entered the cathedral. The beautiful white marble floor ran all the way along the extraordinarily long nave of the cathedral and at regular intervals, great marble pillars held up the marvellous, elaborate roof. As I started to walk between the pews, I couldn't see her. I remember calling her name a few times but there was no response. As I turned a corner in the nave to face the Rose Window I saw her.
Her pale lifeless body lay motionless on the cathedral floor. The pure white marble floor around her was stained deep red with her blood. Candles were placed around her, in the shape of a pentagram. They flickered as if fighting against some invisible demon just so that they could stay lit. Around her limp, emotionless body, at the five points of the pentagram, rested five wilted red roses.
I dropped to my knees, howling in agony, the pain that the only person I had ever truly loved, the only person that I had ever truly cared for, was dead. I sat screaming with sorrow and rage. She couldn't be dead. I sat screaming for what felt like hours, until as Tears poured down my cheeks, I stopped screaming, my throat sore. I crawled over to her body, with tears still streaming down my face. I sat next to her limp body, tears falling to the floor around me, gazing into her deep blue eyes. Her pale body was covered in blood, obscuring her attractive face. Blood matted her long dark hair and still oozed from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were wide with fear, even now. She died terrified and she died in pain. As these thoughts flooded my mind I smashed my hand in rage against the floor, breaking my knuckle. As I screeched in pain, the temperature in the cathedral seemed to drop abruptly.
I didn't care. I had felt the temperature drop but I no longer cared. If someone was going to murder me like they had mutilated her, let them do it. I had nothing to live for now she was gone; I was ready to face the cold embrace of death. Maybe if I was dead, I would be able to be with her again. As more thoughts flooded my mind, I felt like I had been struck a solid blow to the abdomen. I had realised that never again would I be able to talk to her, to hear her beautiful voice. I would never again see her smile. Never see her laugh. I shrieked again, but much louder now, as it finally sunk in that she was dead. The rose window above me shattered with the piercing reverberation of my shriek. As shards of broken stained glass fell around me, alongside my grief I began to feel guilt. If only I had arrived earlier, she wouldn't be dead. If I hadn't thought to meet in the cathedral she wouldn't be dead. It was my fault she was dead. Why couldn't they have taken me instead? I would have died if it meant she would still be alive.
With tears still streaming down my face, I glanced up at the moon through the broken rose window. It glared down through the broken window onto her body. As I watched it for a moment, thinking of the times I had shared with her, a bird flew silently through the broken window and perched next to her body. A raven. I stared blankly at it for a moment. It was an unusual bird, although entirely black like all ravens were, it had an unusual scar across its eye, as if it had been in a fight with some other animal. Noticing this, I also noticed its eyes, which were of a deep red colour, unusual I thought. But it didn't matter what colour the raven's eyes were. Nothing mattered anymore. I remember just looking back at her body as tears silently carried on pouring down my cheeks, and there wasn't a single sound in the cathedral. I realised that my hand was throbbing with pain from when I had punched the floor, but I didn't care.
The temperature in the cathedral was still low. I felt as though someone else was there, but I couldn't bring myself to turn my gaze away from her body to look for another person. I sat for what felt like hours in the cold, dark cathedral, just looking at her and crying. The next time I glanced up, it was because I heard footsteps. The first change I noticed was that it was becoming light outside. Day was breaking, yet the cathedral was still as cold as when I entered. The second thing I noticed was that the Raven was gone. I remember thinking amongst the sobs and thoughts of her that it must have flown away during the night. The footsteps grew louder and I could hear faint voices. I sat still crying as I heard the doors of the cathedral open and the footsteps growing louder as they came towards me. The voices stopped abruptly as they saw me sitting by her body. I looked up and saw two figures staring at me and then her. I recognised one of them instantly; he was the local police sergeant. The man with him I didn't recognise though. He wore entirely black and his unusually pale skin contrasted violently with his eyes, which were red as though he had been crying. His face was gaunt and he had remarkably good looks except from a long scar that cut across his right eye. I heard them talking quietly amongst themselves, although I didn't bother listening to what they were saying, it was of no interest to me.
"See sergeant, I told you that someone had been murdered but you wouldn't believe me now would you. And what luck for you sir, the murderer is still here. Probably regrets his crime, the filthy scum. I trust that he will be hanged for this brutal crime sir?" was the first thing I managed to make out in their conversation; this was spoken by the pale, gaunt faced man.
I knew what was coming next. I would be arrested and hanged for my supposed crime. There was no evidence to prove me guilty but equally, there was no evidence to back up my innocence. I can remember thinking that at least this way I will get to be with her again. If I am hanged for my crime, we can be together once more.
And so I come to write this. My final diary entry. No more will I write all of my thoughts and emotions in this trivial book. It doesn't matter, not like anyone will ever read it anyway. And if anyone ever does read it, I doubt that they will believe my innocence. The only person found at the crime scene, covered in the blood of the victim. But I did not murder her; I loved her too much to hurt her in any way. I have written my account of what happened preceding this final diary entry. But I am accepting the charge of guilty so that I can be with her once more, when I am dead that will be possible. From the other material that I have written, you will probably come to the assumption that I am insane. I do not believe myself to be insane, but then, how many mad people believe that they are mad? Almost certainly you will now believe that I am insane, as I am already asserting that someone will read this, and the earlier material from this diary questions my sanity. I did not want this last entry to turn out like a suicide note but it seems to have done so anyway. I have exactly one hour until I am to be hung for her murder, a crime which I know I didn't commit, even if everyone else believes that I did it. I don't believe that I will miss this world. As I think I have already mentioned in my account of what happened, I have nothing to live for now that she is gone. I have already started thinking of seeing her again, and what it will be like to be dead, something that has always interested me. I have spent too long already writing this final entry to my diary so I guess I better finish it off. If anyone ever reads this, believe what you will about me but know that I do not believe myself insane and that I did not murder her.