Hey y'all, here's the second part of chapter one, now that I've finally gotten around to typing it up. But I sure am sleepy, so I might not get all the way through chapter 2, we'll see.
Thanks to AriesGoddess and Naoki07 for the reviews, I liked them.
Okay, I guess that's all I want to say, so here we go! The end of chapter one and the complete chapter two! …hopefully…
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Around noon the doctor came back to check up on Carter again. After doing another exam he declared that he was well and again and released the priest from the clinic.
Carter, who was famished, headed at once towards the inn. It was another beautiful day in Mineral Town but he couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. He new something evil was happening; the dream had said it all. That dream. But Carter didn't have the slightest idea as to what it meant. He rounded the cobbled corner down to the inn and swallowed away all of his doubts. He'd just have to worry about this some other time. Carter went into the inn. The bottom floor was large and very empty, wooden tables and chairs vacant of any sort of occupation. This was because the lunch crowd was nonexistent on a sweltering Wednesday afternoon. There stood a man behind the bar, cleaning a mug with a dirty rag. This place was the picture of any old western saloon, just part of the ambiance of the town. The man looked up when he heard the jingle of the entrance bell, and promptly flashed a toothy grin under red moustaches.
He chuckled, "Howdy Father, good to see you up. Ya' must be starving. I always said hospital food is like eatin' bark." He roared in laughter at this, his prominent belly bouncing.
"Everything does smell and taste the same." Carter replied easily, with a smile. He had always liked Doug, plus he got free food from him on occasion.
Doug turned and bellowed for Ann, his daughter. She came down immediately, her orange braid bobbing with each step. If Doug was the western bartender, then Ann was the country girl, leaving the whole scene at the inn complete.
"Howdy Father." Ann said in a pleasant voice, rich with a southern tone. "What kin I get you today?"
"That really isn't necessary; you don't have to feed me." Carter replied.
"Now see here," Doug said in mock severity, "We go through this every time, and I always end up giving you food one way or another. A friend in need is a friend indeed, isn't that what the Harvest Goddess says?" He pushed Carter down into a chair, fussing like a mother hen over her chicks.
"I already know what you'd like!" Ann exclaimed, "I'll git you some mountain stew, beer, and a nice slice of apple pie." At once she ran off back into the kitchen before Carter could protest.
Doug chuckled, "Ain't she a doll?" He then sat himself in a chair opposite of the priest and leaned heavily on the table. "Now I knew you'd come over here to eat some of Ann's cookin' so to repay us, you'll have to talk.
"About what?" Carter asked, knowing perfectly well what he meant. But what had happened was the last thing he wanted to talk about.
"You know what I mean," Doug replied, his once cheery blue eyes gone icy. "Do you remember anything at all Father? I mean, if someone has the nerve to attack a holy man, then I think whoever has done this is real dangerous. Y'know what I mean. I think we're all in danger." He sat there for a moment, staring at the grain of the table. There came a crash from the kitchen, followed by Ann yelling, "Cliff!" And a general thumping around. And the two men sat at the table, silent, both listening to the clatter.
"I really don't remember anything Doug," Carter mumbled, with half the truth. Was a dream really a remembrance? "But I pray to the Goddess that this won't happen again."
Doug grunted in response. After a bit, he seemed to be resolved about something and sat up. "Well, it doesn't do us any good worryin' now does it? I'm just glad you're ok pastor."
Ann came out of the kitchen then, balancing a mug of beer and a bowl of soup, fallowed closely by Cliff carrying a plate of apple pie.
"Here ya go!" Ann said cheerfully, clunking down the beer and soup, along with a fork and a spoon. Cliff put down the apple pie silently, but smiled at Carter.
Carter smiled back at the introverted woodsmen. Cliff actually spent most of his days in the church.
"Well, dig in!" Doug smiled, his moustaches bobbing.
Carter ate, passing small talk in between bites, pushing the disturbing dream to the back of his mind. Ann and Cliff sat down at another table whispering together secrets. They really were a perfect couple. Ann was so outgoing, and Cliff was so, not.
When he had finished he stood up and thanked the family at the inn for the wonderful meal and headed for the door. Just as he was about to go Doug called out, "Be careful now Pastor!"
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Outside, the sun had already begun its westward decent. It was about 3:00 when he arrived back at the church.
The old rose stone building was his home, his work, and his life…but not anymore. Carter couldn't help but feel that that invisible safety net that the church had represented was gone. That trust you would feel in your home was gone. Broken into a million little pieces, leaving him feeling dark and alone. He opened up the big oaken doors and stepped in. Carter always had loved the church at this time of day, when the sun shown through the stained glass windows, bathing the floor and air in a crystalline light. It was truly magical, especially when the church was empty like now. He made his way up the isle way, worn black leather shoes making a muted echo on the red carpeting, resounding a thousand memories trapped within the building itself. The simple wooden pews, empty and unforgiving. No, this place was no longer a home. Now to Carter it seemed as unwelcoming as a mother-in-law or a root canal. He turned around to face the round, stained glass image of the Harvest Goddess, her skin fair and her locks green as spring strawberry buds. She wore upon her face an elusive and pleasurable smile; confident and comfortable. Carter sighed, the his life was a lonely one, but he had never felt it like this before. It was like a smothering had upon his heart. He had to talk to all sorts of people about their problems, but he couldn't. And was it in the agenda to have the focal point of your entire life defiled? Being a holy man, Carter decided to go pray on the issue.
He spent the next hour kneeling at one of the little pews, lost deep in thought and prayer. When he finally stood up, stiffly, none of his questions were answered, and what's more, he had the beginnings of a very large headache. Carter took out a little bottle of ibuprofen the doctor had given him before he had left the clinic. Popping one into his mouth and swallowing it, the pastor then proceeded to the door that led to his chamber. He lived in the basement of the little church, it was always cold, and during the winter a cruel draft would sneak in from under the doorjamb. He headed down the flight of stone steps, shuddering as the temperature dropped. Carter batted on the light switch and the room was bathed in a pathetic radiance, emitted from the naked, dangling light bulb. It flickered and undulated, never quite deciding whether or not it would stay on or off. Like his faith, Carter mused, waning and waxing, though the former more than the latter, destined to go out completely. His quarters were, sorry to say, as pathetic as the light bulb, a bed, a desk with a lamp, small kitchen with an equally small table, a bookshelf, and in the center, separating the four was an old forest green rug. Carter walked over into his door less bathroom, which wasn't too bad because no one but him came down here anyway. He gazed at himself in the mirror, surprised at how shitty he looked. His dirty blond hair was rumpled and matted and his eyes of the same color were dull and sunken in. Not a hint of either's former sparkle or luster was present.
Carter sighed, equally from both weariness and a new, rare, fit of depression. He undressed, throwing his black garb in the corner. His naked body gave an involuntary shudder from the cold as he hopped into the shower. It took a while for the hot water heater upstairs in the utility closet to kick in, but when the water began to steam Carter let it run all over his body, washing the tensions away. He pulled out a sponge and began cleaning his thin frame, perhaps too thin for his build, but Carter did not have too many nourishing meals, so his muscle mass was limited. It didn't bother him though, he wasn't a fighter, a farmer, and besides, masculinity wasn't exactly desired of a priest. He was tall and handsome anyway; in his youth he was asked by many a girl to the dances that came seasonally. Carter finished shampooing and stepped out of the shower; steam had already fogged up the mirror. He dried himself off, hung up his robes and pulled on a pair of boxers and an A shirt. Going across the stone paved floor over to his kitchen, Carter proceeded to boil a couple of eggs and eat them with a piece of bread. After cleaning up, the priest said his evening prayers and crawled into bed, still as troubled as ever. But there was also another, new, feeling; a sinking suspicion that more was yet to come. With these unnerving thoughts, Carter fell into a fitful sleep.
Chapter 2
Carter tossed in his sleep, the once sanctuary of his mind becoming a living hell of nightmarish dreams….
He stumbled down the basement steps, blind and suffocating on his own tongue, a pool of blood sloshing around his ankles. He let out a course howl, an illiterate cry for help. There was no hope in this place, only death, and he was drowning in it. A hand clamped over his mouth and his hands were force to move against his agonizing will. A spitting cat was brought before him and he was crushing the beast's throat. He was strangling it! He was strangling himself! He couldn't breathe! And that pitiful bulb, dangling like a gallow bird, which was his only light, flickered out. A manic laugh was resounding through the darkness, mixing with his gasping struggle for breathe. The voice came, but who's! But whose wretched voice was that!
"Not a word, Carter, not a word."
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The priest woke up in a panic, thrashing, flailing blindly until he hit the floor with a thud. There Carter lay prostrate, gasping for air, his tears from panic mixing with his perspiration. Again he fell into the slumber of hell…
Everything was cold and hard, rainy, damp, dreary, and gray. He was surrounded by the angry faces of the villagers, staring at him, hissing and growling. They advanced glaring and leering at him.
"TRAITOR!" Someone called out.
The people then grabbed various blunt objects and began to beat him. Carter's legs crumpled beneath him as he howled in pain.
"Traitor!" They chanted. "Sinful bastard!" So many screeched.
He was bleeding, he was dying! Harris, the constable, brought forward the hangman's noose, swinging it with penetrating menace. The townspeople continued to beat him down, kicking him and tearing at his clothes. He screamed and spat like a drowning cat. He was noosed and hung, dangling like that bulb, the pitiful bulb; struggling and gasping for light, for life. But everything went dark.
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Again Carter woke in a cold sweat. He shakily lifted himself up off the floor and stumbled over to the bathroom. Dipping his head in the old sink, he poured cold water from the tap. He let it run over his head, soaking his hair and sweaty scalp. Carefully, Carter inhaled and exhaled, trying to control his breath. When he finally got himself under control, the priest dried out his hair and walked over to the light switch. He batted in on, but the bulb didn't light. He repeated this over and over, and then stopped, satisfied that the light didn't work anymore. Sighing, Carter went over to the desk lamp and turned that on. It emitted a better light than the center bulb, warm and soft. He then proceeded to pull up a chair and unscrew the pathetic excuse of a light bulb. He headed up the basement steps, but not before throwing it out. The bulb clanked into the waste basket and shattered into a thousand stupid pieces.
The steps were cold, like any other spring night, just like the walls, just like his mood. Carter opened the door and stepped into another magical moment, one that he would have enjoyed at any other time. A full moon shone through the stained glass image of the Harvest Goddess, splashing silver essence from the pews to the podium. Everything that was bathed in light was frozen, blended, like a watercolor, until it reached the black shadow. Carter shuffled across the wood floor, his feet making a soft slapping sound that echoed like a dripping faucet. He reached the utility closet and clicked on the light overhead. He plucked a new 60 watt from its casing, turned off the light, and headed back across the church. A soft mewing echoed through the still air. Carter turned to face the source of the sound, which happened to be a large black cat. He was about to shoo her off but then thought better of it. To go against a cat's will is to invite bad luck. As if she knew what he was thinking, she trotted up to rub against his bare legs, tail up like a flag. Carter picked up the black feline and headed back to his basement. When he was downstairs again he set her down and screwed the light bulb back in. Turning it on for a test, he was disappointed to learn that it acted just as the previous bulb. Carter cracked an egg and put it down in a dish for the car, along with some water. Then he turned off the lamp and climbed back into bed, falling asleep to the sounds of the cat licking her dish clean.
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He woke up the sound of the rooster crowing, somehow the noise penetrating the depth of the basement. Carter opened his eyes and found himself staring into those eyes as green as the Harvest Goddess's hair. Those eyes also happened to be surrounded by black fur with whiskers to match.
The intrusive she-cat let loose a hungry mrow.
"Ok." Carter replied to her and scooted himself out of bed.
The cat, having her perch removed from under her, jumped daintily from Carter's chest to the floor, landing as a cat would. She trotted to the food dish from the night before, sat down, and stared at him.
Carter went over and cracked another egg for the feline. She did not eat at first, but sat there, watching him.
He gazed back, "I know of nothing else you could possibly want."
She blinked.
Carter shook his head and headed off to the shower. This time he didn't wait for the heater to start and by the time he was done with the chilly ritual the water had just barely reached tepid. He stepped out and dried himself off, doing his best not to think of his haunted dreams from the night before. Carter combed his hair, parting the tresses down the side. He stared closer into the mirror and frowned. A thin haze of stubble had appeared. He pulled out some fresh clothing: Black pants, a forest green silk shirt, the black priestly cloak and his amulet of the Harvest Goddess. He quickly dressed and then proceeded in shaving. When he was done, Carter leaned over the sink to inspect his work. When he was satisfied he brushed his teeth, flossed, and grabbed the lined sash hanging up behind him. Carter then slung it around his neck on top of the cloak; it shown a brilliant white against the black, both ends hanging down clear to his stomach. Carter turned once again to the mirror, looking over the meticulous grooming. Happy with the results, he walked out of the bathroom. The she-cat had finished eating and was now staring at the wall, her tail being the only animated part of her. The priest stepped over her and headed up the stairs.
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The early morning sun was shining through the east windows. It was going to be another beautiful summer day. He headed out the door. For the next hour Carter spent kneeling in the graveyard, pulling out weeds around the old headstones, and saying prayers for the dead. It was easy work, for he partook in this ritual daily, keeping the sprouts in check. When this was done he headed back inside. Carter relit the candles that took residence along both sides of the church walls. Next, he dusted off the old pipe organ and swept the floor. He also dusted and polished the wooden pews, almost in an obsessive compulsive fashion. By the time the daily chores were done it was 1:00 o'clock, time for confessions. This was Carter's least favorite part of the job, because, to tell the truth he hated having to listen to people's problems and then scold them. But it was his duty, and so he preformed the archaic task. He walked into the back room and sat behind the curtain, switching on the vacant sign. For the next few hours random townspeople came in and out, some were regulars, like Jeff the owner of the supermarket, and Cliff. But others also came that usually never showed up at church, like Duke, the owner of the vineyard. This time he came to confess about shoving his wife, Manna, around. That was something that completely disgusted Carter, but he resisted the urge to scream. Time slowly ticked on and the sun sunk lower and lower, as clouds began to gather outside. Confession time was over and the priest gratefully stood up and stretched. He then went over to the ancient pipe organ and sat down to play. Warming up with a few scales to get his fingers limber, Carter began the haunted beginning of Toccata in D minor. His fingers flew over the old ivory keys, deftly playing the eerie rifts and arpeggios. He closed his eyes, letting his wrists take him through the well-rehearsed piece, leaning into the music. He was indeed a priest, and therefore sworn to celibacy. But to him, music was a rush far grater than any worldly pleasure; and it alone made life livable at times. Who needed sex?
Outside it began to rain as a new weather front moved in, soon becoming a classic summer storm that sent all critters scurrying for cover.
Carter was pounding away the last passionate chords, completely lost within himself, when the two double doors of the church burst open. The determent threw him off and his hands crashed down, resounding a hideous squawk. Carter spun around, embarrassed to be caught in such a personal moment.
Manna stood there, soaking wet, bawling in illiterate phrases.
The priest quickly regained composure and grabbed a towel from the utility closet. When he came back, Manna was seated on a pew; in her hands she clutched two wine glasses and a bottle. Tears and rain mingled on her cheeks.
Carter wrapped the towel around her shoulders. "Manna, dear, what happened?" He was already thinking about Duke and his earlier confession of beating her. Anger seethed in his gut.
Manna tried to regain her ability to talk as she shakily poured the glasses. She let out a wail and fell into his arms as he sat down on the pew. Feeling both uncomfortable and fearing that she would spill the wine by leaning over it, he carefully sat her back up. She didn't seem to be able to talk, so Carter took a drought of wine, more out of courtesy than thirst.
Manna uttered something unintelligible, sniffling.
"What?" Carter leaned forward.
She suddenly stopped crying and looked up. Her eyes cold and cruel. "Drink the rest of the wine, Carter."
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Bwahahahahahaha! And this is where I leave you! With a dreadful cliff-hanger. Please, do not beg me to type up more because it's really late! And I'm tired! And I have arthritis, so my hands are killing me! This story is a monster, and to all of you, the rating will go up, just because it gets really violent. (But that's later on) Why the hell did I make the chapters so damn long?
sits on rock contemplating
Please review, now that you've read. I really enjoy comments. Even if they are flames, I still enjoy them.
-werewolflycan
snoozes
Oh, and in case you are wondering, this document is 20,894 characters long.