Is That All You Can Do? Curse?

Note

“Is That All You Can Do? Curse?” is my Contemporary Fantasy Contest Round 2 entry. The below paragraph (in italics) is the prompt I used for the short story.

4. Stained Glass

A bizarre crime befuddled detectives and policemen throughout the town. An intruder managed to sneak into a mansion, but nothing was damaged or stolen apart from a stained glass window. It looked like a petty case, but nothing is as simple as it seems. What else shattered along with that broken window?

First of all, I intend no offence towards any Christians or any Christian institution in writing “Broken Stains”. I acknowledge that it is total fiction, though it was inspired by Christian prophecy, which I will not bother citing because I lack the memory and necessity to do so.

The parts of the rite at the very end were snatched off Wikipedia (search “Holy Water”), as well as the glance I took at… won’t go into that… don’t want to ruin anything. =)

The Chapters are divided by the convenience of shifting from scene to scene, not by any means of evenly distributed intervals. Enjoy.
Chapter I

Hugh Blanche, an inspector (or, as he liked to call himself, a minor detective) sat in a black leather sofa placed in the centre of the ridiculously large lounge room that was situated in the centre of a colossal mansion, home to Terence Hammond, the extremely wealthy man sitting on the black leather armchair to his right, adjacent at a right angle to the sofa.

The rectangular room was all white walls, roof, tiles and frames, with rectangular glass windows spanning from the ground to the roof of the second story (having no roof between the two stories here but, instead, a staircase winding upwards to the second floor), facing out to the garden. The room was big enough to seat at least three hundred people, though only two sat here now.

The windows allowed much of the pale morning light to brighten up the room, the white glow being almost overpowering and contrasting with the furniture in a very appealing fashion.

“So, just a stained glass window. You’re sure? Nothing else missing? Nothing else broken?” Hugh asked, with some note of absurdity in his tone. “No ornaments, no paintings, no jewellery?” He continued. “No cash or credit cards lying around? Nothing?” Hugh said the last word in a lower tone, indicating finality. For an inspector, he was working on the most absurdly simple cases, but he was happy to be out of the office. Nothing happened in the large rural town he was stationed at. Most people knew each other by no more than two degrees of separation so, if anything happened, the perpetrator would be handed in within two days, anyway.

Hugh was expecting Hammond to be one of those pompous spoilt rich British types, when reading his background. Wealthy father that owned some typical con banking company, and a mother that spent her spare time cheating on her aging husband with younger, more handsome men.

Hugh was pleasantly surprised, however, to find Hammond to have a charming accent complimented by a friendly outlook.

“Yes, officer. Sorry to trouble you. I wouldn’t have bothered, but insurance, you see? That window was extremely valuable. It was auctioned off from some old church or other.” Hammond spoke those last three words a little slower. Hugh eyed him cautiously, knowing there was something Hammond wasn’t saying, but it was hardly Hugh’s job to go snooping into the life of someone who was suspected of nothing. At least, Hugh was pretty sure that was how it worked.

Dismissing Hammond’s subconscious hint, Hugh sighed. To deal with a petty case of theft or vandalism is one thing, but of an old stained glass window, in a large wealthy man’s mansion? It was almost enough to make Hugh cry in sheer frustration.

Hugh told Hammond that it was unlikely he would find anything, took a tape containing all the surveillance of the man entering and leaving (there were only cameras from the outside) and apologised, leaving Hammond to his devices.

Chapter II

Upon returning to the station, Hugh (or Inspector Blanche as the Chief Inspector, Roger Milton, often called him in mockery of the simple fact there was nothing worthy of the title in this town) sat down in front of the television, inserted the video, and began watching, for entertainment more than anything else; it was in an idle hope that the video would tell him anything.

Through slightly fuzzy, low-quality black and white imagery, Hugh saw that the perpetrator had strolled through the garden, no alarms going off (even though Hammond repeatedly stated that he was certain he had turned the alarm system on), opened the front door, clearly unlocked (even though Hammond repeatedly stated that he was certain the door was locked) and, minutes later, the window shattered, the pieces of glass soaring away from the mansion, and the perpetrator ran from the house at full pelt. Still no alarms went off. Hugh suspected Hammond was in denial of his own sloppiness at leaving his house so vulnerable.

Hugh rewound the tape and hit play, as First Class Constable Gary Warren (or, as Hugh knew him, Gary) walked in. “Back already, Hugh?” He joked. “That was quick. I thought there’d be so much more to talk about a broken window.”

“Piss off,” Hugh replied humorously, “it’s a stained glass window. More than you could ever handle, good Sir Cat Saviour.”

“I’ll have you know that cat was very high up in that tree.” Gary spat back in mock anger. “Anyway,” he continued casually, “found anything?”

“Yeah, stock-standard surveillance camera’s have shitty quality.” Hugh was serious, too. The perpetrator was unmasked and wore something like a pair of dark baggy pants and a white or pale t-shirt, but, unless his clothing and face was furry the image was quite fuzzy.

“I’ve seen bats with clearer sight than that.” Gary said, matter-of-factly.

“Sometimes,” Hugh replied with exasperation, “you come out with the worst jokes, Gary.”

Chapter III

As dull as the stained glass window case was, compared to the inspector’s standard monotonous paperwork it seemed like a serial killer’s slaughter house. It was this fact that had the vandalism niggling at the back of his mind.

It was obvious that Hammond was hiding something. At first, Hugh suspected that Hammond had gained the window through seedy means, but it became increasingly clear that Hammond had blatantly lied about having the door locked and the alarm system armed. No one would be stupid enough to forget to do both and then think they had actually done both. But then, Hugh wondered, why on Earth would Hammond lie about such a thing if he intended to supply Hugh with the tape to disprove his claims immediately.

Hugh, battling through the boredom that day-to-day paperwork entailed, resolved to visit Hammond the next day and, failingly, attempted to divest his mind of the case.

Getting home with just enough time to get changed into something more comfortable and sit down with his wife and eat dinner, Hugh replied to the normal, “How was your day?” That every wife must ask their husband, with “More interesting than usual, but you’d find it boring, I’m sure.” His wife was a journalist, after all. Such a job resulted in much more interesting stories than an inspector stationed in a small town.

Chapter IV

After another night of sexual frustration (Hugh had all the energy in the world but Hannah, his beautiful wife, was simply too tired), Hugh went to sleep, woke up and cooked and ate his customary two scrambled eggs and chives on toast for breakfast, while reading the newspaper. He was mildly proud to see that his “bizarre” case of “sacrilegious vandalism of a petty sort,” as the reporter so loved to glorify it, had featured in a small article in the newspaper.

The article stated that, in an interview, Terence Hammond had boasted that the window had originally been made in a part of a third century church. The small pride that Hugh had garnered from the article faded immediately at discovering that Hammond had told the journalist something he had not told Hugh. Although it was hardly an important fact, Hugh was still somewhat annoyed. Wondering if this is what Hammond had originally withheld from him, Hugh left for work while Hannah still slept.

After dropping into the station, Hugh spent an hour researching the history of that window. It was not hard, Hammond giving the journalist an exact location and date of the church. Hugh knew it was an utter waste of time and that he should have been doing paperwork, but if this was what Hammond had kept from him, perhaps there was some family link to the church that the perpetrator (or Hammond) had, which may take Hugh a step closer to identifying the vandal, he figured.

The church was located in Southern Italy, in a desolate pocket away from civilisation, where it survived persecution through isolation but, as a result, remained relatively unvisited. Eventually, with the death of Pope Leo I, in the late 5th century, the church was deemed useless, without people to pray, disciples to train, or students to teach.

For some reason, the priests of the church took the stained glass windows far and wide through Italy, taking two to China and one to France. Most of the other windows remained unaccounted for until, miraculously, a church, apparently derelict now, appeared a few hundred kilometres north of the town, claiming to use many of the same stained glass windows. The date of the church’s building was estimated to be in the 1400s, but that did not make sense, as this was long before settlement, here. It was amazing, Hugh mused, what the internet could teach you in such a short time and equally amazing was how ridiculous some of the information was.

The miraculous coincidence was not lost on Hugh, and he wondered if Hammond had not told Hugh of the window’s origin because he had had it illegally removed (theft seemed like an inappropriate word to Hugh, the church having no clearly defined owner and the theft of something attached to a stone structure being difficult) from the church but, surely, Hammond would not then be stupid enough to have the fact recorded in a newspaper.

This new information did not answer anything.

Chapter V

It was about 9 in the morning when Hugh parked in Terence Hammond’s roundabout driveway. Hugh knew, however, that Hammond was a morning person (the last visit was in the morning, too), and was not too worried about a negative reaction.

Upon opening the door, Hammond said, sounding a little defeated, “I suppose you read the article, then.”

“Mhmm,” Hugh replied, solemnly nodding, as if he knew much more than he was letting on. Omniscience was always a veil worth having when interrogating a suspect, Hugh found. They were much more likely to let something slip, when they suspected that you already knew.

“I wasn’t expecting you to accept it so easily.” Hammond said, sounding quite deflated, as he turned away from the open door, walking back into that large lounge room. Hugh followed, closing the door behind him.

Once they were comfortably seated, Hammond continued. “So what are you going to do?”

Hugh was stuck for words now, not knowing what Hammond was talking about. He decided it would be best to be blunt, rather than attempt at an elaborate lie that could cave in on itself. “What, exactly, are you talking about, though?”

“The windows! The seals!” Hammond exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m… afraid I don’t know as much as you seem to think.”

“Oh…” Hammond went quiet.

“So what are you talking about, then? Did you steal the window, Mr. Hammond?” Hugh inquired sternly.

“Ha! That should be the least of your worries.” Hammond replied. Hugh raised his eyebrow skeptically and, so, Hammond answered the question. “No, I did not steal the window,” He sounded somewhere between incredulous and offended.

“Hmm…” It was quiet for some time, Hugh thinking and Hammond fidgeting, before Hugh continued. “Then, what?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“You won’t believe it, and you’ll just suspect me more.”

“Not telling me is going to make you more of a suspect, as it is, Mr. Hammond. I already know that the window came from that abandoned church. You might as well tell me the rest of it.”

“Well, go ask the priest, Father John. He can tell you, himself, that I didn’t steal the damn window. I regret ever accepting the damn thing!”

Hugh was tempted to inquire about what Hammond was so reluctant to say, but he was charged with finding the truth to assist in convicting people of breaking the law and if Father John could vouch for Hammond, then Hugh had no decent excuse to continue questioning him. He took down the priest’s address and drove there, notifying Chief Inspector Milton of his actions on the drive.

Chapter VI

During the drive, Hugh wondered if Hammond’s charm had been an act to hide the truth. The wealthy man seemed much more stressed when Hammond visited him last. Hugh wondered what Hammond was stressed about. It was most likely not his possession of the window if, indeed, Father John could verify Hammond’s legal ownership.

Hugh frowned, and the vertical wrinkle that formed between his eyebrows, the wrinkle that had not taken form on Hugh’s face since he moved out of the city for a quieter and easier life, took up residence on his face, and did not leave until he smoothed his expression at Father John’s front door.

The priest lived in the North East area of the town, the cheapest area. There was graffiti on most of the walls, and shifty teenagers in hooded tops walked the afternoon streets. Hugh supposed that an elderly on pension could not afford to live very comfortably in a cleaner neighborhood.

Hugh knocked crisply on the door, and it gave way to his knuckles, creaking ajar. After a few moments of silence, Hugh called, “Hello? Father John?” Nothing. After a few more moments, Hugh pressed the door open and stepped in, “Father, this is Inspector Blanche. I need to speak to you about Terence Hammond.” He walked through the lounge room casually, across the front door to the opposite end of the room, which lead out into the kitchen.

It was a cosy house, small lounge room with room for a television unit, a brown sofa, a coffee table made of a slice of a red oak log, and enough space to walk over the pale brown rough carpet.

The kitchen, as Hugh came to it, was also small and composed of pale yellow tiles, along with the necessities of every kitchen.

“Father?” Hugh heard his shoes clump along on the tiles. He glanced down at the bench in passing and saw the newspaper, open on the page with the article he had read that morning. The wrinkle between his eyebrows returned.

“Father John?” He called, a little louder this time, with a less patient tone. He walked around to the door to the right of where he entered the kitchen, and walked down the hallway, pressing each door open as he walked past. The first room on his right was a toilet. The first on his left was a study room or something of the sort. The second left was clearly Father John’s bedroom and, lying in bed, was Father John.

“Father? Father, I’m sorry to…” Hugh trailed off, noticing the odd angle the priest’s head rested at and the pale colour of his skin. He stepped up to the Father quickly, and checked his pulse. Nothing.

“Shit!” Hugh spat. He reported the death through the radio, and left straight away, leaving the fly door wide open and he ran to his patrol car, parked around the corner, and dashed to Hammond’s mansion, the sirens blaring.

Chapter VII

Hugh flicked off the sirens as he came near Hammond’s home. He did not want to alert Hammond to his urgency, lest he should cause the man to panic more, or run. Parking at the front of the mansion, Hugh jumped out of the car and briskly strolled to the front door.

Banging on the door, demanding to be let in if Hammond did not want the door knocked down, had been quite efficient; Hammond peered through a crack in the door within moments and, upon realising it was Hugh, swung the door open wide.

“What, now?!” He asked irritably.

“Your alibi is dead.”

“What?!”

“Father John is dead.”

“But – what – you-” Hammond spluttered before pausing for a moment. “You have to take me to the church?”

“What? Why?”

“I’ll explain when we get there. We need to go. Now.”

“Not until you tell me why.”

“Does it really bloody matter why, right this damn second? Can we at least get in the damn car?! ” Hammond roared.

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me. I am -”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Look, I’ll tell you everything in the car, okay?”

Hugh considered, still standing in the doorway; this man wanted to go, with great urgency, to the church of which a priest, whom had been murdered very recently, had taken up residence. He wanted to go immediately, and Hugh would be informed along the way. “Why not?” He said, and nodded once. “Okay.”

Chapter VIII

As soon as Hugh had started moving, he asked again, “So what the fuck is this all about?”

Fidgeting nervously, Hammond stuttered, “Faster, we need to go faster. Sirens, SIRENS.” He was a nervous wreck.

Despite the extreme agitation Hugh felt when he was ordered around by a suspect, he flicked on the sirens and threw on an extra thirty kilometres. “Now, what is this about?” He growled, barely containing his impatience.

“Well… you see…” Hammond took a deep breath. Deciding this a smart thing to do, Hugh also took a deep breath.

“You see,” Hammond repeated himself, “Those windows are not just stained glass windows. They’re not just material valuables either.” He spoke hurriedly, the words almost stumbling over themselves.

“No, they’re an important piece of history.” Hugh said, trying to sound like he was not ignorant.

“No, no, no. They’re… seals. They…” He paused again.

After a few moments silence, keeping his eyes on the road, Hugh roared, “They what?! ”

“They hold in the devil’s warriors. They bind them to hell. The windows are the only things stopping us from being destroyed. Of course, these ones only hold one of them, but once that one’s free, the others will be freed, of course, and we’ll all be fucked.” It was a measure of Hammond’s distress that he used such a vulgar word so carelessly. Hugh, on the other hand, was near boiling point.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Hugh spat.

“Why do you think these pieces of glass have made their way from Italy and around the world to this fucking place? They’re important! Vital!”

Hugh simply growled.

“See, I told you, I said you wouldn’t believe me, I said you’d suspect me more, what did I say?” Hammond rambled.

Hugh began to pull over onto the side of the road, but Hammond grabbed his arm.

“Look, don’t believe me, fine. But, but, we have to go to the church and check. Please. I don’t understand why not.”

Through gritted teeth, Hugh slowly said, “Because, I will have to explain to my seniors why I took a madman who I suspect of murder all the way to an abandoned church, and I somehow doubt that they will appreciate the reason.”

“Please, Inspector Blanche… Please.”

Chapter IX

Hugh scowled at himself. He could not believe what he was doing. “Devils and seals. Absurd.” He mumbled to himself. More than once, he almost pulled a U-Turn; almost.

As it began to get dark, Hammond dozing with his head tilted back and against the window, Hugh wondered why the station had not tried to contact him, and he suddenly realised that his radio was off. Alarmed and annoyed at his stupidity, he quickly turned it on and reported in.

After briefing Roger on what had happened, he said, “I’m taking Hammond to this abandoned church.”

“What? Why?” Roger said, clearly bewildered. He was never a particularly patient man.

“I’ve just got a hunch.” Hammond replied, not bothering to make up a decent excuse.

“A hunch?! ”

“Yes, sir. Trust me. Just this once.”

There was a moment’s silence, except for the static and then Roger’s voice broke through. “Okay. But if you don’t get any results…” He left the sentence hanging.

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter X

Hugh stopped in for petrol and called Hannah.

“Sorry, Honey. I’ve gotta work late tonight. I shoulda called -”

“It’s fine, darling.” Hannah cut him off, then yawning audibly. “I think I’m just going to go to bed. How’s the case with the window going?” She asked, wryly.

“How did you know about that?”

She laughed. “I’m a journalist, remember? All of a sudden, this window has become a big hit. It’ll probably be front page in the paper, tomorrow.”

“Front page? Whoa…”

“Yeah. The reporter, Jenny, you remember her?”

Of course, Hugh thought to himself. He mentally slapped himself over the head for not reading the name of the journalist. Yet he spoke casually, “Oh yeah, I remember her.”

“She did some research, found out a lot of interesting stuff about that window. Care to -?”

“No, no, I researched it this morning. I’m on my way to the church, now.”

“Wow. Very…” Hannah trailed off with a yawn, clearly losing interest. “I’m off to bed, Hun. Love you. Night.”

“Love you too.” Hugh replied. The phone, however, beeped before he finished the words. Sighing, Hugh envied the men who were too tired to look after their demanding wives.

Chapter XI

Hugh had an hour’s nap before he drove the final stretch to the abandoned church. He woke up to find Hammond missing. Infuriated, Hugh leapt out of the car, swearing profusely, before Hammond called, “Calm down. I’m just taking a leak.”

The church was the perfect setting for the seal to Satan’s prison, Hugh thought wryly, as he stepped out of the patrol car. Vine-like weeds had begun growing up around and over the church, and some of the stones were missing. The occasional tree in the surroundings obscured any open spaces from vision, and the darkness of the stone, seemingly wet (it must have rained in the past day), gave the church a malevolent appearance. Hugh grinned stupidly at the irony, from fatigue, he supposed.

Twisting his head to face his right, Hugh saw that Hammond, stepping out of the car now, seemed even more nervous, playing with his hands and glancing around in a jittery fashion.

Hugh had to start walking before Hammond would move, stumbling after him.

“Uu-ooo-uuu-ooooh no…” Hammond moaned as they came near to the large front doors. Many of the stained glass windows had been smashed, though a few remained.

“There’s still a few there, no need to panic.” Hugh felt stupid for saying it; there was no need to panic, either way.

“Nnnnnnnn…nnn… not all of the windows are seals.” Hammond slurred, shuddering. Hugh just ignored him. There was no point arguing.

The large wooden front doors were slightly ajar and, as large as they were, Hugh found that a good push opened each of them.

The church seemed larger, darker and more ominous from the inside. The window frames allowed little more than pockets of light to come through, and about four stainless glass windows remained whole. Those weeds had even made their way through some of the windows and twisted their way up to the roof. It looked as if they would drop at any moment, ready to snare any unsuspecting inspectors. Hugh suddenly realised that the sky was overcast outside.

A high and squealing voice suddenly interrupted Hugh’s appraisal of the church. “You think those windows were just pretty decoration and petty propaganda? You think they were just picture books in glass?” The voice spat, echoes reverberating off every wall and chair, back the Hugh’s ears. It came from a man standing before the alter at the end of the isle running from the entrance where Hugh and Hammond stood. To either side of the isle were rows and rows of red chairs, torn in many places, probably by rats, and covered in a fine layer of dust that gave the entire church a dull appearance.

The man wore scruffy dark brown cargo pants and a light grey t-shirt. He was as pale as a ghost and had great black bags under his eyes that, even from the other end of the dark church, Hugh could see. He seemed like the man caught by Hammond’s surveillance cameras. Perhaps, Hugh considered, this man and Hammond were both in on the same insane game.

“They were seals, you idiot! Bars! They were the binds that held the devil’s pets in their fiery holes!” The man ranted. His rants echoed throughout the church. He then paused, and took a deep, slow, breath.

Two crazy men in one day, Hugh thought with exasperation.

“And now,” he drew the words slowly, grinning devilishly, “now, I will free one. I’m sure you’ve heard of the beasts? The four ‘horsemen’?” He said “horsemen” in a mocking tone, as if Hugh was scared. “Ahhhhhh,” He continued.

Hugh wanted to demand he come to the station but, for the moment, stayed silent.

“But you’re accustomed to the humanised legend, aren’t you?” The man chuckled. “You people, always making things up, so they seem less scary.” He said, merrily. “No,” He continued, his voice much deeper and more serious, a tone that indicated warning, so that it barely echoed across the church. “The beasts are no horsemen. They need no horse. They don’t have horses where I’m going.”

The man began to laugh uncontrollably and, just as Hugh opened his mouth to speak, Hammond moaned in terror and the man raised his right arm, pointing it at a window. Hugh realised it was a gun and drew his own, but by the time he had taken aim, the man had already fired two shots, still laughing. The second shot, released from the pistol and unbound, struck at the deep red stained glass window, causing it to shatter in a glorious display of splintered deep red light. The glistening red and tinkling worked to the song of the man’s laughter. The descent of the glass shards seemed to slow, slightly.

The man then dropped his gun, with a clatter, though continued laughing. With little reason to shoot, now, Hugh lowered his own and began to walk towards the man. He felt a hand grip his right upper sleeve, and turned to see Hammond staring at him, with a look of despair in his eyes. The manic laughing still echoed around the church.

Hugh jerked his arm away, spitting, “Get off of me, you freak!” In fury. With only an hour’s sleep, Hugh was not in the mood to be stopped from performing the obligations of his job by a madman.

Turning back to the man, Hugh stopped. The shattered deep red glass had never hit the ground. Instead, it seemed that the pieces hovered just above the ground, glowing slightly. Hugh tried to blink away the apparition, but it did not leave. Then, shattered glass from all around the derelict church, mostly below the window frames, began to rise, glowing in variations of red, green, yellow and blue.

The terrifyingly mortal and ignorant inspector took a step back, mesmerised and bewildered now. The manic laughing continued to ring it’s dark dramatic music around the church, playing in echoes and shadows.

Abruptly, the shards of colour flashed towards the centre, towards the man. The glass then flew straight through him, the dark orchestra of his laughing reaching a climax at a scream of pain.

Where the glass left the man’s body, blood sprayed. The blood began to form a crimson sphere around the man, of a diameter Hugh judged to be about ten foot. The last thing the inspector saw of the man was his face contorted in a horrifying combination of jubilance and pain, before he was veiled by blood. Hugh simply stood there, in shock and awe, at the crimson sphere.

The forgotten glass shards, now coated in blood, began to slowly orbit and spiral up and down around the blood sphere, which slowly rose into the air. The glass, which now seemed more like glistening red rocks, began to spin faster and faster.

Terrified, Hugh stood paralysed before this nightmare, and felt Hammond jerk him behind a chair. Hugh poked his head above the chair, the better to see. The glass was a blur of crimson now, semi-transparent rings around the sphere, but then abruptly stopped and hovered ominously still.

For a moment, the church rumbled and shook and, all too suddenly, the glass and blood flew away from the centre, coating the entire church, except that which was obscured by the seats, with a thick layer of blood. What was left hovering there was something Hugh perceived as impossible.

Chapter XII

Hammond pulled Hugh down as soon as he saw it, and Hugh went to rise back up to take another look, but Hammond held him down and breathed, “If you value your life, you will stay – down.”

Hugh only barely took notice of Hammond’s words. The thing had been jet black, with a totally white head. It was extremely long and thin and was shaped in a way that suggested mechanical aerodynamics, rather than skin and sinew. Hugh did not get a decent enough look to recall much more.

“Come, dear child,” he heard a rasping voice echo off of the now-crimson church. “Why do you hide? I promise a painless death.” The rasping voice endeared. Then there was a cackle. “Pah! Some of you are so stupid. You think you can run? You think you can hide?”

There was a moment’s silence, followed by a thud, presumably the sound of the thing landing on the ground. Then some clashes and clattering could be heard. Hugh’s breathing increased. He doubted that his pistol would stop that thing and dared not look, for fear that it would see him.

Several moments passed in which nothing but scrapes and clattering could be heard. It was apparent that the thing was searching for Hugh, knocking the chairs about in the process.

Hugh heard the clattering come nearer but, perhaps a few rows before his, the sound stopped.

“Come out!” the thing hissed. Hugh felt Hammond shaking next to him. He then heard a loud snort, much like a horse.

“Run, have you? Gone, already? It doesn’t matter. You’ll die… eventually.” The rasping voice drawled, followed by more cackling.

Hugh then heard a great crash with a strong shudder throughout the church, followed by deep thuds. Hammond and Hugh both glanced up, to see a gaping hole in the roof of the church, stones crumbing inward, and the beast, gone.

Hammond took a deep breath and stood up. “What’s the nearest town?” He inquired. He seemed much more certain of himself.

“Uh…” Hugh’s mind was blank.

“How far are we from the nearest town, Inspector?”

“Uh… um… about eight kilometers north-east.”

Hammond offered his hand to Hugh, still crouching. Hugh took it.

“Then let’s go.”

Hugh, still in a state of shock, allowed Hammond to take the wheel. Under normal circumstances, Hugh would never allow such a breach of rules, but Hugh was not focusing on proper police procedure.

“So that was… one of those…”

“One of the four beasts, also prophesied to be the four horsemen, yes.”

“And… it was…”

“Trapped, until that bastard released it? Or are you asking if it was mortal?”

“Uh…”

“Interesting… I expected you to just deny it, completely. Most people only see what they want. Left, here?”

“Yeah… Well… uh… what do we do?”

“I’m not too sure… there was relatively little said of that… but, according to some interpretations of the prophecy, it was the first “horseman”, on the white “horse” that would go on to release the other three.” Hammond was silent for a moment, thinking, before he continued. “Perhaps that man was the Antichrist. Some interpret the first horseman as the Antichrist and, as you saw, that bastard not only released the beast, but he became the beast.”

Hugh gave a non-committing hum that simply acknowledged that he had heard. Hammond decided to give Hugh the rest of the drive to mull over everything. It was not every day someone found out they had to deal with a legend that prophesied the end of the world.

Chapter XIII

The sky had become heavier with clouds, darkening to what was almost twilight. Terence Hammond flicked the headlights on and wondered if it had anything to do with the beast’s coming, or if it were just extremely bad luck and ironic coincidence.

From a distance in which the houses of the town appeared the size of fists, Inspector Blanche stirred. “So, why are we coming here?” He seemed a lot more docile, now.

“I presume the beast would be eager to please his master. The first step to doing this would be to kill. ‘… and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.’”

“Huh?”

“Just something I read somewhere.”

As they pulled up to the first houses, Blanche spoke again. “So what are we going to do?”

“We?”

“Well, if you want to go at it, alone...” Blanche trailed off, grinning. Terence sighed. This was no laughing matter.

“Well?” Blanche asked, that old impatience resurfacing.

“I… don’t know.”

“Genius.”

“Shut up.”

“Well, how are you supposed to kill one of the devil’s own?” Blanche asked, as they stepped out of the car. “What does the bible say?”

“The bible doesn’t say anything about stopping them. It does say, however, that there will be great death, and that the horsemen will be followed by Jesus.”

“So we’re stuck then. Nothing to be done.”

“Prophecies are just guidelines. They tell what could happen. I intend to put this one back in it’s fiery pit before it massacres the country. I mean, what if Jesus doesn’t follow the horsemen? It’s not as if humanity has done much to deserve his presence and salvation… again.” Terence added, wryly.

“So,” Blanche asked again, his patience evidently near breaking point, “what – do – we – do?”

“… hmm. What do you think?”

“You’re the one who had a seal for one of the four beast’s imprisonment in your mansion, you tell me!”

Terence sighed.

“Hmm… well… what weapons does the ‘Lord’ give you?” Blanche asked, slightly skeptically.

He was clearly a non-believer, Terence thought; a stubborn atheist, through and through, even with a monster that almost killed him, now wreaking havoc. And people claimed Christians were stubborn, Terence thought with an impatient irony. He held his patience in by the reins, however. After considering for a moment, he spoke: “Not much that I can think of. There’s –”

“I’m sure they’d die if we smacked them hard enough with the Pope’s ornaments.” Blanche said, nastily.

“Enough! Do you want to die and go to hell, all because of one day’s intolerance?”

“Alright, alright.” Blanche mumbled.

“Anyway, I can only think of the cross, or maybe holy water.”

“Sounds a bit like Constantine or Supernatural, if you ask me.”

“Have you got any better ideas?” Terence asked, a dark tone entering his voice.

“Well, I doubt a piece of metal or wood is going to do any good, just because it’s arranged in a certain way. Isn’t it just a symbol, anyway?” Blanche asked, seemingly innocently.

Terence scowled at him, but had to admit to himself that the inspector was right.

“So,” Blanche continued, acting as if he did not notice Terence’s expression, “how do you make holy water?”

“You bless regular water.”

“… I see…” Blanche said slowly.

Terence sighed and said, “It’s not just a matter of saying the water is good. You endear to God, Almighty, to bless the water.”

“Don’t you need a priest to do that?”

“Apparently so… I always thought we were born as equals, and a priest or a pope or a friar were just titles that a church gave. I don’t see what that really has to do with God.”

“So, we bless some water, hope that you don’t have to be a priest to do that, get close enough to that thing, and splash it? And just hope that it works?” It sounded absurd when Blanche put it like that.

Terence nodded, slowly. “I don’t see what choice we have. Now,” Terence’s voice became brisk, “we need some water.”

The inspector opened the car door, leaned in, popped open the glove box, and pulled out a water bottle, then dropped it on the car bonnet, in front of Terence. “There.” He said, seemingly proud of himself.

“Don’t you dare interrupt me.” Terence warned, before speaking the rite. It was a translated version of the original Latin rite, rather than the Rite of Blessing that was used for preparing water for the use of baptism. This rite also involved exorcising the water. Hammond was not even sure if the Rite of Blessing worked, but it did not matter, at that moment. All that mattered was the water within the bottle sitting before him.

Once Hammond finished the rite, everything was silent. After about ten minutes, Hugh finally spoke.

“So… so, you’re, uh, done?”

“Yep.”

“How did you remember all that?”

“I memorised it, word for word. It’s second nature, now.” Indeed, the words even invaded Terence’s dreams, at times, water with demons rising from it and dissolving into mist, homes and evil spirits sprinkled with glistening water, purified instantly. Terence supposed such dreams were inevitable when you lived with such knowledge as he did. “I hope this son of a bitch hasn’t killed anyone.”

Chapter XIV

The two of them, Hammond and Hugh, walked through the small town, hearing nothing. In fact, the place seemed deserted. Perhaps the twilight had people in their homes for a cosy day in front of the television. Hugh wished he was spending a cosy day in front of the television. Just relaxing with Hannah for a day would be nice, he thought with sadness.

Pulling his mind away from the inconsequential reverie, Hugh looked around for any hint of the beast. He looked to Hammond, who was cautiously glancing left and right. “I don’t think it’s here.”

“Shhhh!”

“What?” Hugh became annoyed, but lowered his voice to a whisper in any case.

“Can’t you… feel it?” Hammond whispered.

“What?” Hugh repeated.

“Doesn’t everything feel… heavier?”

Indeed, Hugh did feel weighted down. He had not taken much notice of it, passing it off as fatigue, but now he recognized it as the air actually being heavier upon his shoulders.

“What’s it mean?” Hugh whispered.

“It means the damn thing is close.” Hammond hissed.

“How?”

“The Lord made this planet. Any being as blasphemous as the beast would have an affect of some sort on it. I suppose this is one such affect. Perhaps the clouds,” Hammond gestured upward, “are another.”

A voice hissed behind them, “so smart for someone that has to work with the vagueness of that bible!” The last word was rasped as if it left a nasty taste in the mouth.

Both Hammond and Hugh flung around to see a great black hand with long, smooth elongated fingers ending in black daggers for claws, knock them away.

Spread out on the asphalt, lying on his back, Hugh gazed up at the beast in horror, seeing it for the first time with full knowledge of what it was.

“You cowards all hide in your homes” It waved it’s hands around, like a normal hand but stretched to twice the length, and jet black straight hands and fingers, rather than stubby muscles. The arm this hand was connected to was also long, smooth and black, with a sharp elbow and a slight curve to the forearm. The legs were much the same as the arms, and the torso was simply a black cylindrical shape. Above the shoulders was a slender, foot-long, slightly curved neck and, perched upon the neck, was a white round head, with ebony slits for eyes and row upon row of black needles lining the mouth. It was the aura it gave off that terrified Hugh more than it’s appearance, however; Hugh could almost feel the desire radiating off of it; greed, lust (was the beast bisexual or female?), gluttony and, especially, wrath, along with the rest. The horrid ten-foot beast hovered just above the ground.

“Blanche!” Hammond bellowed, tearing Hugh’s gaze away from the monster before him. “The damn water!”

The beast tilted it’s head like a bird, considering him. “Water?” It rasped in query, before zooming towards Hugh, smoothly.

Instinctually, Hugh pulled his pistol and fired. The bullets clearly made contact, as the beast reared, hissing and spluttering. “What is this?” It spat. Though it reacted to the bullets, it simply shook and glared at Hugh, rather than collapsing.

“THE FUCKING WATER!” Hammond screamed.

Hugh, finally waking up, dropped the pistol and pulled the water bottle out of the holder in his belt and screwed the top off, frantically. His haste caused his hand to slip twice and the beast finally realised what was happening, screeching and charging Hugh again.

“No!” It hissed as it veered away, easily dodging Hugh’s miserable splatter of water. Well, Hugh thought, that at least made it clear that the water would deal with the damnable thing.

Hugh suddenly realised the water was spilling out of the bottle, which was being held on an angle. He righted it immediately, but now it was more than two-thirds empty. Swearing, Hugh stood up.

The beast now hovered quite a distance above the ground, well out of Hugh’s reach. Hugh swore at it repeatedly.

Cackling, the beast hissed, “Is that all you know how to do? Curse me? You cannot curse me. I am a curse!”

“You sound like the cheesiest super villain from one of those shitty B-grade movies!” Hugh retorted. The beast clearly did not understand.

After a moment of confusion, it simply smiled and swooped down towards the forgotten Hammond, who shouted and ran towards Hugh, shouting, “Get ready!” The beast, however, pulled up long before it came close to Hugh.

“I tire of these games.” The beast rasped and turned, floating away.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?!” Hugh screamed after the beast.

The beast turned it’s head, though it continued to float away. “To free my brethren.” It hissed, simply.

Hugh turned to Hammond in query, but Hammond had just lost all colour in his face. He said, “Now what?”

They were stuck; lost; defeated. The beast floated well out of their reach, seemingly happy to ignore their existence and possibly bring destruction upon the world. And they could do nothing.

Not even Hammond, whom seemed to know everything that could be known about these things, could do anything. Hugh wanted to roll over and cry. All he really desired was one decent day with Hannah; just one.

He dropped the water bottle, collapsed to his knees, tipped his head back, and allowed despair to overwhelm him, tears welling up in his eyes.

He felt a rain drop hit him on the forehead and trickle down, near his nose, around his eye, and join his tear. He let out a howl of despair and depression, and felt the beast stop moving away, felt the air stop losing pressure. No doubt the beast had stopped to revel in his pain, but he no longer cared. He would rather the beast end his pain than leave.

Hugh dropped his face into his hands and gave up. Nothing ever worked, any more. He tried so hard to make it all work, but Hannah just did not care. And now, it was all over… all over…

Then, it struck him like the toll of a cathedral’s midday bells to a late sleeper. He jolted into life.

Chapter XV

“B-bless the rain clouds.” Hugh steadied himself before continuing. “Bless the rain clouds. Make the rain holy. Now.” Hugh commanded. It felt good to give an order, especially an order that would end this.

The epiphany clear in Hammond’s face, he began to speak the rite, swiftly, under his breath, as the rain picked up to a light drizzle.

“I exorcise thee in the name of God the Father almighty, and in the name of Jesus Christ His Son, our Lord, and in the power of the Holy Ghost, that you may…” Hammond whispered, furiously.

Hugh heard the creature screech in utter rage. He scooped the bottle off the ground. There was only a little bit of water left in the bottle. It would have to be enough, Hugh thought, resolutely, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“…and supplant that enemy…” Hammond continued.

Hugh blocked the voice out of his mind and turned to the Beast, whom had begun zooming towards them, from about a hundred metres away. It would reach them in seconds. Hugh held the water bottle behind him, ready to fling it forward to let the holy water loose upon the beast. It zoomed very close, but veered away at the last second. Hugh, expecting the feign, held back, however.

“… our Lord Jesus Christ, who will…” Hammond whispered furiously, his eyes shut tightly, concentrating. The rain had now picked up to a downpour.

What Hugh did not expect was for the beast to soar straight back down after the retreat and, caught off-guard, Hugh flung the water aimlessly, spraying the air, already thick with water.

The beast swerved away again, clearly fearing the holy water, and screeched again.

“God, Who for the salvation of the human race has built…” Hammond continued urgently.

Hugh hoped the beast did not realise the bottle was empty. Through the rain and darkness now, however, Hugh could not see him. He swung his head around frantically, hoping for a glimpse of the white head, terrified that he would see too late.

After a few seconds, Hugh saw it, rapidly increase in size and, just as the beast was upon them, Hugh flung the water bottle at it. The beast soared upward, instantly vanishing from view, though it could be heard hissing and screeching, before stopping abruptly.

After a moment, when the only noise was the pitter patter of the rain and Hammond’s furious mumbling, the word drew out: “Smart.” Hugh heard a rasping drawl from all around him. “Very cheeky.” It hissed slowly, playfully. It realised Hugh had run out of holy water.

“… of divine grace to dispel demons and sicknesses, so that…” Hammond breathed on, clearly oblivious to his surroundings.

Hugh despaired. He looked up and saw, in horror, the white, moon-like orb that served as the beasts head slowly hover towards him, seeming to grow larger like a balloon. It was now so close that Hugh could clearly define the shape of it’s needle-teeth through the gloom, hear it’s harsh breathing through the pattering of rain, feel it’s hot and fetid breath shower his numb face.

Suddenly, Hugh was knocked aside, winded, struggling for breath, and he watched the beast’s head hover closer and closer to Hammond. Hugh scrambled towards the beast, abandoning any attempt to breath, and flailed for it. He made contact almost immediately, but was then knocked back, and felt something dig into his back. The pistol.

“Let no pestilent spirit, no…” Hammond continued.

Hugh felt around under him, recklessly, for his pistol. He found it almost immediately, and grabbed it in both hands, aiming at the beast’s head, pulling the trigger. The pistol omitted a clear and ringing bang, and the beast’s head convulsed.

Hammond faltered for the barest moment, now, before continuing. “… so that health...”

“YOU AGAIN!” The beast roared, spinning around. Hugh shot several more times, and the creature grabbed him, his claws finding purchase in his guts. Hugh moaned in unreserved pain.

“… against all attacks. Through the Lord, amen.” Hammond finished and, as he went quiet, so did the beast.

Hugh opened his eyes, being battered with rain; rain, that began to glow a beautiful pale blue. Hugh could see more clearly now, the glowing rain showing Hammond’s face in triumph. Hugh felt himself collapse to the floor, as blood gushed from gaping wounds. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the beast screeching, swearing, and Hammond saying, “Is that all you can do? Curse?”

Chapter XVI

Hugh woke up, sitting in the driver’s seat of his patrol car. Sitting up suddenly, he felt for his wounds, miraculously gone.

“That holy water really can perform miracles. The real stuff, anyway.” Hammond explained, sitting in the passenger seat. “I was hoping you would wake up soon,” he continued, “I didn’t fancy the idea of having to explain this one to the police.”

Hugh laid back against the seat, rested his wrists on the steering wheel, closed his eyes, and relaxed.

“Just tell them you didn’t find anything.” Hammond went on. “Say the church was abandoned, derelict, empty. I mean, you can tell them the truth, but I’m sure this way would be easier.”

Hugh was barely taking note of Hammond’s words. The only thing he was thinking about was getting home to Hannah and demanding that she take a week off work.


(8045 words, excluding the note at the beginning)