Saturday, June 13th was my son, Jeremiah's, first birthday. It's hard to believe he's been with us a whole year now. It seems like yesterday he came sliding into this world, so fast that if the midwife hadn't caught him, he would have cleared the table and landed in the floor. He hasn't slowed down since. I'm still getting used to being "Daddy". Sometimes it just hits me out of nowhere, "oh my God, I'm a father!" That is one of the most terrifying, and yet most rewarding, feelings it is possible to have. I never thought I could love anything so much. Every time he laughs or smiles at me, or looks right at me and says "Da-Da" my heart just melts. There are times I don't know whether I'm going to laugh or cry, but it's always a wonderful feeling to see that little smile and those blue eyes, and know they're all for me. Happy Birthday Jeremiah, and may you be around for many, many more to come.
Okay, I'm still getting used to the way this blog-thingy works. Apparently the blogs are posted in the order they're wriite-newest to oldest. So the chapters of my stories will be reversed on the blog page. To read the story in order, simply click on the appropriate chapter in the blog archives and enjoy. Talk to ya later.
Father Peterson made his way carefully down the narrow stairs to the catacombs. They were slippery and he didn't want to risk falling now that he was so close. Jeffrey followed carrying the box. He had become increasingly afraid since they had stepped through the doorway and he followed closely to stay in the circle of light from Father Peterson's flashlight.
"Father," he whispered, "I'm not so sure about this anymore."
"Quiet, boy." Father Peterson snapped, not turning around. "The day of Judgment is at hand and I am not about to back out now. Not when I have been chosen to usher in the glorious New Age."
They reached the main burial chamber and Father Peterson walked to the center of the room. His light revealed a nearly circular room with a low ceiling and a smooth stone floor. The walls glistened from trickling water which ran down them and into the burial niches carved into the walls. The air was filled with the smell of death and decay. Father Peterson looked around for a second then motioned for Jeffrey to bring the box. Jeffrey stood there shaking his head.
"It's not too late to leave." he said.
Father Peterson strode over and snatched the box from the boy's hands. "You can stay or leave as you wish," he said. "But I intend to see this thing through."
He moved to the center of the room and set the box on the floor. He then reached into his pocket and brought out the box of colored chalk. Bending over, he traced a rough circle on the floor some seven feet in diameter. He stood for a moment to ease his back then knelt down and began drawing the ancient symbols along the inner edge of the circle, some in red, some in blue. Jeffrey watched for a while then walked over and touched the priest's shoulder.
"Father."
Father Peterson stopped his drawing and looked up at Jeffrey, a strange smile on his face. The boy flinched as he saw the priest's eyes held the unmistakable glint of madness. "This has gone too far to stop now, boy," the father said. "If you're going to leave, do so now. If not, then for God's sake stay in the circle. It's our only protection."
Jeffrey looked down at the priest for a second then shrugged off his back pack. He set it down on the floor as Father Peterson went back to his drawing. "I'll stay." he said.
When the circle was complete Father Peterson turned his attention to the back pack. He withdrew its contents slowly, placing each object side by side on the floor. First the chalice then the dagger. Next came the bell and the packet of incense. Finally he turned to the box and, with utmost reverance, opened the lid and removed the scroll. He laid the scroll on the floor, weighting its top down with the bell, its bottom with the chalice.
Still on his knees he turned and grabbed the front of Jeffrey's shirt, roughly pulling the boy down beside him. Jefrey whimpered in fear.
"It's time." the priest whispered.
He picked up the packet of incense and dumped its contents into the chalice. He then picked up the dagger and softly struck either side of the bell with its blade. The ringing was unexpectedly loud in the empty chamber, seeming to echo back to them from the walls. Father Peterson then held his hand over the chalice and drew the blade of the dagger across his palm. As the blood touched the incense, smoke began to rise from the chalice. Father Peterson began to chant.
"Diabhol An cluinn thu.
Thig an so."
A wind seemed to spring up in the chamber. The flashlight flickered and went out, leaving them in almost total darkness. Then the white of the chalk circle began to glow. At first softly, then quickly becoming bright enough to illuminate the entire chamber. Father Peterson continued his chant.
"Trothad an so.
Thig an so."
Jeffrey could stand no more. "Father please." he said.
Without a break in his rhythm Father Peterson turned and slapped the boy. Jeffrey stood and ran from the circle. The instant his feet crossed the chalk line there was a bright flash, then a muted thump as his charred remains were flung against the far wall. The chamber filled with the odor of scorched flesh.
Father Peterson stopped chanting to stare at what remained of the boy. Suddenly he was aware of another presence in the room. A low laugh filled his ears and, for the first time, he began to feel fear. Slowly he turned to face the Enemy.
He had prepared his mind for any number of hideous visions, but he was totally shocked by what he saw. The shape before him was insubstantial, shifting. Running through it were colors of intense brightness and incredible beauty. The shape spoke and its voice was the high pitched tinkle of broken glass.
"well, well, Father Peterson," it said. "We were not expecting to see you for quite a few years yet."
"Silence!" roared the father, momentarily forgetting his fear. He tried to focus his eyes on the shape, to see it better, but was unable. His confusion was evident as he spoke.
"You're not the one I was expecting." he said.
"Oh but We are," the shape said in a voice now like the wind, " Satan, Lucifer, The Devil. Take your choice."
The priest felt some of his confidence returning. After all wasn't he God's chosen? "Then it's you I've come to destroy for the glory of God." he said.
"Many have tried my friend," the shape said. "Yet We are still here. How did you plan to go about it?"
Father Peterson triumphantly held up the scroll. "With this!" he cried.
The shap seemed to contract in on itself, the colors going a deep purple then coming back to crimson. "Where did you get that?" it asked. In its voice was heard all the fear in the world.
"That doesn't matter." Father Peterson said. "What does matter is that you will finally be put in your rightful place so that God may rule this world undisturbed."
"You do not understand." the shape said. " That would be the end of all. We go by many names, not only Satan and Lucifer."
It took a second for this to sink in to Father Peterson. His face grew red when he finally realized what the shape was saying. "Blasphemy!" he screamed. "How dare you try to claim the name of the most Holy! For that you go now!" He began to chant once more.
"Clasteach mi Diabhol."
"It is true, We are One!"
"Co thoir dubh lasair."
"That spell was brought to this world by a jealous faction of our underlings. They thought to usurp Our power through it."
The ground beneath them began to tremble. Father Peterson continued chanting, paying no heed to the shape's words or the sound of stones falling from the chamber's walls and ceiling.
The sahpe was now a dark blue and growing darker. Its voice could now barely be heard. "If you complete the spell, Creation itself will unravel. There will be nothing."
"Thoir ort u ifrinn."
The shape began to shrink. It was now so dark it could barely be seen. Father Peterson finished the chant.
"Am Mairekas Co Norath Anguras!"
There was the sound of Infinity screaming.
Then there was nothing.
Father Peterson looked at the older priest. "Can I trust you? he asked.
"What kind of a question is that? Of course you can."
Father Peterson nodded, then reached under the bed and pulled out the box. He stood up, holding it delicately in both hands. There was an elated smile on his face. "I found something today" he said.
He held up the box and Father Larkin sat for a few moments simply admiring the workmanship of it. Finally Father Peterson opened the lid and drew forth the scroll. Father Larkin took it, and inhaled with a sharp gasp as he realized what was written on it.
This can't be genuine, Michael," he almost whispered. "The Drokis is only a legend. This must be some sort of forgery."
Father Peterson took the scroll back, lovingly running his fingers over its surface. "You're wrong." he said. "This is much too old to be a forgery. Feel its texture. This isn't paper or even parchment. It's skin."
"Even if its not a forgery you should turn it over to the Church for study."
"No, Thomas. I won't do that."
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Father Peterson got up to answer it. Standing in the doorway was a boy of about fourteen or fifteen, wearing a uniform jacket from the hotel.
"Yes?"
The boy nodded and all but bowed. "Begging your pardon, Father," he said. "I've been sent up to bring you fresh towels and wash cloths."
"All right," Father Peterson said, stepping aside so the boy could enter, "Be quick about it."
The boy carried his bundle of towels toward the bathroom. Father Peterson went back to his chair and sat down. He looked at Father Larkin, who was holding the scroll up to the light, studying it.
"Do you realize what this would mean if it did turn out to be the genuine article?" Father Larkin asked.
Father Peterson nodded. "The final destruction of Satan," he said. "The spell to put away the Fiend forever and bring about the final Glory of God."
Father Larkin stared at the manuscript, his hands trembling slightly. "But we can't be sure," he said. "This could be something entirely different. You must turn it over for study."
"No," Father Peterson said. He reached out and took the manuscript from the older man. "If I were to do that it would only wind up in some dusty archives where it would do no good at all. I was chosen to find it and I intend to prove it's genuine."
"How do you intend to do that?"
Father Peterson looked at the older priest, a strange smile on his face. "I intend to go back to the church and read the spell."
Father Larkin was taken aback. "Michael, you don't know what you're saying," he said. "You can't be serious."
Father Peterson gave that strange smile again. "Oh but I do," he said. "And I am dead serious."
Father Larkin looked at his watch. "Well," he said. "It's getting late and I'd like to get at least some sleep tonight."
At the door he turned and put his hands on Father Peterson's shoulders. "Michael," he said softly. "We don't really know what this thing is. For God's sake don't do anything foolish with it until we find out more about it."
When Father Larkin was safely in his room Father Peterson softly closed the door and turned back to his chair. He started and his heart seemed to skip a few beats when he saw the towel boy, whom he had completely forgotten, standing there staring at him.
"What do you want?" he asked sharply.
The boy's gaze shifted to the floor for a few seconds then, obviously gathering up his courage, he spoke. "Is it true?" he said.
"Is what true?"
"What I heard you and the other Father saying." the boy said, his face brightening as he spoke. "Do you really have something that could destroy the Devil and bring about the glory of God?"
"So you were eavesdropping, eh?" Father Peterson said, giving the boy a small, tight smile. "Well, if you must know, yes it's true."
The boy stood for a moment shifting from foot to foot. His face turned red and he seemed to be wanting to say something more, but was afraid.
"Well?" Father Peterson asked.
The boy looked up and his voice shook as he spoke. "I want to come with you when you read the spell."
Father Peterson was taken aback for a moment. Then his eyes narrowed suspiciously as he tried to decide whether the boy was mocking him or not.
"Why?" he asked.
The boys face turned even redder and he stammered slightly as he spoke. "Well, Father, it's because I love God with all my heart and I want to be there to see the Devil driven from the world."
Father Peterson's face softened and he even came close to a genuine smile at this answer. "And a child shall lead them." he whispered to himself.
"Pardon, Father?"
Father Peterson reached out and put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Nothing," he said. "What's your name, boy?"
"Jeffrey, Father."
"Well, Jeffrey, how well do you know your way around all the shops in this village?"
"Very well, Father."
Father Peterson nodded. "All right. Meet me here bright and early tomorrow. We have to get some supplies before we start out."
The next day came bright and clear. Father Larkin woke suddenly when a ray of sunlight fell directly onto his eyes. He got up slowly, thinking back to his conversation with Father Peterson the night before. He hoped the younger priest would show some sense in this matter. He had known how head strong Michael was ever since the boy had come to him at the age of twelve when his parents failed to survive a head-on collision with a drunk driver. He had had to pull the boy out of several scrapes over the next few years and it seemed as if he was the only one not surprised when the young Michael had entered the priesthood. He had been fully aware of the boy's devout religious beliefs, which at times bordered on fanaticism. This trip to see the great churches of the world had been a Christmas gift to the young priest he considered to be a son. If only he had known what was going to become of it.
He got up and quickly dressed, intending to go across the hall and try once more to talk some sense into Father Peterson. When he opened his room door he knew it was too late. As he stood there reading the note which had been tacked to his door tears streamed down his face.
"Father forgive him." he prayed, "Forgive us all."
In the village Father Peterson had Jeffrey show him around several shops which specialized in "New Age" merchandise as he looked for the objects described in the manuscript as being necessary for the spell. When they couldn't find the exact object, Father Peterson substituted another that was as close to it as he could find. Finally they had everything they needed so they made their way back to the hotel, arriving just as the tour bus was loading to leave.
Back at the church they followed the tour as before until they came to the main sanctuary. Nobody noticed that Father Peterson carried his jacket under his arm, or the backpack which Jeffrey wore, no different from any number of students who passed through the church daily.
Once again the tour guide showed the features of the room, then pointed out the secret passage. This time, however, Father Peterson didn't want her to be quiet. He wanted her to finish her speech and move on.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the tour guide ushered the group into the next room. Father Peterson and Jeffrey hung back until they were gone then moved over to the wall behind the pulpit. Father Peterson pressed the discolored brick and the passageway opened, revealing steep stairs leading down.
Father Peterson unwrapped the box from his jacket and handed it to Jeffrey. He then reached into the boy's backpack and took out a large flashlight. With a final nod at the boy he turned and started down the stairs.
Okay, here's the first of the short stories I promised. This one is called "Two Sides Of The Coin" and is about a young, idealistic priest who finds there are two ways to look at every picture. Enjoy.
"My God, I thank Thee for this token." he whispered, "I will do my utmost to live up to the confidence Thou has shown by giving it unto me."
He slowly lifted the lid of the box, marveling at how smoothly the hinges worked. Inside it lay the Gift he knew had come to him directly from God. The Gift meant to fulfill his destiny. He unrolled the scroll, his hands shaking so badly he could barely focus on the letters written across its ancient surface.
He still couldn't believe he had found it. The manuscript he had heard of only in whispered rumors. The scroll long believed to have never actually existed. The language was slightly different from any with which he was familiar, but the words were still recognizable. The words meant to bring about the final Glory of God. Daiam Tae Ka Drokis. Doom Of The Dragon.
A sudden knock on the door made him jump. He quickly placed the scroll back into the box and slid it under the bed. At that moment the door opened and Father Larkin stepped into the room.
"All right Michael," he said, "What's going on?"
Father Peterson looked up guiltily. "I don't know what you mean." he said.
Father Larkin crossed the room and sat down. "Come on, Michael," he said, "I've practically raised you since your parents passed away. I know when something's wrong."
Hi. This is just to say I'm here and hello. I'll be checking back in from time to time with any random thoughts, ramblings, or musings to cross my mind. For you lucky ones who stick with me, you will also be treated to some of my short fiction and maybe even some song lyrics. Be back soon with more. O
