Ch. 11

“Purah!”

I don't know what brought me to burst forth with the confounded monster's word, but I yelled it out above the two arguing men. My mind had been rewinding at an exceptional speed, and when I came across the moment the creature had shouted that, it was like the monster had used my throat to proclaim the word to the village men. The result was utter silence. All eyes were on me again, but not one of them were intimidating. They were all horrified, with some covering their mouths and others with lower jaws unhinged. I had no idea what I had just said, but apparently the men did. Even Mr. Garris had closed his eyes and tilted his head back. I instantly regretted my outburst. The thought of burning at the stake overtook my memory of the morning.

Ch. 10

“What happened!?” For a long length of time I had been petrified by Ferlo's sudden death. Twice in one trip I had witnessed horrifying seizures that will no doubt be imprinted in my memory for the rest of my life. An unfamiliar voice shattered into my moment of shock, jerking me back to the horror of Ferlo's death. Twisting my torso to see who it was, I was surprised how heavy my head felt as I tilted it back to look up. It was like a my hair was being pulled hard towards the ground. When my eyes connected with a human face, I realized how much I wanted to be alone. I didn't want to meet anyone else from this sinister village.

Ch. 9

For some minutes I was incapable of moving. The boy ignored any attempts I made to pacify him, but before long, a man I didn't know came to collect the boy. Apparently the boy was to be my guide to Mr. Garris's hut, but when the boy didn't return, the father became suspicious and started to search. When he saw his son's forehead, he made the sign of the cross in front of both of them, then wiped it away with his sleeve. Eventually the boy's sobs had faded into whimpers, permitting the man to tend to me. He asked if I was hurt in any way, and stretched my legs one at a time. It seemed to help. The blood began to flow through my body once more. It took some patience, but I was finally able to stand up and walk. With his son's hand in his, and his other hand gripping my arm, he lead both of us down a trail through the shrubbery, allowing us time for introductions.

Ch. 8

With a new-found respect for my host, I rose and followed him quietly to a mean bed that had been arranged for me. It was a mat of straw with animal hide for a cover. There was no pillow. The absence of one didn't phase me however, as I wouldn't be sleeping that night anyway. I was much too troubled and shaken to even close my eyes longer than three seconds. Mr. Garris lit a small candle sitting next to my bed, and without any goodbye or well wishes, he turned to go. The desperation that now surged through me was impossible to constrain. I begged Mr. Garris to send someone to stay with me, but he shrugged me off. “No one will stay here,” was all he said. How is it that it that the church was the safest place for me, but not for him? There wasn't much that I could do. He walked off, ignoring my pleas and, sadly, my whimpers. All hope I had for comfort was shut out when my host placed the uneven planks back into the opening.

The Songbird (End)

I moseyed on past the shrine and thankfully so, because when I turned towards the doors, I discovered that the mysterious organ was located on a balcony above the entrance. There was a figure moving about donning a black coat which hid the whole of the body inside of it. I assumed that this person must be the songbird and readied myself to greet the young canary. Her voice was so sweet that it seemed strange for such impassioned feelings to be evoked by someone who had yet to experience life. With that final thought, my son's condition overwhelmed me once more. The bitter vision of his pallid face made my stomach lurch twice. I could feel my face distort into an ugly expression of agony while I was determined to keep my chin set. I'm sure my countenance was horribly grotesque when a sheepish voice asked if I was okay. “Excuse me, Sir. Is there anything I can do for you?” To my right, the questioning person must had squeezed through the two pews so that they stood close to my side. I sighed to regain my composure, but a hand grabbed my arm as a gesture of concern, and the limbs of my body released their tension. I recognized the bottom of the coat to be the same one that had been swishing about on the balcony. In an instant, my head shot up to see the face of the talented singer, but what I saw was far from what I was expecting.

The Songbird

“Cancer.” That's what the doctor told my wife and me. “Your son has terminal cancer.” I had never been fervently religious, but I believed in God, and whereas many people turn from Him when they're hit with terrible news, I hunted Him down. My wife and I found little time to talk anymore being sucked into our own pits of internal Hell, but we managed to break the surface sometimes and spoke for sanity's sake. During one of our sparse talks, she told me a lot about her that I had never known, but for the purpose of brevity, I will narrow them down to the two most significant things pertaining to my search for Christ. Though hardly aware that she was speaking, my wife told me that she had an Irish ancestry originating in the west of the country. To her present knowledge, there were some distant cousins still living in a village called Knock, where her grandmother had resided in a charming thatched house before crossing the big pond.