Archive of Our Own

Banished to wander alone,

Only once bonded may you find home.

Willing or not at all,

Else forever shall thee roam.

Late in the afternoon, as shades of raspberries and plums painted the darkening sky, a horse with carriage drew into a small town, east of the mountains but west of the sea. A quiet village, nestled in lush forests and rolling farmland, it was most notable for its exportation of food and wine, though its infamy over the years was not due to fine drink or hardy cuisine. Rather, over the last several decades myths and stories had popped up regarding peculiar and unexplained happenings. Unrest and superstition layered thick upon the citizens, not only within the hamlet, but like a festering disease it had spread to neighboring jurisdictions, until the isolation forced against them had many abandoning their homes, and it was on the brink of a ghost town.

Passing through the main street of the city, enough merchants and homemakers bustled about to give the illusion of prosperity, but as the buggy progressed, the degradation of the township became more apparent and by the time they passed the crumbling remnants of the city wall, there was nary a soul in sight. Like bright scarlet roses dulled after wilting, the slow decay of time and gradual buildup of dust had turned what once had been a proud, thriving settlement into a mere shadow of its former glory.

Undaunted by the warnings received from the bishop, and ever eager to provide solace and succor to those around her, the cherub-faced nun stepped lively down from the carriage, fresh despite the weeklong journey, and ready for her first charge since leaving the convent. Curiously enough, the request for aid had not come at the behest of the local parishioner, but anonymously from someone in the town, though it was far too late in the day to seek out details. After straightening her veil and neckcloth, she collected her modest suitcase, and proceeded along the stone path to the small church house.

Charmingly landscaped with a small garden, flowers along the cobblestone, antique stained windows set in a half-timber lodging, complete with a delightful steeple, had the sister feeling as though she had wandered into a painting. With a skip in her step, she finally arrived at the imposing double doors, painted white to match the building, knocking with an enthusiasm that belied the exhaustion settling in her travel-weary bones.

Silence.

She knocked again.

Silence.

Rocking on impatient feet, large blackberry eyes darted around her surroundings, wondering at the predicament. Though a public building, she was loathe to enter without being admitted, as in these remote areas many churches doubled as personal residences of the ministry. Cool wind began picking up, her habit whipping wildly around her, and the sun was almost beyond the horizon when she made to turn toward the town center to seek other accommodations. Yet, halfway through her pivot, a thunk of a heavy bolt beyond the door lifted her spirits, and she was at attention by the time one of the doors swung inward.

Dressed neatly in finely pressed ebony vestments, a crisp white collar at his neck, a tall, incredibly handsome man filled the doorway, looking down on her stoically. Caramel skin flattered dark auburn locks, tidily styled, and caused his topaz eyes to glow like a dying campfire. Though the priest was undeniably attractive, there was something about the look in his haunting orbs that gave her pause, a guardedness she did not expect. After a few beats of awkward nothingness, she squared her shoulders and smiled.

“Good evening, father! My name is Charlotte and I have come from Saint Catherine’s Monastery to assist you!” Light and musical, her sweet voice filled the quiet between them, her innocent enthusiasm prompting the barest hint of a smile on the other’s face.

“Good evening, sister. I was not expecting you. Are you sure you are in the right place, my dear?” Where there had been a gentle morning in her voice, sultry dusk was in his, deep and smooth, and her smile turned bashful at the caress within it.

White teeth sank into her full lower lip, and his eyes dropped to observe the action. “Perhaps, in my haste, I may have forgotten to send word in advance. My apologies. The diocese received a request for additional clergy, so here I am!”

He raised an eyebrow, “Additional clergy?”

Conspiratorially she leaned in, taking a step closer as she whispered, “Yes, not too many details to share I’m afraid. Apparently, there have been some strange goings-on and someone thought having more spiritual support might help ease the town’s worries. Would you be able to share what you know, Father…?”

“James Moreau, darling,” a charming grin danced across his face to see the pretty nun blush at the term of endearment. “I would recommend avoiding such discussion this close to nightfall and I have been a poor host to keep you outside in the chill for so long. Please follow me, Sister Charlotte.”

Eagerly she did so, at his heels once she was inside and the door was re-locked. Inside was no less picturesque than its exterior. Tall, vaulted ceilings with exposed, expertly carved rafters whose lush mahogany matched the polished floor and pews. Down from the entrance was a clean, but worn strip of crimson carpet, leading through the middle of the isle and up a few shallow steps rising to the resting place of the worshiping altar. Even at the late hour, soft light cascaded through the large stained-glass windows, bathing the church in an ethereal radiance.

Two doors were on opposite sides of the tabernacle, and he led her down the one on the right, which poured into a small hallway of a few doorways that led to open, unoccupied bedrooms and one restroom. With a wave of his arm, he ushered her through the first available space, his face neutral, but with an amicable smile.

“You may use this room, sister,” he offered in his syrupy voice. “It is a bit dirtier and spartan than I would like to offer a lady, but, again, I did not expect you.”

Childishly she tossed herself upon the mattress, a cloud of dust erupting around, and she giggled. “Quite all right, father, I assure you! Perhaps after our morning service, you would allow me some time to put it to rights.”

Grinning, he replied, “As you wish. Good night, darling.”

“Good night!” She called back as the door closing softly behind him.

+++

Morning service, as it turned out, was just the two of them. After prayer and a quiet meal, the young nun attacked the task of cleaning her room with all the unspent energy she had acquired being trapped in a traveling coach for a week. Once finished with dusting all surfaces, washing floors and bedclothes, and re-homing a few confused spiders, she was finally able to tidy all her meager belongings. Throughout her tasks, she sang, weaving hypnotic melodies into the air, her joy so unmistakable that it was as warm on the ears as sunshine. When finally the work was complete, she freshened her appearance and made to find the minister.

The door to the left of the altar, she had discovered this morning, led to a small mess hall and kitchen, with a door to the back yard and the forest beyond. It was through this door she found the priest, relaxing in a rocking chair while reading a book. Creaky floorboards gave her presence away, and his butterscotch eyes were on her before she had even exited the building.

“Hello father!” She smiled; hands tucked within her habit. “By your leave I would like to visit town this afternoon. Perhaps if I hear firsthand their experiences, I may better understand their struggles. Would that be okay with you?”

Leisurely he looked her over, his faint, almost-smile still present on his visage. “If you wish, my dear. Though do not let yourself be swept away in whatever hysterics they may present to you. Most of their grievances are ancient superstition that is unfortunately difficult to shake in these remote places.”

Dutifully, she nodded. “Yes, sir, I will endeavor to remain calm and temperate. My goal will be to listen and offer comfort.”

As she made to turn away, enthusiastic to begin her mission, his voice called her back.

“By any chance did you happen to see an angel around the church today, sister?” The man queried, an odd, teasing look on his face.

Blinking wide, obsidian eyes, she cocked her head at a perplexed angle. “No, father. Why?”

Crossing long legs, he casually resumed reading. “Strange. I could have sworn I heard one of the seraphim singing. Off you go now.”

Shrinking away, her palms covered her cheeks to calm the redness there as she made her way back through the chapel and out the front door. Father Moreau had compared her singing to one of the heavenly host, and though she knew it to be flattery, she found her brain muddled with cotton candylike static at the compliment. Maybe she could sing for him tomorrow or during service?

Rigidly she straightened. Words of a harsh abbess flooding her ears. Forget not your vows, Charlotte! You’re too emotional, child. You love too freely and it is not becoming! A tall, dark, and handsome priest who was quick with honeyed words should not make her lose her head or sight of her charge. The villagers needed her and there was simply no time for romance!

This she repeated to herself as she arrived at the main square, shoulders back and head high. More difficult to find, however, were the actual inhabitants. Those she did locate scurried away from her on sight, some shops even closed their doors to her entirely. Back and forth she meandered down the stone sidewalk of the main street, hoping to run into anyone at least willing to speak with her.

Everyone seemed so frightened, which was terribly odd. Why reach out for assistance if no one wanted her here?

“Would you stop zig-zagging in fron’uv my place, woman? Yur makin’ me dizzy!” A growling voice called to her from within a dim storefront.

Gravitating to the sound, the sister tentatively stepped through salon-styled doors, into a tavern, the atmosphere so thick with cigar smoke and the stench of alcohol it was like its own miasmic fog. Clearing her throat, the young pious woman lingered by the door, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dark. When at last she could see clearly, a gruff, broad-shouldered man with streaks of silver in his ebony locks standing behind the bar stared back, a bushy black eyebrow raised as he polished a glass. The only other sharing the space was a thin, pale man with ashen blonde hair who gazed at her curiously with cloudy blue eyes.

“Hello there! My name is Sister C—”

“Don’t care,” the grizzled man huffed, turning slightly away from his guest, though his brown eyes studied her sidelong.

“That’s no way to treat a young lady!” Chirped the blonde, patting the stool next to him. “Come, sister, rest yourself and tell ol’ Tom your troubles.”

“Well, actually I was hoping to hear your troubles,” Charlotte began, her shy smile charming on her lovely face, and settled next to the man. “Unfortunately, my efforts to speak to a single soul have not born fruit. The few individuals I have seen appear unwilling to treat with me. Tell me honestly, Mister Tom, is there anything off-putting about me?”

“Yur get’up,” the bartender announced immediately, gesturing vaguely to her with a glass.

“My outfit?” She mumbled, disheartened as she looked down to investigate her habit.

When the older man refused to elaborate, her doe eyes turned helplessly to Tom, who offered a weak smile and placed a comforting hand on her knee. “What Husker means to say is the villagers…well, a lot of strange things have been happening over the years and there’s a general suspicion that the local—”

“Shut da fuck up, Tom, if ya know what’s good fer ya,” Husk snapped, then turned his irritation on the sister. “And you, keep ya nose outta it.”

Exasperated, the nun rose to her feet, rounding on the dark-haired man. “But how am I supposed to help if I don’t know what’s going on?” Arms akimbo, she looked between the men beseechingly. “Disappearances and odd occurrences are certainly difficult to bear, but surely these things alone would not reduce this place to a paranoid ruin, right? What else is going on?”

In the ensuing quiet, her heartbeat was overly loud in her ears as the men seemed to carry on a silent conversation by themselves, until she was nearly positive she would get nothing more from them.

“Alls I’ll say is ain’t no one gonna talk to ya lookin’ like dat,” Husk grumbled with a jerk of his chin toward her before he turned his back on her entirely.

When Tom added little more beyond a hesitant nod, she took her cue, thanked the men and left. Soft bird calls caught on the gentle breeze of her return journey did little to lift her mood, but somewhere along the way she managed to find her resolve again, taking heart in stolen moments by the riverbed, crouching to smell wildflowers, and watching a family of rabbits munch on grass. Surely, a haven such as this was worth saving? Whatever had the gotten under the town’s proverbial skin must be a misunderstanding or superstition, as the father had said. She would not give up so easily. If her clothes were what created the barrier, then she would set aside her robes and approach them not as a shepherd, but as one of the flock.

+++

Bright and early the next morning, the young woman was off to the village, a short note left next to a small spot of breakfast for her companion, so the man would not worry. Even in the best circumstances, it was difficult for her to sleep, but with this conundrum, she had barely closed her eyes. All night thoughts bounced in her mind of how to speak to the villagers, what to say, and how to dress. In an ankle-length, long-sleeved pastel blue dress, luxurious bright gold hair in a low ponytail down her back, she hurried out of the chapel.

Morning dew still clung lovingly to the grass, wetting the hem of her clothing as she walked, a dense fog swirling with her movement, playful whisps of cloud dancing in the air, and giving the flora a strange sense of awareness that made a chill run along her spine, the fine hairs on her neck standing on end. Puffs of her hot breath misted into the crisp air, and if she listened closely, just beyond her own steps crunching onto gravel and fallen leaves, she thought she could hear the echo of matching footfalls in the distance, hidden by the shroud of the forest. There was nothing but dark woods when she turned her head to catch sight of the sounds, yet an eerie anticipation filled her the longer she stared, as though the woods were staring back.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she doubled her pace, rushing through the moors to escape the building dread in the pit of her stomach and arriving in the town just as it was beginning to stir. Taking a moment to catch her breath, Charlotte leaned against the side of a brick building, a delicate hand over her face to calm herself. What was that?

“Are you all right miss?” Over the buzzing in her ears, she almost missed the soft question.

Lifting her dark gaze, a lovely woman filled her vision. Raven hair fell like a curtain in front of milk chocolate skin and one dark brown eye; she wore an eyepatch over her left side, yet it detracted from her beauty not a bit. Shorter than the sister by several inches, her gentle, genuine concern won her over immediately. It was not until she heard another voice that Charlotte even realized others were present.

“Don’t talk to strangers, Vaggie! Were you born yesterday? For fuck’s sake!” Glancing over the shoulder of the younger woman, the sister saw a thin, severe-looking blonde woman standing next to one of the men from yesterday. Tom, she thought his name was.

“Shut up Katie,” snarled the ebony-haired one before turning an exasperated smile up at her.

“That’s no stranger anyhow, my dear Katie!” Tom hummed as he too came to stand next to Charlotte, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “How are you, sister?”

Quickly, as if burnt, Vaggie stepped away. “…Sister? So you’re with him?” Mistrust layered thick in her voice, an accusation there the blonde did not understand.

Placatingly, she brought her hands up in mock surrender. “Yes, Sister Charlotte, and I am with the church, if that’s what you mean? Thank you both for asking after me. I am well…now, anyway. On my way here from the church I had the oddest sensation of being watched. Nonsense, I’m sure.”

The three surrounding her said nothing, yet exchanged the oddest of looks. After a discontented silence, Vaggie pulled her into a small alley, as the three crowded round.

“You walked here from the old chapel? Alone?” She asked incredulously.

Pushing the shorter woman out of the way easily, despite her wiry frame, Katie blanched. “It’s a damn good thing she was alone or you-know-who would be with her. Now then, Kathy or whatever your name was, how do we know you’re not with you-know-who?”

Taking a deep breath, the nun reminded herself to be patient. “I cannot say I’m familiar with who or what ‘you-know-who’ is, but I can tell you I was summoned here to help the town and put your minds at ease.”

“Charlotte, dear, what do you know about this town exactly?” Tom asked, pushing the taller blonde out of the way, taking the sister’s hands in his.

Vaggie pushed in close as well, as though with their bodies alone, they could prevent anyone from overhearing.

“N-Not much, admittedly,” the young woman offered, her tone humble. “Some odd things happening which led to people leaving the town over the years.”

In a whisper, the shorter woman leaned in. “Not ‘odd things’. Disappearances. People are not leaving the town, they are being murdered.”

Panic nipped at the edge of Charlotte’s consciousness, wild and chaotic anxiety that made her stomach turn and face white. Her full lips parted, to ask a question or scream she wasn’t sure, but the sound died in her throat. Something was killing these people? What sort of monster would do such a thing?

“It’s that fucking priest,” sneered Katie, as if to answer her unspoken question, her voice lowered menacingly.

Three heads snapped back to stare at the lanky blonde, Vaggie and Tom’s reproachfully and the blonde’s in wide-eyed astonishment. Surely she didn’t mean…?

“Father Moreau? He’s killing people?!” Her shriek instigated a laughable spectacle of Vaggie shushing her loudly while Tom’s hands flailed in the air, as if he could physically catch the spoken words and keep them from echoing out of the alley. In a quieter tone, Charlotte leaned in. “What proof have you of these deeds?”

Nothing.

“Fernando disappeared not more than two days past!” Tom offered weakly to the fill the void. “All that we could find of him was his bloody neckcloth.”

Any terror that had been building up in her slowly drained away. Superstitions. Just as the father had said. Patiently, she smiled warmly at them, as if her calmness alone might ease the cloud of fear that hung around them.

“Please know I am here to help, in any way I can, to help put the town to rights. But, before we begin making accusations, there must at least be evidence.”

Katie said nothing, merely huffed in disgust, and dragged Tom away by the arm. The dark-haired woman lingered, her expression concerned, but thoughtful. Placing a hand upon the taller woman’s shoulder, she smiled amicably back at the blonde.

In a voice almost pitying, she replied, “You’re new here, and I can tell you genuinely want to help. My advice is to stay for a month and see what you think. If you still think it’s in our heads, there won’t be much we can say to change your mind. But,” she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, “if you see what we see, please, please help us!”

Sincerity poured from the entreaty, and instantly the blonde knew it had been Vaggie that had written out for help.

+++

That evening, long after they had supped and retired, Charlotte lay awake, the waterfall of her golden tresses loose from the confine of her modest veil and cap, draped over her pillow like the most luxurious silk. Covers tossed aside, in a soft pink night gown that flattered her peach-kissed porcelain skin, she tried her best to stem the tide of thoughts as to lull herself to sleep. Yet no matter how hard she tried, she could not put Vaggie’s plea from her mind.

Tired and frustrated, she pushed up from the bed, lit her chamberstick candle, lifted it by its circular holder and ventured into the night of the small parish in search of some warm milk. Quiet in the light of the waning moon, the building creaked and groaned with her passing, no matter how nimble she kept her feet, and the sanctuary felt at the same time claustrophobic, yet so vast the kitchen may have been another town away. When at last she passed the chapel, she took a moment to admire the way the milky moonlight poured through the multicolored panes of the high stained-glass windows, casting a haunting kaleidoscope unto the altar and first few benches. Smiling to herself, she offered one last look over the room, before continuing her midnight venture to the galley.

Breathy laughter, deep and chilling, rumbled along the floorboards and shivered along her spine. Low as it was, she thought initially it was the whispering of her gown as she walked, but with each step it rose in volume and mania, until she could no longer ignore what she heard. Heart racing, eyes wide, with a hand fisted protectively in her dress at her chest, she spun around, glorious curls whipping about her.

There, in the very back corner of the chamber were two red lamp-like orbs staring out from the inky blackness surrounding them, out of reach of the night-casted glow. The metal of her candelabra bit into her palm as her grip strengthened in fright.

“Wh-Who’s there?!” She demanded in a voice full of confidence she did not feel. “You should not be here. Please come back in the morning if you need help!”

A moment of silence, before the bearer of those shining scarlet eyes seemed to float to the opposite side of the congregation hall, and that it kept its distance she was grateful.

“Well, Well…,” the voice was like ice dripping down her skin, an indescribable bite that shook any lingering sleep from her, with a strange filter that lay over it, as though he were speaking through a phonograph. It was the most devastatingly hypnotic, insanely terrifying sound she’d ever heard. “I have not seen you before, little church mouse.”

Shifting her weight nervously, she endured the weight of his gaze. “Y-Yes, well, I’m new here.”

Amused laughter rolled through the room, and she shut her eyes at the physical touch she felt from it. When she re-opened them, those strange eyes were a few rows closer and her breath caught in her throat, paralyzed.

“That certainly explains it,” the deep voice ruminated aloud. “I am certain I would have noticed you, darling.”

At the term of endearment, her golden head instinctively rolled to the side, to the door with the hallway that would lead to the priest still slumbering there.

“No, my sweet little church mouse, let’s not wake the good father,” the voice chuckled.

Doe eyes rushed back to meet the fiery ones, only to find them gone, and she was petrified of where the owner of that otherworldly voice might have moved. Breath ghosted along the back of her neck and she thought she would collapse.

“After all, three’s a crowd.” Whispered against her ear, the soft tendrils of her hair flowing with the puff of breath, and that filtered, warm voice became something forbidden and decidedly intimate.

Stiffening, she looked over her shoulder stiltedly, as if every degree she turned was a step closer to her own doom. And there, in the center of the chapel, she stood in the shadow of a monstrosity. Almost two heads above her own, up and up her midnight eyes traveled to the impossibly tall creature’s head where a creeping rack of impressive obsidian horns sprung from his head, nestled between two large animal-like ears. He was so wraithlike in his features, a sharp, angular jaw, with bright blood-colored hair with black tips, pointed, yellow teeth on proud display in an equally sharp smile, but his eyes, in pools of wine sclera, were stunning things, luminescent ruby irises surrounded catlike pupils; she thought he seemed a villain from a fairytale. Cloaked in a floor length, garnet robe, with a black tasseled belt, long sleeves and high-necked collar with black band, it resembled a mockery of a priest’s formal vestments. His dark, crimson-clawed hands folded at his back, and he looked down upon her with an incredibly smug expression, black blood dripping from razor-pointed fangs.

Taking a quick step away, her eyes wide as she dropped her candle, Charlotte screamed and ran. Like a bolt she was off, through the hallway, and pounding on the priest’s door as though her life depended on it. For all she knew, it did.

After a few moments of stomach plummeting silence, the door creaked open. In a long, gray night gown, auburn hair tousled endearingly, topaz eyes barely open, he stared at her. In his sleep-induced bewildered state he looked much younger, almost childlike, and she smiled affectionately despite her startling encounter.

When she said nothing, he yawned. “Did you need something, Charlotte darling?”

Coming to attention immediately, she reached for him, tugging a sleeve gently. “Father, there was something in the chapel! …I think it was a demon.”

Blinking several times, it seemed to take the minister a moment to realize the blonde was serious. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, the man took her by her arms and swung her into the room.

Rubbing his face momentarily, he leveled her with a sardonic smile. “Stay here, sister. I will investigate.” And with that he disappeared, closing the door behind him.

Biting her lip in worry, she paced pillar to post in front of the door for a few minutes, uneasy with the thought of him facing the creature alone, but stilled after a few moments. She would run to his aid if he called, but best to leave the matter to him.

Left alone in his room, she was surrounded by the smell of him, something full of spice and male, and she was embarrassed by how it heated her insides. In keeping with their customs, there were minimal personal items, but he had his robes pressed and hung in the open closet, along with some more casual shirts and slacks. A candle was lit on his bedside, freshly struck no doubt due to her intrusion, next to an old, leatherbound book. Ever curious, she let her fingertips slide on the textured cover. Lifting it, she flipped through what appeared to be a book of scripture, though it was in no language she could understand. This way and that she twisted it in her hands to understand the words, tilting her head at odd angles and squinting, but none of it did any good. The only thing she could comprehend, was a short, four-line poem handwritten on the corner of the first page. What it meant, she could not say, but at least she could read it.

“Quite a bold, inquisitive thing, aren’t we, dear?” An amused voice spoke near her shoulder.

Shrieking, the memory of the horned creature looming over her brought back to the forefront of her mind, and she dropped the book as she spun around.

When she found herself in the arms of the minister, she huffed cutely. “You scared the daylights out of me!”

Chuckling, he offered a charming smile before stepping away. “Perhaps that ought to be ‘nightlights’, given the time.”

Glancing toward the floor where his book now lay, she jerked her chin at it. “What are you reading, father? I could not understand a word but a short little stanza, from perhaps a poem, scribbled in the beginning.”

Following the gesture, an odd look passed over his typically composed face, before the jovial smile was back in place. “Nothing you need worry about, I assure you. Now, Sister Charlotte, I’m afraid I was not able to find whatever startled you, but I have ensured all the doors are locked and windows are closed tight. If there will be nothing else, and it is all the same to you, I would very much like to go back to bed.”

Nervously she glanced around to the ominous hallway that laid bare behind him. What little the candlelight could touch beyond the boundary of the open door was seemingly normal, a suspiciously serene quiet after what she had seen earlier. She must have been silent for too long, because a light hand came up to tuck a golden lock of hair behind her ear, then let his fingertips linger on her jawline.

“Goodness, you must have been quite spooked,” the priest said in a faraway voice, almost as if he was speaking to himself. Letting his hand drop to collect one of hers, he raised it to his lips to lay a soft, reassuring kiss upon her knuckles. “I promise nothing will harm you, sweetheart. You are safe here.”

+++

Nearly fourteen days had she stayed in the village before she truly got a taste of what the townsfolk had warned her about. Several nights had passed without incident and she had embraced the father’s suggestion that her ghostly encounter may have been little more than her mind playing tricks on her, and she did her best to put it out of her thoughts as she travelled into the square late one afternoon. Her regular appearance, in and out of her religious vestments, had become common enough that no longer were doors slammed in her face nor caused people to scatter, but she was also yet new enough for only Katie, Tom, Vaggie, and Husker to tolerate her presence.

In her time with them, she had come to learn that Katie was the editor of the town’s small newspaper, always eager for a story, she could come across as brash and uncaring, but was also a fierce childhood friend of Tom’s. The man had admittedly somewhat less of a shining career at the paper, but with the blonde spitfire at his side, his articles still made the front page. Modest though it was, Charlotte found the newsprint one of the few means of entertainment in the village.

Vaggie, as it turned out, was a waitress at Husker’s bar, and though she hadn’t known her long, the young women became fast friends. Husker was decidedly brusque and gruff on the outside, yet under the bristly exterior lay a heart of true gold. So it was often she found herself in the taproom, heavy with smoke and the stench of alcohol, sitting and chatting with friends or patrons.

In truth, she had not learned many news things from her conversations, but the fear was true and deep within the people. Everyone who would speak on the topic, told of disappearances, strange and horrifying sightings, but never any proof. Though logically she doubted the validity of their claims, part of her sensed the veracity in their words. Perhaps it was the feeling of being watched as she crossed back and forth from town to church house, as though the forest itself had eyes, or the lingering memory of a shadow monster in the chapel; whatever it was made her skin crawl. Katie had become aggressive in her reporting of the matters and had lately found herself near as much of an outcast as the sister.

“Katie’s on to something, I tell you, Charlotte!” Tom praised, eyes raised to the ceiling in pride. “She’s been doing a lot of research on the missing people over the last year. Even has an interview later with someone who said they saw Fernando’s corpse.”

“Stickin’ her nose in evil bizness,” Husker groused, setting down drinks for the two perched on stools in front of him. “It’s dangerous, Tom. Ya need ta stop ‘er.”

Taking a swig, the thinner man waved him away absently, “Nonsense! My Katie knows what she’s doing. Besides, I’ve been helping with the investigation. It feels like we’re getting very close to unmasking our killer! Think of what this town could become if it were truly safe again!”

“Keep it the fuck down, will ya?” The burly man growled, eyes performing a quick sweep to ensure none of the other patrons appeared to be listening.

“Do you think she would mind if I came along to the interview?” Charlotte asked, taking a sip of her water, genuine curiosity in her tone.

Shrugging, Tom’s pale blue eyes glanced her way. “Not sure. You better hurry though, if you’re interested. She’s meeting them at the mailroom in five minutes.”

Eyes wide, she dashed away, ignoring Tom’s laughter and Husker’s futile attempt to call her back. While she had known the two newsies were working on the mystery, she hadn’t seen such a clear opportunity to insert herself before now. This was a perfect chance! Real progress toward her mission and ending the suffering of all these people. She needed to help in whatever manner she could.

Since it was such a small community it had taken barely a day to memorize the layout, so it was with a practiced ease, and a determined speed, she rushed to the mailroom, arriving only a few minutes past the scheduled interview time. Leaning against the front door as she caught her breath and pushing it open, she let her eyes sweep the small office space. It was early dusk, and with the setting sun streaming through the clear windows she could see specs of dust floating around. All around the space were stacks of papers, filing cabinets lining the walls, and the smell of paper and ink permeated the air. Yet there were no people.

Wandering further into the building, she passed several vacant offices, calling out to her friend to no avail. Finally, she approached a door that was only slightly ajar, ‘Printing Press’ labeled clearly on the glass. Tentatively pressing forward, the old wood protested loudly on hinges, and she cringed at potentially interrupting a conversation. A low hum of electricity vibrated through the room, and she looked in wonder at the line of automated machinery. Many looked worn or unusable, covered as they were in dirt and debris, but they all looked sturdy enough.

Suddenly a strange pop and gurgle caught her attention and her gaze was drawn to the last machine in the row, and she tilted her head in confusion as she approached, her eyes unable to understand what they saw. There was something stuck in it. Squish. She had stepped in …ink? It was thick and viscous, though it was a strange color for ink. Bending at her waist to inspect it closer, the reddish hue made it seem more like blood.

Immediately she snapped straight, a hand clasped to her mouth in shock, and her eyes traveled back to the press. With terrifying clarity, she saw Katie’s body, mangled up in the rollers, within the press itself, wound and clamped closed over what should have been her head. What limbs she still had been twisted or snapped in odd angles at the joints, and blonde hair was ripped and imbedded in every nut and bolt of the stamp and from the belt was a river of blood. Shreds of her skin were tangled in the gears and where her abdomen had been she had been torn open, organs spilling onto the belt and floor, a disgusting, decaying odor filling the small space.

Screaming, she fled back to the bar, as fast as she could, her hat and veil lost somewhere along the way. All she could do was babble and point, her eyes wide in panic as tears streamed down her doll-like features, all color drained from her face as she dragged as many villagers back to the mailroom as she could collect. But by the time they returned to the scene of the crime, there was nothing, no blood, no body, and even the machinery itself looked clean and untouched.

Silent acceptance exuded from the villagers as they retreated and though she was relieved to find all believed her, her heart broke to see the despondent, haunted faces of all those who had left. Vaggie hugged her before leaving. She in turn hugged Tom, who was crying the entire rest of the evening. When at last she returned to the church house, dashing the whole way to avoid the unease of the trip along the forest road at night, she told the priest everything.

“It wasn’t all in their heads, father!” Charlotte mumbled, her blonde hair wild and entangled, and in a state of distress as she paced their kitchen floor.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, darling, but you must understand this is the same story I’ve heard an exhausting number of times,” he petitioned, his handsome voice pleading. “I’m a reasonable man, but no one, not even you can provide me with evidence, even a body, to objectively review.”

Despite her frazzled state, she understood, she really did. Afterall, did she not share this same opinion not four hours past? She knew what she saw, but it was useless to argue, and so she did the only thing she could think of; she went to bed.

Well, she tried.

Nightmares plagued her the moment her lids closed, visions of death, painful and prolonged, a room full of gore, and a friend she would never see again. Countless hours she tossed and turned until she surrendered in defeat. No rest would come to her this night. Exhausted and agitated, she rose and lit her candle, resolving herself to food preparation for the next few days to wear herself out.

Only three steps into the tabernacle had she made it before an uncomfortable familiarity washed through her. She had forgotten what greeted her the last time she wandered at night. Frozen in place she dared not move, not even to breathe. When a deep, breathy chuckle crept through the space, a familiar rumble that seemed to distort the very air around her, she narrowed her sights on the door opposite her, on the kitchen beyond and slowly walked forward.

“Goodness,” the voice purred, and she shivered to hear it sound so close. “Giving me the cold shoulder are you, little church mouse?”

“Y-You’re not real,” she retorted harshly, more to convince herself. “I’m merely tired, and traumatized.”

At the sound of bootheels clicking on mahogany wood and dark smoking swirling around her pink nightgown, she tossed caution to the wind and ran for the doorway. Nearly had she crossed the threshold before a large, clawed hand more than twice the size of hers wrapped around her upper bicep and spun her around. Looming over her was the same demonic creature from before, his spellbinding eyes amused and razor-sharp grin condescending.

“Oh, I am quite real,” it promised, the words dripping from him like a poison, each piercing her skin like a knife.

Resisting his grip, golden curls of hair flying as she tried to shake him away, rearing back to scream, but he lurched forward. Holding her in an excruciating grip, his free hand moving to her back, pulling her close, he fit his lips to her, sealing and swallowing her shout. Struggling against him, she pushed at his chest, but his vicelike grip only tightened around her, his mouth coaxing her quiet.

Her first kiss, stolen by a monster, and yet all she could think of was the pillowy softness of his lips. At least until a thick, forked tongue pushed passed the seam of her lips and she turned her head away, his mouth chasing hers in a heated dance until she was a panting, flushed mess. When he released her, he hovered within her personal space, one hand lingering on her hip while the other pressed a finger to her lips.

“Now, as delectable as you are my little one, do be a good girl and stay quiet,” he grinned, tracing her bottom lip and tugging the full flesh with the pad of his claw.

Blinking, she jerked away from him and in a moment of impulse, she wound her hand back and slapped the seven-foot demon across his face. The action undoubtedly hurt her more than him, but he reeled back in shock nonetheless, clawed hand held to his cheek, and scarlet eyes wide.

“H-How dare you kiss me!” The sister whispered angrily, embarrassment and adrenaline fueling her actions. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through today, you….you…creature you!?”

For a moment, unbridled rage fought with thinly veiled terror for supremacy in her mind. Though a smile was still painted on the antlered demon’s face, a growl thundered dangerously deep in his chest, a warning so primal and instinctual it resonated down into her bones. Then the sound twisted and morphed, and she realized belatedly that he…he was laughing at her.

Though she was unquestionably insane, his mirth both soothed and infuriated her. Feeling bold, she stomped to him, arms stiff at her sides, grip tight on her candlestick, her doe eyes flashing.

“Go away, you beast! This is a sanctuary and your kind are not welcome here!” She snarled.

At once he was quiet and she stilled, anger snuffed out like a flame in a winter’s wind. There was an odd twinkle in his glowing ruby eyes that was neither friendly nor playful, a cruelty lingered there and she instinctively backed up. Rekindled fear lit along her spine when he followed, easily keeping pace.

“My name is Alastor, you charming thing,” his voice was alarmingly calm. “You are bold and passionate, but do not mistake my interest for tolerance of your poor behavior. You ought to show a little respect, especially after you’ve seen what I can do.”

When her back bumped into the altar, she squeaked and looked behind her to steady herself. At a warm breath on her cheek, Charlotte whipped back around to see the demon, Alastor he had called himself, with his face inches from hers. Waiting. He was waiting. For what? She replayed his words back. She had seen what he could do? That abhorrent grin widened as realization dawned in her midnight eyes. Katie.

Before the words even passed her lips he responded, “Yes, your spindly friend. Not quite as flexible as she looked, I’m afraid. Not nearly as tasty either.”

Moving faster than her eyes could detect, he placed her on the sturdy table, and continued pressing in close until she lay back upon it, and the monster licked his lips as he gazed at her. Contentedly, leisurely, he let his senses familiarize themselves with every detail of her. How her soft, plump thighs parted innocently as he forced himself between them; how her thin, flat waist complimented the swell of her hips and upward to her perfect, full breasts which looked so tantalizing under the flimsy nightdress. All the way up to her angelic face, and he smirked to have found such a lamb within his den.

“Now you, on the other hand,” he paused to lean fully over her, enjoying the way her body felt against his. “You look stunningly delicious.”

“Ar-Are you going to kill me, devil?” She whispered, doing her best to not crumble in a fit of despair, vivid memories of Katie’s demise running past her vision.

“Alastor,” he corrected sharply, as though he hated the sound of condemnation in her voice. Arching his back, he lifted off her slightly, gazing down again. “No, little church mouse, there are many other splendid things to do together this evening.”

Roughly, his claws pushed her thighs wider, lifting her skirt aside, and in a lightning-fast motion, he squatted for a quick taste of her most private place, the action rewarded by a quick gasp from the saccharine blonde, then smoothly stood again. Undoing his belt and parting his robe, he unashamedly freed his body for her view. The hair he had on his body looked more like the downy fur of an animal, perhaps a deer, dense upon his chest, then tapering into a thinner line down his abdomen, only to thicken again at the base of his… oh no.

“N-No, you mustn’t!” The sister protested, sitting up, only to be pushed harshly back down as he rubbed the bulbous tip of his cock against her entrance.

While proportional to his size, the member was enormous, and she did not doubt that it would split her in half to attempt at mating. His left hand moved up her thigh to play with her folds, pulling keening music from the girl, while the other slid down from her shoulder to palm a sensitive breast, pinching her pebbling nipple. Her face blistered, her body felt uncomfortably warm, and she writhed on the slab at the mercy of the sensations previously unknown to her.

“Oh yes. Yes, I’m afraid we must,” Alastor chuckled. “As a matter of fact, I can think of nothing else better to do on a Sunday evening than deflowering a pretty, little nun on an altar of worship.”

Whatever she wanted to say, whatever she could say, died in her throat as he thrust into her and all she felt was full. He kissed her as she screamed, arching into him, the pain of her maidenhead tearing and the pressure of his manhood piercing her open mixing with a forbidden pleasure. The demon plundered her mouth greedily, swirling his tongue with hers as he waited for her to adjust and still. When at last she did, he lifted himself slightly above her.

“Put away your chastity vows, sister, for they mean nothing now,” he mocked, testing her readiness with a thrust and grinning when he felt her juices ease the way. “Enjoy me, my sweet. Enjoy.”

Like a beast in rut, he pounded into her with hungry abandon, egotistical pride flaring across his face as he watched her stomach swell to accommodate his largeness. Charlotte waited for the pain to fade, so she could at least allow her body a reprieve against the assault, but the monster was so massive, puncturing her so deep that she thought she might fall apart. Midnight eyes misting, she looked up helplessly to his, and an odd look flickered in luminescent gaze. Slowing, he cupped her face, his palm nearly big enough to hold her whole face, and lightly he brushed his thumb over her forehead, and suddenly the agony evaporated.

What remained was indescribable, and she hated her body for reacting so willfully to the violation. Every thrust had her mewling needily, her body singing as he continued to hit sensitive spots within her tight pussy. It had been ages since she had even touched herself, the shame of the act enough to keep her desires at bay, but this man—no, this creature, unleashed those buried urges within and like a dam, they came rushing to the surface.

“O-Oh! AHN! Puh-Please-OH!” The blonde hiccupped, her breasts bouncing wildly with their fornication.

Lowering himself again, he reached out with a finger to play with her clit, chuckling when she arched her back with a wanton moan.

“I’ve never had a human before, darling,” he groaned, voice rough with want. “You are flawless. So beautiful, so tight, so wet, and so willing to be mounted. It took barely any persuasion to spread your legs for me. A lovely little whore for me, aren’t you?”

Tears pricked her eyes at his words, yet her body melted, lust tying her body in desperate knots.

“N-No I-AH-I’m n-not, y-you DEMON!” Charlotte bit out, pressing her hips up to take more of him and encourage more pressure against the sensitive bundle of nerves he played with.

Bellowing menacingly he set a bruising pace, his corporeal form fraying at the ends as he seemed partially cast into shadow, only his intense eyes looking down on her angrily.

“Alastor,” he reminded, snapping his hips viciously against hers and smirking at her pathetic yelps. “Say it!”

Inferno hellfire burned her body inside out, and oh, she wanted it. Wetting her lips, an action he followed with those evocative eyes, she tried to speak, but all that tumbled from her was a series of immodest mewls and gasps.

“Say it!” He roared, his powerful voice echoing with such a force it shook the whole chapel.

“A-Alastor…” She finally forced out, and she hated herself for how the unmasked delight that painted on his face only heightened her arousal.

“Again, my gorgeous little church mouse,” he hummed more quietly this time. “Scream my name again. Let everyone hear what an obedient, sweet slut you are. Tell them who you belong to, darling.”

“Alastor…OOOh-Oh! Ala-Alastor!” She gasped his name like a prayer, over and over, rolling her hips as she felt him claim her utterly. “Alastor! AL-AHN-ALASTOR!”

Cresting over her peak, she tossed her head back, arching several inches off the table and screaming his name as her body clamped down on his. Wave after glorious wave of pleasure unleashed, cascading against her as she rode out her orgasm, and when he flooded her womb with his hot seed, she felt fulfilled in a way she could not describe. Falling back down to reality, slumber finally began to take her, eyelids heavy as she tried to blink and focus on Alastor.

Kissing her once more, he smiled something almost tender. “Sleep now and dream of me.” And she did.

+++

Quiet settled between the two blondes as they shared pastries and tea, the mid-morning sun streaming gently through the soft, puffy clouds. No matter what Charlotte said or did, she could not pull Tom from his grief. She could not really blame him; Katie had been his everything. And what comfort could she give? Dark were her own thoughts, shame deep in her marrow knowing that she had let Katie’s killer, a demon, rape her. Alastor’s touch still lingered after scrubbing herself raw in the blistering shower. Father Moreau had innocently teased her for using up all the hot water; she cried on the walk into town. Reaching a hand tentatively across the table, she let out a breath when his bony hand up covered hers in a delicate squeeze.

“Thank you…for being here Charlotte,” his voice was so raspy, as if he had swallowed sand and she supposed she had not been the only one who had wept today. “It must be hard for you, having been the one to…to…”

Turning his head away in attempt to hide the misting of his eyes, she relieved him of needing to finish his sentence.

“Thank you for letting me be here. I feel so guilty, Tom. Maybe if I had gotten there sooner…maybe I c-could hav—”

“No!” He interrupted sharply, refocusing on her, a determined set to his jaw. “You would have only died along with her.”

Sliding her chair closer, the sister leaned in. “I think we may be dealing with a devil, Tom,” she whispered, her head lowered and eyes searching their surroundings for signs of eavesdroppers. “A very dangerous one.”

Nodding, he pulled some paper from his inner breast pocket, holding it out so she could see some of the handwritten notes.

“These are some of the key pieces Katie and I put together on researching events,” he frowned deeply, a scowl darkening his fair features as he stared at the notes. “Editor threw the bulk of what we wrote in the trash, said he wasn’t going anywhere near the story on account of he doesn’t want anyone else to end up like Katie. Well, I say the only way to make this madness stop is to get to the bottom of it.”

Memories of Katie’s corpse washed to the forefront of her mind, quickly followed by the monster’s invasive touch on and in her, and shivers crept along her skin.

“I’ll help in any way I can,” she readily agreed.

Shooting to his feet, he held a hand out to her, “C’mon then, Charlotte. We’ve got work to do.”

Over the next several days she spent dawn until dusk with Tom, researching historical articles, family trees, obituaries, anything they could get their hands on. Combined with the preliminary work done before Katie’s death, they began to put together the strange happenings started around 50 years ago, back when the town was at the height of its success, with the first disappearance occurring late in the winter. Initially, though strange, they were not marked as anything overly odd, and it was not until the years progressed, when multiple people throughout the annum were reported missing, that the village leadership really began to take notice. Sprinkled throughout the articles were also tales of hysterics from witnesses, claiming to have seen the bodies or a demon like creature, only for later investigations to have turned up nothing, and many, especially in the early days, had been shipped off to bedlam for their insane ramblings.

The tone in the news shifted drastically as the plight wore on and degenerated. More disappearances, more victims, and more bedlamites claiming to have seen the devil himself torture and kill innocents. What had originally triggered the events was not clear, but some trends had been identified in the senseless ramblings of the observers’ accounts of the monster. It was always portrayed as a giant among men; horned, yet not the prongs of a goat, but with the antlers of a buck; coated in shadows as black as pitch; razor sharp fangs. It made Charlotte shudder at the clarity with which she saw all these features and more in the memory of an unwanted lover’s embrace.

 “It’s the why of it I don’t understand, Charlotte,” Tom finally said one evening, exhausted after another day of pouring over tomes, and they sat at an aged table in the library. “What’s the impetus for all of this? Did someone summon it? There’s nothing about witchcraft or similar ne'er-do-wells described in the paper, and with the way they jumped all over those early witnesses, I can only trust they would have outed problems like that in the community very readily. So why did it come, and why here?”

Laying her bare, golden head atop her folded hands that rest upon the table, having opted to leave her habit at the church today, and she sighed dejectedly, “There may not be a reason, Tom. Scriptures tell us of ghosts that are attracted to places from their past or monsters lured to certain auras or locations.”

When she yawned, he gave her a fond smile. “All right, little sister, let’s get you home.”

Laughing as she swayed tiredly to her feet, they walked arm in arm back to the church. Usually he took time to walk her home in the afternoon, even if some light yet lingered in the sky. ‘Just in case’ he would tell her. Tonight, however, they had worked much later than expected, the full moon casting everything in a milky glow. On the trek, they discussed more light-hearted things, to take their minds off the frightening things they had read during the day, or the unsettling feeling of passing by the eyes of the forest.

At her door, as always, he wished her a good night, and she bolted the door, pointedly ignoring the desecrated altar as she passed to her room. When she began to empty her pockets and bag, she realized she still had their shared notebook, an heirloom of Katie’s, and something Tom typically kept. Without a second thought, she rushed back out the door to catch him, knowing he could not have gotten far.

What met her was an empty pathway, unblemished countryside caressed by gentle wind and fair moonlight, and not a soul for as far as her eyes could see. Running about a quarter way along the road, she paused a bit as she called his name, she looked everywhere, her heart frantic.

“HELP!” A shout so far in the distance it was barely a whisper.

Sharply she turned and blood ran cold as she saw bent grass all the way to the tree line, as though something had been dragged, as though someone had been taken. Though fear gripped her tightly she hesitated not one moment before throwing herself forward at a breakneck speed.

“Tom! TOM!” Screaming his name over and over, desperate for any signs of him, and occasionally she would hear his voice again, calling her name, and she did all she could to follow his voice.

Branches, trees, and bushes flew by as she made her way through the dense brush as quickly as she could, fear building in her as she neared the sound of a body being pulled along, the thuds, cracks, and endless shouts for aid chilling her to the very core. A misstep, her foot caught by a root, and she went tumbling down a small hill. At the bottom, bruised and dirty, she lay panting, her hot breath puffing warm clouds in front of her vision. Several yards ahead of her, there was a small clearing, where the moonlight erupted clear and true, allowing for terrifying clarity of the events unfolding in front of her eyes. There, in the sanctum of the wood, a great shadow with glowing red eyes and tentacle-like wisps of black smoke swirled and entangled Tom, who even from this distance she could tell was already beaten and bloody.

Shrieks of unimaginable pain left his throat as the demon began slicing into him with weapons of shade, sinking those tentacles deep into his flesh to pull him apart limb from limb. Bloodcurdling wails mingled with sickening pops, snaps, and cracks, followed by the wet sounds of organs, and an evil creature feasting on its prey.

“N-No…,” she whimpered, tears cascading down her scratched face, midnight eyes wide and horrified at the sight. “NO! TOOOM! No, no, no, nononononoNO!”

When bright red eyes glanced quickly to her direction, she froze, vision swimming as it crept nearer, its body like a great beast and head covered in bone, and when it was upon her she fainted into darkness.

+++

Despair took hold within her and she did little else but eat, sleep, and cry. Father Moreau tried to cheer her up with conversation, and Vaggie even braved her fear of the church and the priest within to visit and bring her tidings from the town and Husk. What little energy she had she spared for them, to smile and given tired assurances she would be fine, but as soon as she was by herself again, the tears and dreams would settle in again. The night terrified her, terrified her to the point where she kept candles burning until the morning’s light, then and only then would she try to sleep. No less than four days and nights passed this way, and perhaps even more time might have passed if she bothered to keep counting.

Across the church, through her open bedroom door, a quiet, melodic noise reached her one evening, and her ears perked at the sound. Willing herself off the bed, in her pink night gown and bare feet she followed it. As she approached the altar and opposite hallway, she realized it was singing, the minister was singing. It was beyond beautiful. His rich voice wove expertly around each note and verse, as though it was as natural to him as breathing, and it took her until the kitchen threshold to realize it was the same song she had sung the first day after she arrived at the church. When the floorboards creaked under her weight, the priest, who appeared to be making pastries, glanced over and offered a wink as he continued his work and tune.

Touched, her eyes flooding with tears, she softly added her voice to his, an enchanting harmony bursting into the air, and she was able to forget her woes. For a few minutes, she attempted to help him with the baking, only to end up with more flour on the table and her nose than the bowls, and with joy and mirth, they gave up the task to indulge in a dance. This, she thought to herself, must be heaven, dancing in the small galley, with the handsome man who was trying so desperately to lift her spirits that he had gone to the trouble to bake her favorite treats.

When at last they stilled, she remained in his arms, looking into those pure amber eyes with unfiltered affection and adoration. “Thank you, father.”

Kissing a bit of flour from her nose and earning a deep blush from the blonde in his arms, he smiled back. “Now that is a smile I haven’t seen in a while. How dark the world had become without your sunshine, my dear.”

“I appreciate you being so kind, it means more to me than you could possibly know. I have been such a failure,” she whispered, leaning into his embrace. “Why couldn’t I save them?”

“Darling, I may not share the town’s superstitions, but I know one thing is for certain.” Patiently he placed a finger under her chin until her eyes returned to his. “You are not to blame.”

There was an earnestness to his eyes, a promise she didn’t understand, but she downcast her face, unwilling to believe even him. After all, saving this village was her mission, her one goal, her purpose. Large hands cupped her face and he lowered his face until they were nose to nose.

“It is not your fault, Charlotte,” he repeated, and this close she could see the flecks of green in his irises and smell the touch of mint on his breath. Oh, how she wanted him to kiss her.

Suddenly he pulled back, soft red dusting on his own features, and he hurried to tidy up the kitchen as an excuse to put some space between them.

“Please don’t worry about cleaning, father,” she interjected, trying to bury her feelings. “Since you have been taking such good care of me, this is the least I can do.”

Straightening, he smiled, though his eyes didn’t meet hers. “As you wish, darling. Thank you kindly. Please do not stay up too late.”

After he all but fled the room, she giggled to herself. Perhaps her crush wasn’t as one sided as she had originally supposed. Just the thought made her light and warm all over. Mother Superior would have been furious, but it was just impossible for her to control the lovesick feeling in her heart.

Giddy off idealistic daydreams of romantic picnics, candlelit dinners, and days filled with music, she went about the task of housework. In the haze of her happiness, she had failed to notice the dark smoke rising from the floorboards, swirling around her feet as she spun playfully to the cabinets to replace freshly cleaned dishes. This way and that she swayed, singing their song softly again, eyes closed as she envisioned his embrace.

“What a lovely voice you have,” remarked a cool, calculated one. “And you look positively twitterpated, my dear. Say you have not lost interest in me so easily, or I shall be wounded beyond repair.”

Like a bucket of ice water dumped on her head, she immediately recoiled, her attention drawn to the small breakfast table where Alastor’s tall body laid languidly in one chair, his feet propped up on the other. As if his presence wasn’t enough to make her ill, her stomach sank as she noticed a bloody piece of raw meat in one hand as he idly chewed. Raising a shaking finger, her lips parted to ask the question, but no words came out.

“No one you know, little church mouse,” the demon grinned, taking another deliberate bite. She thought she might vomit.

“You are a monster,” she snipped under her breath, fists clenched at her sides as large tears drops streamed down her sweet face. “I hate you.”

If her vision had not been so terribly blurred, she might have seen the almost undetectable wince, but she didn’t and his voice remained ever cruel and condescending, as if she was too stupid to understand his joke.

“Come now, Charlotte, don’t be a child,” he bit back, standing and stalking closer. “Even ‘monsters’ need to eat. That there are even people alive in this pathetic hamlet is a testament to my control.”

Stepping close to her until her waist pressed to the counter, Alastor used her momentary distraction to lift her and set her upon it. Even at the elevated height, the tip of her angelic blonde head came barely to his chin. This close, she could feel her body heat and respond to him, memories of the passionate rendezvous from so many nights ago returning fresh in her mind.

Wetting her lips, she looked up at his dazzling ruby on garnet eyes, their flamelike glow reflecting off her own midnight irises. “W-Why Tom? Why couldn’t you have taken me?”

Ignoring her first question, those luminescent orbs widened in interest. “Are you offering yourself to me?”

Dipping his head down, he delighted in her quiet gasp as he licked her luxurious neck and widened his jaws around the tender flesh until the razor tipped teeth nearly broke the skin. After a pregnant pause, he pulled away slightly, grin apparent in his tone, though she could not see his face.

“No,” he hummed, amused. “No, you, my little church mouse, can entertain me in other ways.”

Helping himself to the indulgence before him, he peppered her throat with more long licks and tender kisses, even nipping gently and sucking until she bruised. Already he could smell her innocent arousal, and he tugged roughly at her gown to access her quickly. When shy hands lifted to his hair, running through his locks and wandering curiously to his sensitive antlers and ears, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

Squeaking in nervous surprise when he groaned and wrapped an arm around her to pull her tightly to him, she dropped her hands into mock surrender. Lifting his head, she was stunned to see the way his eyes glistened with lust, pupils blown wide and eyelids heavy. Was this how she made him feel?

“Touch me, Charlotte,” the devil encouraged, his voice a rich molasses that made something in her stomach twist, as he guided her hands back to him. “Explore to your curious heart’s content.”

With his approval, she resumed her ministrations, the pads of her fingers traveling over the silken fur of his large, animal-like ears, the rough ridges of his antlers, and the fine strands of his long hair. When he rest his forehead between her breasts, long arms secured around her to keep her close, she smiled in wonder. Though when he made a strange rumble in his chest and throat, that so reminded her of purring, she giggled.

One of his large ears flicked in agitation, “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” she laughed, doing her best to control herself. “You sound like an overgrown cat is all.”

Ignoring the unflattering comparison, he lifted his head up, their noses almost touching, as he studied her face.

“You’ve…never smiled at me before,” he whispered, a detached sound as if he was in awe.

Blushing furiously, her hands withdrew to cover her cheeks, doe eyes trapped by his. “W-Well…in my defense, you have been quite the brute…”

“You’re breathtaking,” Alastor mumbled, sealing their mouths together.

Wasting not a second, he pressed her against the cabinetry while his tongue lapped hungrily at hers, his bold hands sliding up her nightdress and raising gooseflesh from how delicately those dangerous claws glided along her soft skin. When he reached her waist, he tugged her to his arousal, grinding against the thin piece of fabric covering her entrance. The motion was enough and tore her from the distraction of his talented mouth, gasping loudly as he easily ripped her underwear to shreds.

“You may protest, if you like,” Alastor offered, his voice low and honeyed, yet dripping with arrogance. “But I’ll still have you, darling.”

Doing her best to push him away, she still resisted the inevitable. “No, please no! Not again. I’m a good woman and you…you’re a monster who has been killing people!” Panic creeped into her voice, a subtle vibrato as she watched helplessly as he released himself and positioned between her parted thighs. She did not want this!

Kissing her along her neck, then below her ear, he chuckled ruthlessly.

“You are good, sweetheart,” he praised, driving into her and groaning at the feel of her, a wide grin on his face as he watched her belly bulge a little to accommodate him. “So, so, good.”

Burying her face against his broad chest, she clung to him as he hammered into her, the relentless pace leaving her breathless and body aching. Their size difference meant she was nearly split in two on his girth, and though her body tried desperately to lubricate and ease the passage, it was still a shocking mixture of pain and pleasure. Tilting her hips slightly to find a better angle, she mewled at the depth and fullness it allowed, and above her there was an answering moan. One large hand gripped her ass, pulling her close, while the other braced behind her to increase their pace.

“Such a tight sheath for me, little church mouse,” he grunted, his voice already unsteady. “Heavens…you are bliss.”

Slowly she wrapped her arms around his neck, her traitorous body blossoming under his aggressive touch. He was a devil, a monster. She had seen the horrendous atrocities he had committed, yet so easily he undid her, made her want to abandon all religion and yield herself to him like a doe in heat. How could such evil turn her so willingly into a jezebel?

Leaning her face next to his and tilting her lips toward those perceptive ears she panted, “Wh-Why me, Ala-AH-Alastor? Why must you do this t-to me?”

Laughing softly, he slowed only long enough wrap her legs about his waist before continuing to thrust.

“Me?” The demon guffawed, hovering his lips just over hers. “You are the enchantress here, little one. What have you done to me?”

Thudding loudly against the wood, their movements caused lewd creaks and moans of the old furniture not built to withstand such rigorous activities. Readily she spread her legs wider, pulling him closer with her feet hooked behind his back, and she leaned back against her palms, head lolling to the side. Every thrust had that obscenely large cock beating into her womb, each stroke filling her sensitive, needy pussy. Heaven forgive her, she was addicted to this.

“Look at you,” Alastor groaned, kissing along her exposed collarbone and suckling at her covered nipples. “Am I so talented, or are you so easily swayed by devilish desires?”

Running her fingers through that odd ruby and obsidian silk of his mane, she arched into his exploration of her breasts. No one had ever touched her like this, gave her pleasure like this.

“Yes, you best hold on, Charlotte,” Alastor laughed again as her small hand gripped a horn when he began to pound harder into her. “Let’s see how much you can take.”

At the warning, her dark eyes darted to his face, only to roll back into her skull as he doubled his pace, forced himself so deep inside her she thought she might burst, and she became a mumbling, screaming mess. They chased release together, though she crested first, gripping both his antlers and shouting his name. He tumbled not a second afterward, his movements stilted as the vice that wrapped around him milked his seed.

Nuzzling into her chest as he caught his breath, his cock still twitching inside her, he took time to breathe in her sweet scent, and she thought she had never seen the imposing demon look so close to peaceful.

“If you wish to protect those pathetic creatures in the town,” Alastor remarked snidely, “then come to me in the evenings and give me something else to focus on.”

“You said you needed to eat,” Charlotte responded sleepily, rubbing her eyes to stay awake.

Lifting her easily into his arms, he kissed the top of her head.

“Indeed I do,” he agreed. “But you are the first interesting thing that has wandered into my path since I was trapped on earth, and I do not overly mind missing a meal or two.”

The journey to her bedroom was quick with his long strides, and in a blink she was upon her mattress and pillow, with a blanket over her form. As he went to pull away, her hand reached out for his and gave it a little squeeze.

“Are…are you trapped?” She mumbled, fighting to stay awake. “Maybe I…maybe…I could…help you?”

Kissing her lips once more, he smiled knowingly. “Yes, you will, darling.”

+++

A few weeks passed with a new routine. Each morning she would worship and break her fast with the priest, exchanging shy, flirtatious glances every now and again. Then she would spend most of her afternoons at the bar with Husk and Vaggie, or at the library continuing her research. But her nights, oh her nights, how drastically they had changed. Even on the evenings where she would not seek out that devilish creature, he would come to her, and make her cry and moan, feel until she could take no more, fill her to the brink, and then disappear into the twilight. Though she was sleeping less, she always woke incredibly refreshed in the morning. Alastor had teased her that all she needed was a little nighttime ‘activity’ for restful sleep. She hated how right he had been, and how arrogant he had sounded while saying it. However unclean she felt, being used so regularly by the monster who had brought so much ruin to the town she desperately wanted to save, Charlotte felt bolstered for the lack of attacks, as though she was able to keep the wolf distracted and away from the sheep.

One bright morning, the shining sun broke unburdened upon a crystalline blue sky, the father emerged from his quarters in a finely pressed collared shirt and denim pants that hugged his figure so well she blushed. It was the first time, in her months in the town she had ever seen him outside his religious garments. Approaching him in her yellow dress and blue sweater, she smiled encouragingly.

“This is new, father. What is the occasion, if I may ask?” She asked, dark eyes darting over his attire.

“You may,” he teased, then offered her his arm, smiling broadly when her small hand readily lay upon the crook of his elbow. “I need to go into town for a few things. Besides, it gets frightfully lonely without your cheerful personality, so though it may be a sin, today I will allow myself to be selfish and spend some more time with you.”

Swallowing a squeal, the blonde hid her face in his arm as he laughed. “Oh, you torment me so!” She giggled, tugging him gently to the door. “I am glad of your company.”

The scenic stroll to the village was more pleasant than any she could remember. Never once did that familiar unease wash over her, the unsettling awareness of the forest noticeably absent. Or perhaps it was there and she simply had not the mind to acknowledge it, pleased as she was to have the charming priest at her side.

Upon arriving at the bar, he parted from her, citing other obligations, though he promised to come back for her soon. So lovestruck was she, that she barely registered the way any patrons immediately escaped the tavern when she entered, or the way Husk and Vaggie watched her warily as she settled on a bar stool.

“What the hell is he doing here, Charlotte?” Vaggie snapped, her eye flickering to the still swinging doors.

Surprised, the blonde looked to her friend. “He said he had some errands to run and wanted to spend more time with me. He’s so sweet!”

“Kid, dat monster ain’t sweet,” Husk growled, the urgency in his tone tearing from her rose-colored reverie.

Furrowing her brows, she looked between the two of them, an accusation in her dark eyes. “Why are you saying these things? Father has been nothing but kind and hospitable to me, yet you act as if he was the very thing plaguing this community!”

“SHH!” The shorter woman hissed. “He is the thing ‘plaguing this community’. Don’t you find it odd that he’s the only one that refuses to accept what’s going on around here?”

On impulse, she almost blurted out that she knew they were not one in the same, having interacted with both, nearly at the same time when she first stumbled upon the beast. Wisely, she held her tongue. Though she loved her friends dearly, and deeply desired to save the town, she worried what they might think, or worse, what they might do, if they found out she had not only encountered the creature but also yielded her flesh to him on a thin brokerage for a temporary peace.

“It is strange, I’ll grant you, but that’s hardly a reason to put blame on him!” Charlotte whispered back.

Sliding an empty glass across the counter away from them, the older man leaned in close, “Kid he never goes anywhere. Always stays up in dat church house, never says a word, people barely see ‘em, but one thing’s for certain…” He paused a moment and looked around as if the very walls themselves might have ears, before lowering his voice further. “He’s always been there; for generations and ain’t never aged.”

“Wh-What?” The sister stuttered. “That’s ridiculous, Husker. Father Moreau can’t be older than 35 years.”

“There’s been a Father Moreau in that church since at least my grandmother’s time,” Vaggie pointed out.

It was beyond ridiculous, these accusations being made, but she had no ready response.

“Ya need ta stay away from ‘im, Charlotte,” Husk warned, his large hands settling on her shoulders with a firm shake. “Dat demon’ll kill ya next if ya ain’t careful!”

Before she had a chance to inquire further, the saloon doors swung on their hinges, and they all went deadly still. Turning slowly in her seat, the sister did her best to smile around the strange nervousness she felt bubbling up inside her. There was an almost imperceptible shift in the man’s amber eyes as he approached the trio, his smile sharp and eyes narrowed, as though he were a cobra ready to strike.

“Goodness me, not many customers taking part of your good spirits, hmm barkeep?” The priest asked rhetorically, tawny gaze fixed on the blonde. “Come sister, let us return home.”

It was Husk’s hand on her arm, moreso than Vaggie’s protective step forward, that bolstered her courage, and though she was not truly afraid of the man before her, not believing a word of the superstition, the drastic change in his aura was terrifying.

“I-If it’s all the same to you, father, I’d like to stay here awhile,” she insisted, sounding more confident than she felt. “To … continue my research,” she added weakly as an afterthought.

Something almost cruel crept into his grin, though she could not place it, and he offered her his arm. “Then allow me to escort you to the library, my darling. A bar is certainly no place for you.”

Tossing a quick farewell with what she hoped was a comforting smile, she placed her hand on the minister’s elbow and hurried to keep up as he led her away. Charlotte did her best to put her friends’ worrisome faces from her mind, and focus on keeping her feet and wits about her. They said nothing on the way, and he supplied naught but a curt parting and quickly left her to do his business. Where to, she could not tell, but the chill she felt in his presence still lingered along her spine.

Shaking her head clear, she dove into the volumes and digests available to her. Diving into the musty books, she read late into the afternoon, her focus drifting to the village’s resident records, though everything seemed to stubbornly omit any mention of clergy. In her heart, the blonde knew the devil that terrorized and murdered at will could not be the same as the mild-mannered and gentle priest and yet… there was some lingering doubt that pushed her forward. The conundrum rattled her brain as she left the library and wandered through the main square.

Dusk was settling in as she made to return to the church, the streets nearly deserted all day from the mere presence of Father Moreau. Superstition, she told herself. Truth, her heart whispered fearfully back.

Hurrying her pace, the pub caught her eyes, and perhaps seeking an excuse to delay her return, she veered off course. Talking through things with the older barkeep might help put her at ease. Help him to understand he had nothing to fear from the minister.

Uncommonly dark, there was an odd quietness about the old building that left her feeling uneasy. Floorboards creaking overly loud in the silence made her jump, and it was not until she reached to push open the saloon doors that she took note of a dark substance along the grain. Thick and dripping, she touched a finger to it. It was very warm, and as she brought it closer to her eyes it turned from black to garnet and a now-familiar panic started building in the pit of her stomach. This was blood.

Immediately she pressed into the space, tripping and stumbling blindly over haphazardly placed chairs, upturned tables, broken dishes, and spilled liquor.

“Husker?” She called, near hysteria. “HUSKER?!”

A scuffle, sounds of resistance, of boxes or other large objects being thrown around and she was almost at the office door.

“S-STAY AWAY, CHARLOTTE!” Husk called out, his voice ragged and exhausted. “RUN!!”

Run she did, but towards him, not away. Flying through the back office of the tavern, where an overturned desk lay splintered and ruined upon a floor scattered with papers, she found everything spattered with blood. All the way to the door leading out the back of the structure she ran, out into the dark where the garbage was kept and further beyond led to the open expanse of a creeping forest.

Heart beating wildly in her chest, breath short, her dark eyes took a minute to make sense of what she saw. On the ground lay Husk, his salt and pepper hair in disarray, matted in some places due to an unseen wound that leaked copious amount of blood down his haggard face. Deep claw marks rent angry slashes across his chest, leaving his skin and clothing in near rags. One leg looked bent at peculiar angle, seemingly dead weight when he moved to crawl along the gravel road. Alastor was nowhere in sight, though she did not doubt he was close.

Rushing to Husk, she flung herself to the ground, pulling off her sweater and pressing it to his chest to attempt to stop the bleeding. Tears, unbidden, streamed down her cheeks as she sobbed quietly.

“No, no, no,” she mumbled over and over like a mantra until the older man gripped her sternly by the shoulder.

“Told….t-told ya to get outta here kid,” he grumbled, as if the very action of speaking took an alarming amount of energy and focus.

“Please no, Husker. You’ll be fine. I’m here now,” she promised. Neither of them believed her.

“What an honor, my little church mouse,” came a lilting, grisly voice from behind her, the sound such a harsh, punishing thing that it killed her brief hope as she felt her heart grow cold in an instant. “You came to join me for dinner!”

Laughter neither jovial nor pleasant rang through the air, turned into a demonic cackle that rotted her soul. Turning around, she saw him. Tall and cloaked in shadow, he strolled forward until the moonlight caressed the edges of his being. The glow of his scarlet eyes menacing and the twisted amusement he found in this predicament sent her nerves on edge.

“Le-Leave him alone, Alastor!” Charlotte shouted, the bravado in her voice wilting quickly. “D-DO NOT TOUCH HIM!”

The demon merely chuckled in response.

“Y-You know him?” Husk asked brokenly and the frost in her heart renewed.

Suddenly whisps of smoke curled around her body, lifting her into the air as she tried to cling to the bartender, setting her down within the arms of the creature. The way he looked at her, as though he had triumphed, his mouth and hands bloodied, terrified her.

“Oh, she knows me intimately well, my good fellow,” he purred and before she could protest, he slammed their lips together, the gore upon his mouth making them slide and slip clumsily, releasing her with a loud pop, a look of smug satisfaction painting his features at seeing her perfect face smeared with blood. “Has kept me quite entertained during the night, in fact, if you follow me.”

Squirming in his hold, she stilled for a moment, before her gaze snapped back to Husk.

“Wait, do you know Alastor too, Husker?” Her heart sank when the man refused to meet her eyes.

“Oh, my sweet, naive little church mouse,” the monstrous demon cooed. “You think you’re the only human that I’ve come across that hasn’t ended up in my belly? Why, you’d be surprised at how many have all but welcomed my presence!”

Confused, pitch black eyes bounced between the two men, before settling on Husk’s form; he did not meet her eyes.

“H-Husker?”

“I ha’ to!” The man ground out, shame now mingling with the pain in his gravelly voice. “I… I-I needed ta know Tony was taken care of…”

Finally, yielding to her pitiful struggling, the large demon set the petite nun down, and she approached the crumpled man cautiously.

“What do you mean?” She asked gently, hands outstretched, but not touching.

Cruel laughter echoed ominously throughout their surroundings, but when she looked back Alastor was gone. Suddenly a hand gripped her wrist.

Husk leaned forward, his eyes frantic. “Ya gotta get outta here. Stay away from him! He ain’t no good; ain’t what he says he is! There ain’t no helpin’ da town, just get out!”

Everything had gone so quiet around them that the wind whispering through the trees and every crack of twig from deep within the forest resounded loudly in their ears. Then a rumbling bellow shook the very earth until the ground cracked and even the brick of the nearby buildings chipped and crumpled. Like newborn babes, they shook upon wobbling limbs, Charlotte falling to her knees and encircling her arms around the older man’s broad shoulders. She meant to protect him, but when her sleeves soaked through with Husk’s blood, she began to realize how out of reach that goal might have been. She needed to find him medical attention right away.

As if reading her mind to seek help, the land splintered open under the constant reverberation, and from the yawning abyss countless ebony tentacles sprouted. All around them a veritable jungle of all shapes and sizes, the fleshy limbs thrashed about, pummeling and pounding all that was near them into dust. One gripped her by her ankles, holding her upside down and aloft in the air, her screaming lost among the groans and cries of the earth breaking upon the onslaught of demonic power. With what energy she had, she clawed at it, shouting blindly for Husk.

At length she was placed roughly down outside what she now saw was a ring of the strange feelers that had enveloped where they had sat hunched. She pushed her way forward, forcing an arm through or a leg, but like a labyrinth, she never made any progress, always remaining on the outside. But, oh, she could still see. Inside the circle, the bartender had been pierced messily through each shoulder and suspended a few yards above the ground as a bloodred-colored beast approached. Walking like a man, but with the body and fur of a deer, and his head looking more like it was made of bone than flesh. As with Tom, she was offered a clear view of the carnage Alastor wrought, and it was with those jagged, bone teeth it tore into the man’s body, ripping and rending piece by piece, saving the vital organs for last to keep him alive for as long as possible.

All this she watched, crying as she wailed Husk’s name over and over until her voice was hoarse and useless from the activity. Charlotte watched as her friend was tortured and murdered, bearing witness to every gory moment of his slow, agonizing death. It was only once the monster had begun feeding in earnest, and there was more meat left of the man than anything else, that she ran away.

Storm clouds that had been gathering overhead opened to an angry rainstorm and it was that dark sky alone which observed her escape. Aimless, raw, and near frenzy she ran through the valley and into the forest, under the thick boughs with her unbearable sorrow. Extreme violence upon innocents, precious lives lost. What had her days of offering her body to the devil wrought but barely an extension, a delay of the inevitable, violent destruction? She had changed nothing.

Mind reeling, tears lost among the raindrops, and no intended destination that when her toe caught on a heavy boulder she lost her footing immediately, falling onto more rocks. Laying amongst the stones, mud, and puddles, the moonlight a mere soft flicker, she thought about staying here, forgotten within the trees, allowing herself to drown or starve. Stay down, she told herself; give up. Her eyelids were so heavy.

Lightning crashed across the sky, illuminating the space around her and, blinking, she discovered she had stumbled into a graveyard, a forgotten one if the overgrown flora and ruined state of the gravestones were any indication. Curiosity getting the best of her, she trembled to her feet, her body abused, bloody, dirty, and soaked to the bone, but at least she stood. Weaving amongst the headstones, she idly read the names whenever a blink of lightning brightened the area. Large, elaborate markers intermingled with small, modest ones, in what seemed like almost an entire village. Yet, why had it been abandoned? She was almost to the last row, the very edge of the hidden cemetery within the wood, when a flash lit an epitaph that made her pause. Shaking her head as the world dimmed, she approached the modest burial. Like ants under her skin, adrenaline drew her exhausted body to a fever pitch, bouncing on her heels as she waited for another strike of lightning. Bright light, clapping thunder, a name she had grown to love.

Fr. James Moreau

Dead for about 50 years. Fifty years of terror from a demon masquerading as a priest who had long since left this astral plane. The town had all been right. Her world went dark as she fell across the grave.

+++

Sunlight creeping through the canopy followed by the sweet morning calls of birds ushered her back into the waking world. If it had not been for the stiffness she felt, she might have even welcomed it. The first blessed bits of wakefulness were spent hoping and praying it had all been a dream, yet when her eyes opened, glancing over to the headstone not but mere inches from her, the reality glared back at her.

A certain numbness seeped into her actions and it was perhaps the same broken compass she had used to find the concealed lichyard that allowed her to find her way back to the town. In early dawn, before residents had even broken their fast, she wandered to the back of the bar, tears beginning anew when it looked for all to see as if nothing had happened. As if there had not been an eldritch horror wreaking havoc yesterday. As if a man hadn’t been torn apart and taken his last breath here last night.

“Charlotte? Are you okay?” Asked a soft voice behind her.

Moving as if made of lead, she turned around, taking in Vaggie’s worried and bewildered expression. Undoubtedly she was here to help Husk open the bar. Husk.

“Oh, V-Vaggie!” She wept, covering her face in her hands as she bawled. “It got Husker. He’s…oh g-god, h-he’s gone!”

Gently, fingers wound with hers and she opened her bleary eyes to look upon her chestnut-skinned friend. There were silent tears welling in her one good coffee-colored eye, and the grief Charlotte found there only made her feel worse.

“H-He wouldn’t want us to cry and loiter his place while we ‘figure out our feelings’,” the shorter woman chuckled, trying to inject mirth in a humorless situation. “But what happened to you? You look as though you’ve been through hell and back again.”

Hell. Devil. Alastor. Father James Moreau.

“Vaggie!” The blonde said sharply, gripping the smaller woman sternly by the shoulders, earning her a gasp and raised eyebrow. “You can’t stay here in this town. It’s the priest! You were all right. He’s the—”

“There you are, my dear!” Chirped a bright, cheerful voice. “Gracious, I’ve been looking all over for you!”

Instantly, she retreated, pulling the raven-haired woman with her. He paused, tilting his head in confusion.

“Sister Charlotte, are you all right? Have you been dragged through the mud?” He reached a hand to her, but when she took another step away, he lowered it. “What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I know, father,” she answered hollowly. When he merely blinked in confusion, she repeated, “I know everything, Father Moreau.”

A slight pause, and then a grin so familiar to her, but not on his face, on a demon’s, framed by strange red and black hair, that smirk always in place while confidently and masterfully bedding her, which would turn twisted and cruel while he murdered her friends. And she had never felt so frightened.

“Well then, darling, I suggest you both come with me then,” he purred, his amber eyes glowing unnaturally in the morning sun.

Vaggie wriggled out of the other woman’s grip, placing herself between the clergy members.

“Hey pal, we don’t have to go anywhere with you!” She spat vehemently, standing her ground despite the severe height difference and not following their strange conversation in the slightest.

The handsome man paid her no mind, his eyes were for Charlotte alone. Without words he promised what would happen if she refused, expertly pulling on her delicate heart strings to obey.

Looking pleadingly at him, tears pricking her large, expressive eyes, she begged, “J-Just me. Just take me, father.”

Grin never faltering, it instead hitched up even higher in satisfaction. “Oh, I intend to, little church mouse,” and the nickname almost had her collapsing on her feet. “But, I’m afraid I will in fact require both of you.”

Without even turning to see if they followed, he proceeded back to the small chapel. The women said nothing as they followed at a distance, as though invisible bonds shackled them to him. Like their final march, they passed the cobblestone limits of the town, through the morning-warmed valley, the forest eerily quiet with the monster in plain sight, and into the small parish. With a graceful gesture he motioned for Vaggie to sit down while he offered a hand to Charlotte. A purposeful glance to their guest reminded her she had no choice, and she allowed him to pull her up the few steps to the altar, where his strange book laid open upon it.

“If you wish to save this pathetic town,” he whispered, keeping his focus on the mysterious tome as his fingers drew inkless symbols upon the pages. “Then you must keep your promise to help set me free. Gladly will I return to hell and leave them be.”

Skeptically, she looked up at him. “How?”

Widely he smiled, meeting her gaze sidelong. “You must marry me.”

For a moment, her vision blurred and all sound muted. It felt like she was underwater, and she wondered idly to herself if she had perhaps drowned in the muck yesterday evening and these were the last machinations of her failing brain. Searching for an anchor to cling to, her eyes darted about until they landed on the handwritten note upon the pages of the book she did not understand.

Banished to wander alone,

Only once bonded may you find home.

Willing or not at all,

Else forever shall thee roam.

In her stupor, understanding clicked.

“You cannot return to hell unless you have a willing bride.” It was not a question.

“One way or another, I will have you, Charlotte. But, this way, we all get what we want. Your town will be safe, you will have succeeded in your mission, and I will be free.” It was not an answer.

Pulling her eyes away from the pages she saw in his outstretch palm a ring made of dark obsidian, with a large ruby in its center, surrounded by smaller chocolate diamonds. If it had not held her doom, she might have marveled at its beauty.

Finally, she looked up into his face and though a lingering superiority remained, his eyes were serious, and his expression reminded her of their first meeting, an almost smile, which at the time she could not place and now realized contained a glimmer of hope.

“You must promise to let Vaggie go,” Charlotte said sternly, and only after he nodded, did she continue. “What do I have to do?”

Reaching around her shoulders he guided her right hand with his, drawing unseen symbols in a similar pattern as he had drawn earlier.

“She will go free, but every wedding requires a witness,” the demon bemused. “You will repeat after me, say ‘I do’ at the appropriate time, and then…”

Then he trailed off, releasing her hand and looking troubled. Before she could ask, he shook himself out of his trance, and gave her his full attention.

“Afterward I shall take you to hell and we will consummate our marriage.” There was a playful, lustful tone to his voice, but a hesitance there she did not expect.

Understanding dawned on her. “You are going to kill me, aren’t you, Alastor?”

Hugging her to him in a sudden, unexpected embrace, she could feel how wildly his heart beat in his chest, the unevenness of his breath.

With his lips pressed to her ear, he responded. “It will be quick, darling. I promise you no pain. It will be as though you were falling asleep and when you wake, I will be there to guide you.”

“What on earth is going on?” Impatiently behind them, Vaggie chimed in, her arms crossed and suspicious of the way the priest loomed over the blonde sister.

Ignoring the nuisance, he pulled back. “You will be my queen and know only decadence. All you must do in return is surrender yourself to me.”

Charlotte looked into his eyes, which had turned bright crimson surrounded by wine sclera, the devil’s eyes looking out from the minister’s face. He could be lying to her, he probably was, but what choice did she have?

“I do.”

Much to the protest of the unwilling witness, the demon recited the ceremony, placed a ring upon her finger, and kissed her passionately at its conclusion. When the groom pulled away and they stood apart again, she realized Vaggie was nowhere to be seen.

“I have magicked her home, my beautiful wife,” he replied to the questioning quirk of her brow. “She is safe and sound, and when she wakes, she will think this all a dream.”

A flick of his wrist, and in his right hand was a delicately adorned knife with a blade so thin it almost looked like a glass needle. He held his left claw out to her, his remaining disguise falling away to the monster she knew.

“Come, darling, I wish to finalize our nuptials in our true home,” his filtered voice sang, dark with licentious promise.

Shaking though she was, Charlotte took his hand and he pulled her into another kiss, hungry and dramatic as he dipped her backward. It took a moment for the bite of the blade piercing her chest to register. Quick like a bee sting, and then nothingness. Blissful, painless dark and as she closed her eyes for the last time, she realized that death was not unlike the sensation of weightlessness, floating in a warm pond under a starless sky, and Charlotte felt true peace.

For the second time in only a handful of hours, emptiness took her and she knew no more.