The moon, round and full as it was, remained alone. Not a star, nor cloud dared to share the sky.
The Reverent Father could not find solace, and had only pretended to since laying down. His mind was consumed with the idle chatter of the townspeople. They had truly made a play of him. To be coerced into believing in mere fairytales once believed by misbehaving children. It was absurd. To find reason in it, and yet he still lingered there. Perhaps deep down he found some truth in their way of life. From the window, he could see farther than before. There, like an ant scurrying to a platter of food. A slender body walked the garden. From where he was positioned it was difficult to distinguish much else, certainty impossible to see a roster, but it was assuredly a woman who was there. For even as far as they were from one another, the curve of her bare breasts ballooning in the frigid cold, exposed her.
Her skin was like milk in the way that the color of the moon reflected against it so brilliantly. For an instant, he wondered if he was dreaming after all. His heart began to race uncontrollably as he watched the waxy figure disappear behind the trench of pine trees that bordered the outskirts of the manor.
YOU ARE READING
Where There Is Nothing
ParanormalWhen a mysterious stranger calls upon the expertise of Father Arthur Dolling, he soon discovers that the lines between reality and fantasy have begun to blur, and the only way to uncover the truth is to delve deeper into the dark underbelly of the i...
