Faux

Chapter 9

The Church of St Catherine had been alive for almost three hours after the service. Children were sent off to the playground while the parents convened in the middle of the church itself. Father Becket stood in the aisle, sweat dribbling down his face as voices rose all around him.

"First Evie Sutton!"

"The dead animals..."

"My son isn't himself..."

"The Devil..."

"Katy's broken arm healed in seconds..."

"We've been overrun...

"Demons!"

Father Becket raised his hands and the throng fell into an animated quiet. Fidgeting hands and tapping feet.

"Please." He paused, hands still raised and with a slight tremor. What could he really say. He personally didn't believe in demons but he couldn't ignore what had taken place at the church. Couldn't ignore Grace Atkinson's boy Daniel. Couldn't ignore Rebecca Sutton's confession that she swung an axe into the skull of her daughter who potpourried her self back to life. And many others who thought they were singular cases.

"There is no doubt that something has taken a hold of our children but - " Father Becket began before a booming voice cut him off.

"It's an evil spirit I tell you!" Gregory Thompson harrumphed, thick arms crossed over his broad chest while the familiar family blonde hair was cut into a neat crew cut. When he spoke many listened. His family had been in Eatonbrook for generations and his respect was both expected and earned. All eyes were on him and taking it as cue, he rose to his feet, towering over all,

"My great-grand father spoke about it before too. Back in the 1800s. A catholic girl named Ignatius Gardner who lived in an abbey behind this very church." A few murmurs rose.

"That's right, the same Gardner family." He lifted a thick finger at the priest much the children had done to Calhoun earlier. "The great-grand mother of Sister Veronica Gardner, whom we all know and keep quiet about for the sake of our precious, sinless preacher."

"The family moved out ages ago. It could be a different Gardner." Becket found himself stuttering although he knew there was no doubt about the relation between the two.

"Don't play coy Father." Gregory said, twirling about to face each of the congregants. Now all eyes turned to Becket. Fearful. Anxious. Angry.

"Sister Ignatius Gardner, being a child herself, turned the towns children against the adults. Stoning fornicators. Burning supposed witches. Killing any they found guilty while she carried a black leatherbound book she claimed God had given her."

Skin. Father Becket thought. It was skin-bound.

"The spirit of Ignatius has returned and taken over our children." Gregory said, arms crossing once again as though daring the priest to challenge him. Father Becket tried to chuckle. It came out as a choking sound. 

"Are you saying that the ghost of Sister Ignatius, after nearly two hundred years, has decided to come back from the dead for what? Revenge?"

Gregory shrugged but turned his face to different members of the congregation.

"You heard the children, right? They were quoting scripture at the old doc. We all know he had a drinking problem."

The parents murmured in agreement.

"Perhaps it's not revenge she wants, but to clear out the sinners. The very ones in our midst like that high school teacher who was caught sleeping with a student in her hometown. Who knows if she's doing it here too." One of the village woman said and a fearful hush fell over the church. 

Father Becket knew their secrets. Confessionals revealing that none of them were guiltless, not even Gregory Thompson. None of their eyes lifted and Father Becket had a single thought then; let he without sin throw the first stone.

The doors to the church rumbled open and two officers appeared like silhouettes against the sun-lit exterior. They stoically entered the building in synchronized gait although one was a short pudgy fellow with pale skin and his partner was dark and tall. Ying and Yang.

"Alan Carter. Father Becket." The taller cop said. His voice soft and solemn. "We need you both to come with us."

"What's happened this time?" Alan Carter asked voice tired and gruff. He rose to his feet. His boys were usually in trouble and he had grown used to these summons. It never got any easier though.

"I'm afraid we cannot discuss that here." The cop said, nodding at the congregation.

"Well as the church we are a family." Gregory Thompson said arms spreading towards. He was as tall as the officer but the other man didn't seem the slightest bit intimated. 

"We all ought to know." Thompson added.

"Not according to police procedure, Mr. Thompson. Otherwise the church ought to know about your own... misdeeds." Curious glances fell over Gregory but he stared them down before sitting back in the pew. Father Becket and Alan Carter followed the officers out of the church. In the distance, they all saw that the children had huddled together and were watching with unblinking eyes.

Both cops felt a cold sliver pass through them.

*

The police were out-of-towers. That's what Benjamin Calhoun told Charlie. The local PD was nothing more than voluntary old-timers who were once part of the city department anyway. Retired. Eatonbrook was quiet enough that they didn't get any action beyond telling off teens spraying graffiti or loitering. Hence the outside help.

Sunday evenings at Hoggs were dead quiet and only the two of them, Charlie and Calhoun, were present to hear Metallica's serenade of The Unforgiven. Also, most of the adult inhabitants had scurried home after the police had arrived at the church. Some sort of disturbance that Charlie assumed had to do with the Carter kid.

"Did you tell them about Sister Veronica?" Charlie held the ever-present pitcher and cloth combo. The glass gleamed under the lights. It reflected Calhoun's incredulous face,

"You think I'll tell them the ghost of our dead preacher's wife and the evil twins of every child in town chased me through the forest?"

Charlie shrugged at a loss for words. The story was as ridiculous as it sounded. Only he'd seen Rebecca Sutton drive by in her old Toyota and little Evie's eyes peering from the backseat. As though told to stay low. The same Evie Sutton who should have been dead in a car crash that killed her father.

"So what did you tell them?"

"Told em I was walking off a hangover and found the bodies there." Calhoun lifted a mug of black coffee still steaming. He'd decided to give up alcohol for good now. He anticipated nightmarish visions of being chased by his dead wife perforating his dreams later. And little black-eyed cherubs with sharpened sticks.

"Heard it was the teacher Samantha Jefferies who was with Jonathan Carter. In the forest." Charlie said. He recalled the hot little brunette from the city. Always ordering upper-class drinks and never local. She didn't belong in Eatonbrook like most of its folks and now, perhaps, he knew why.

"Definitely weren't studying, I tell you that." Calhoun shivered and took another sip of his coffee. "They didn't have skin, I tell ya that?"

Charlie nodded. His shoulders seemed to be fully permeated in ice. The way Calhoun described the skinless, punctured, bruised bodies in mid-coitus. Charlie himself shivered.

"So what's going to happen now?"

Calhoun shrugs,

"I don't know but I'll tell you this, I'm never drinking again, never stepping foot into that church again... and never going to Eatonbrook Forest. Never."