Do you like scary stories? How about monsters and things that go bump in the night? If you do, then I have the collection for you. This is an anthology of short scary stories, all of which are original; with more being added as time goes on. If you...
The Priest woke to knocking on the cathedral door. It was heavy and frantic. Donning his coat, he took the creaky stairs two at a time until he had entered the cathedral's main hall. Aside from the weak glow of candle flames, he was alone.
The knocking had grown louder and even more panicked.
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The Priest opened the great doors and came face to face with a woman. She wore tattered rags and was soaked from the rain. Her long brown hair dripped dark over her bare shoulders.
"Sanctuary!" She cried, eyes wide with terror.
The Priest looked behind her to see a line of lanterns and pitchforks forming from the alleyways and cobblestone streets.
"Seize the she-devil!" They cried.
The woman fell to her knees. She bowed her head and lifted her clasped, pleading hands, shaking them. "Please! Sanctuary!"
"Get behind me." The Priest said.
The woman quickly scurried behind the Priest's robe. As she did, the angry mob formed a half-circle around the cathedral's doors. It was a crowd of men and women, all of which had a strange fear in their eyes. Upon seeing the Priest, they shared uneasy glances. Finally, one of them, a peasant carrying a pitchfork, stepped forward.
"Father, stand aside." He said. "We ain't got no quarrel with ye. Only the she-devil."
But the Priest would not. "You will not hurt this woman." He said, "She has claimed sanctuary. By the laws of God and man, I am obligated to shelter her in safety."
The mob shifted uneasily. Why were they so afraid of this woman? Was it her beauty? She didn't seem like she was from the country, so perhaps she was a gypsy?
The Peasant shook his head. "You don't understand, Father. She's a devil wearin' the skin of a woman. We all seen it, 'aven't we, fellas?"
The crowd nodded feverishly. In the rain streaked lantern light, their wild eyes seemed monstrous. The Priest held out a hand.
"Good people! What is your charge? Has this woman wronged you? Has she stolen from you? Or are you acting on hearsay? Would you sentence an innocent woman to death simply because you are afraid?"
"But we's 'ave every right to be afeard of 'er!" The Peasant stamped his pitchfork. "You ain't seen what we've seen! Why, Martha saw the she-devil's true form, didn't ya, Martha?"
Martha cried out from the back. "That I did! I would nah lie to you, Father. I saw it with me own two eyes!"
But the Priest wouldn't have it. He looked back to the woman and said, "My child, please take your leave inside. You will be safe, I swear it."
"Oh thank you, Father!" She said, eyes full of tears. And then, like a scared rabbit, she fled through the dark doors and into the great hall.
"Get 'er!" The Peasant said. The crowd made a move to push forward but the Priest raised his hands and voice. He thundered, "You men of the crown! This land is a land of law and order. You have a duty to God and King to obey what has been laid before you! Suppose one day I denounce you all devils? Is it not my authority to do so? Shall I call a mob for your heads?"
At this rebuke, the crowd shrunk back, but the fear lingered in their eyes.
"Go to your homes! Warm yourselves by your hearths! Perhaps you should all pray and see the sin in your own lives before condemning another! Now away with you!"
One by one, the mob dissolved until the Priest was alone on the cathedral's slick steps. With a satisfied nod, he stepped back into the cathedral's main hall. The woman had taken refuge on one of the pews. He offered the shivering woman a dry blanket and showed her to one of the side rooms. The Priest prepared for her a fire so that she could warm up. He then turned his back to her and began rummaging through the shelves.
"My apologies." The Priest said, softly, "I'm afraid the sheep of my flock are the superstitious sort. They believe that monsters roam about. 'Tis a shame, don't you think? When there are matters of far graver importance."
"Oh, Father?" The woman asked. "Such as?"
"Matters of spirit, my child." The Priest said. "Evil is not an issue of flesh and blood, but of the heart. True monsters lurk within. The spirit. That is where true evil hides."
"You are so right." The woman said, gently. "True monsters are wolves in sheep's clothing, aren't they?"
"Yes." The Priest said. His hands found what they had been searching for. "How else will they eat after all?"
"E-eat?" The woman asked.
But the Priest only spun, brandishing a large, sharp cleaver.
