Jim paced the worn floorboards of Father Henshaw's study, brow furrowed in agitation. "No matter what I do, those greasers keep coming back. They shrug off injuries and death like mosquito bites."
He paused, meeting the elderly priest's steady gaze. "At first I thought they were just immortal demons. But now I'm certain the truth is worse - they're undead somehow. The grave can't contain them."
Father Henshaw tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the leatherbound Bible atop his desk. "Undead...you mean resurrected in bodily form? Flesh brought back from the brink, not just spirits?"
Jim nodded vehemently. "They're as corporeal as you or me, not wispy ghosts. But immortal and consumed with malevolence."
The priest fell silent, clearly unsettled by the implication of such unholy magic at play. Finally he said, "If true, we are dealing with forces beyond mortal reckoning. The remedies must be equally...esoteric."
He stood abruptly, moving to a nearby cabinet where he retrieved several small vials of water, a crucifix, and a weathered leather journal. Laying them on the desk, Henshaw met Jim's confused gaze.
"Holy water, consecrated relics - these have power against evil manifestations, especially those not fully departed the mortal sphere," he explained. "This journal contains the ritual for consecrating ground that should prevent their return."
Jim studied the offered tools of spiritual warfare, scarcely comprehending their potency but clinging to their promise. Anything to end the greasers for good.
Sensing his desperation, Henshaw grasped Jim's shoulder. "I know it defies reason. But you must believe righteousness carries its own magic, no matter how dark the forces arrayed against it."
Jim read the quiet conviction in the priest's eyes and found resolve steeling his spine. With these holy armaments and Henshaw's guidance, he would purge the living dead from Stratford forevermore. Wayne's soul deserved to rest untroubled.
"Thank you, Father," Jim said solemnly. "Whatever comes, I won't rest until this evil is sent back to the grave for eternity."
They clasped hands firmly. Jim left the rectory soon after as dusk gathered, senses heightened with new purpose. One way or another, the undead greasers' unholy rampage ended now. Light always dispelled darkness if the brave took up the fight. Jim walked into the gathering gloom armed for battle. Father Henshaw leaned forward, steepling his wrinkled hands thoughtfully. "The undead...they exist between worlds, tethered to the mortal plane but not fully part of it. That is why earthly measures alone cannot stop them."
Jim shook his head in frustration. "Then what can? There must be something more powerful than bullets or fire that will force them into the afterlife permanently."
"There are certain...spiritual stratagems that may prove effective," Henshaw replied carefully. "Items consecrated and infused with divine energy to combat unholy forces."
He retrieved a small pewter crucifix from his desk drawer, placing it reverently between them. "The sacred cross bars evil entities, burning them upon contact. It weakens their ties to this plane."
Next he produced a glass vial, gently cradling it in both palms. "Holy water, blessed in ancient rituals. When sprinkled on unhallowed ground it consecrates the earth, sealing rifts between worlds."
Jim accepted the crucifix and vial cautiously, feeling their subtle warmth. Could such innocuous objects really shackle an unearthly power like the greasers?
As if reading his doubt, Henshaw continued solemnly. "I know it strains belief. But light pierces darkness, and righteousness evil. These are merely physical vessels for a divine energy beyond comprehension."
YOU ARE READING
Jim's haunted past
HorrorJim nervously starts his new teaching job at Stratford High School. He sees teenagers Richard, Vinnie, and David who look just like his brother Wayne's killers.
