Disappear: Into Shadow

- CHAPTER SIXTY THREE -

A solitary man approached a lonely farmhouse. In the winter twilight, over the high prarie's sky he could see the swift approach of a black, flashing storm front covering the length of the wide horizon. The fading daylight glowed on the snow crunching under each step he took towards the house. A single light burned in the front window.

Looking up at the second floor, he saw a flash of intense red light splash out across the snow before it vanished an instant later.

He continued to approach the house, and climbed the creaking steps of the worn wooden porch. Hesitating at the front door, he looked around. Nothing moved around the outbuildings of the farm. The winter shrouded fields stretched out into the darkness. The man inhaled sharp and deep then knocked on the door.

Answering the door was Jean Kensington. She looked tired and older than her years. The man interpreted her downcast eyes as being those of a worried mother with no options left for her child.

She ushered him inside, asking, "Can I take your coat, Father?"

The priest nodded in reply and shrugged off his heavy overcoat. In the half light of the dim hallway's light he saw rows of framed family photographs hanging on the walls. They showed the once happy Kensington family surrounding little Pammy. The youngest child, he could see her growing up through the procession of images.

With two fingers he adjusted his collar. Its white square stood out bright against this black shirt. "Where is Pamela now, Mrs. Kensington?"

"She's upstairs Father. In her bedroom. Second on the left."

"Very well. I'll head up there now."

"Can you help her?"

"I turst God will her her. I can promise nothing more."

Mrs. Kensington turned her head away from him. The priest couldn't know it had been to hide a horrible sneer. She snorted, "I understand."

The poor woman, thought the priest. She's suffering.

"Father Nichols?" A young voice asked.

The priest turned to see its owner. It was Stephen, the twelve year old, middle child.

"Yes, Stephen?"

"Pammy's changed. You'll be surprised. The doctors don't know what's wrong. What will you do?"

"Everything I can, son." Father Nichols replied, then turned towards the mother. "We'll speak more after I've sat with Pamela awhile, yes?"

Mrs. Kensington just nodded and walked to the hall closet, where she hung up the priest's coat. He could hear her snorted again as she did so. Father Nichols stared up at the staircase leading to the second floor.

Passing more family pictures his footsteps became laboured. He wheezed and puffed feeling, for a moment, old and encumbered. A chill grew across his back as he climbed and he could smell something noxious. He couldn't place the scent.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he sneezed. His eyes were watering. What is this foul reek? He thought. Looking down the hall he could see the second door on the left was closed. There were shadows moving about in the light spilling out under the crack of th doorway. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. He shivered.

The lights in the hallway flickered, dimmed and then were renewed.

At the bedroom door, Father Nichols reached for the knob, then paused. He leant forwards, turning his ear to the door. Listening, he thought he could hear the muttering of many voices. He couldn't make out any single voice or word in particular.