Knock Three Times

9. Father Amaral

                THE PLANE SHOOK AND jittered as the flight attendant poured whiskey from a tiny single-sized bottle, then handed a plastic cup to Father Theron who sat to the right of his new protégé in the window seat. Neither priests wore their collars, as the elder of the two was positive drawing unneeded attention in public was a foolish endeavor, and just good practice while on assignment in the field. Keeping focus on the task at hand was much easier without being stopped at random by troubled souls looking for guidance.

    Father Jeremy had asked about their assignment when they initially met at the airport that morning, but his senior insisted on waiting until they were in the air, away from any prying ears.

    'So what is this about, why the secrecy?'

    'We're being watched, young Jeremy; I'm sure of it.' He replied, the aging priest's stare locked on the white clouds beneath the airliner, through the thick airline window. 'What I have to tell you will be difficult to hear, so I suggest you have a drink—or five.' he suggested before taking a long gulp from his cup. 'What we are dealing with is a global phenomenon which must not be taken lightly.'

    'Global?' Jeremy was taken aback, arching his neck to look around him, assuring nobody was overhearing their conversation. The backs of their seats were pressed against the coach bathroom, and a single woman sat ahead of them, an empty seat next to her. She had her headphones turned up loud as she watched one of the in-flight films, the tiny screen built into the head rest before her.

    'You heard me correctly, though I suggest you keep your voice to a dull hush. You see, a few months ago, something rather peculiar began to occur all over the planet. Reports of some sort of spiritual phenomena began popping up in small towns all over the world—a rural phenomena for the most part. Victims often attest to small children with devilishly black eyes terrorizing their neighbourhood, keeping a close watch on their chosen areas of unknown interest.'

    'Black-eyed Children . . . really?' the term was familiar, as he had heard rumours of the so-believed urban myth as far as Barcelona, but he had never paid much attention, assuming the myths were exactly that.

    'It seemed to begin in Holland, from what I've gathered, the first known report I had personally gathered. Then, I received the same strange reports from rural parts of Italy, Greece, the United States, and so forth, and so on. I have brought no documentation with me, as I do not wish to have this information available to any federal agencies with prying eyes, so you'll just have to take my word for it, at least, for the time being.'

    'So these . . . attacks just keep spreading around the planet?' he asked, summoning the attendant for a drink.

    'These incidences are usually documented online—private blogs and YouTube videos mostly, but the police seemed to keep any official reports of the disturbances under wraps. At first, I thought they were simply too embarrassed to divulge the specifics of each report; supernatural events rarely make it into professional documentation, as is. But I began to suspect there was something else at play.'

    'You'll have to be a little more specific, Father Theron. I'm not sure I understand where you're going with this.'

    'The authorities in most of the reported districts are obligated to fill out reports of every incident, whether or not the reporting officer truly believes in what they are being told is irrelevant, but the reports should be on file regardless. For some reason these reported incidents aren't being collected—in some cases even intentionally removed.'

    'You suspect a conspiracy of sorts?'

    'Indeed, I do. Such strange incidences occurring all over the planet, yet any sign of official reports seem to mysteriously vanish from databases, tangible handwritten reports just erased from existence. I have received calls from many inspectors reporting some highly unusual phenomena, but by the time I receive their messages and return their calls, they seem to conveniently forget they had even made contact with me in the first place.'