Quaint Old Verona

Part 4

Sunday arrived, and I overslept. All my excitement to see the inside of Verona's crown jewel, and I almost missed it. I dressed in my best suit as fast as I could, and I was out the door in a fury. Luckily, my office lay only a few hundred feet across from the church, so I was inside in no time.

The church's interior was as beautiful as its façade. The center was a large open space divided by two aisles facing a pulpit. A stage rested below the pulpit and extended behind it and gradually ascended into the seats where the choir sat. Me being late, the patrons and the choir already sat in their places, so I hastily found a seat in the back of the congregation.

"So glad you could finally join us, Sheriff Townsend." It was the mayor's voice, and he greeted me as he climbed into his place at the podium. "We wouldn't want you to miss a Sunday's worship."

As he took his place, the mayor raised his hands. Everyone in the choir and the congregation dawned a black and purple robe. All of them except the mayor pulled the hood of the robe over their sickly faces, and it cascaded down, hiding their eyes behind the covering. The mayor gestured to the choir, who then began to hum the most malevolent hymn I had ever heard.

"How badly do you want to meet your predecessor, Sheriff?" The mayor asked as he pointed to a door in the side of the church.

As the door opened, I could feel my heart begin to race. The sweat beaded on my forehead, and I had to loosen my tie just to breathe properly again. Two men dragging a third bound by ropes entered the house of worship. The grey-haired man resisted as they pulled him up on the stage. He looked like he hadn't seen sunlight in weeks. He was confused and obviously terrorized by the people of Verona. My predecessor's handlers wrestled him onto an altar on the stage. When they had the old sheriff securely in place, the mayor slowly descended the pulpit. He stood beside the platform where the lawman squirmed in his bindings. The choir's hymn grew louder as the mayor closed his eyes and raised both of his hands to the sky. To my disbelief, the mayor started to transform. He grew two more arms, and four horns broke through his dark-colored hair. The mayor's skin turned grotesquely pale, and a jagged smile that stretched from ear-to-ear replaced his smiley mustache. He opened his eyes, which were now fiery red.

As the beast spoke, his voice emanated from the walls of that now horrendous church, "this man mocked our town and thus volunteered himself to aid us in our rejuvenation."

The demon placed his hand on the former sheriff, closed his reptilian-like eyes, and began to chant in an ancient tongue. His hand began to glow, as did my predecessor. The old lawman started to writhe in agony as the entire congregation, minus myself, joined in singing the choir's malicious hymn. Not long after the atrocious ritual began, the former sheriff stopped moving. His skin was now grey, his eyes were hollow, and there was no fullness to his body at all, the Demon of Verona sucked the life right out of the poor man.

Without a sound, the demon turned back into the mayor, only now his smiley mustache seemed much more sinister. He then gestured for the congregation to remove their hoods. When the settlers uncovered their faces, their once ailed complexions were replaced by bright and healthy expressions. Their pale skin was replaced by sun-kissed complexions, and their eyes now appeared full of life. The evil sacrifice of my predecessor transformed the settlers of Verona from dying consumptives into people in the prime of their lives.

The men who led Verona's victim to his untimely death retraced their steps to remove his remains. The choir led the congregation in one last song before the mayor adjourned the assembly. I took my time leaving the ancient-looking church, so my fate didn't end up like that of the former sheriff's. I shook the mayor's hand, who was waiting outside the door.

"I hope you liked the ceremony Sheriff. I hope you can stay with us for some time," he said as he winked.

When his eye opened again, it briefly resembled the red reptilian orbit of his alter-ego. Still speechless from what I witnessed, I smiled at the mayor and shuffled to my office as calmly as possible. I remained in my building until a few hours after sundown. As soon as I determined that the coast was clear, I hurried out of Verona. When I crossed the threshold of the town, I threw my badge in the dirt and high-tailed it to where the wagon train let me off. It was nearly a full day until a group of travelers appeared. Until they showed up to whisk me back east, I was convinced that the demon mayor and his minions would come after me and subject me to their rejuvenation ritual. I continued to look over my shoulder until I determined the safety of our distance from that wretched town.

Upon returning to New York, I hurried to my father's house. I was surprised when he even let me in. He quickly noticed a paranoia surrounding me as we sat talking about my future at his company. He asked me what was wrong, and I was foolish enough to tell him about what happened to me in Arizona. When I finished, his face was red, and he let his fury fly once again. He claimed that the desert sun got to me and accused me of fabricating my troubles to gain sympathy from him. He angrily rushed up the stairs to his room and slammed the door.

It was three days before I heard from my father. Three days of me sitting in his house while he stewed in his room over my turmoil. When he finally emerged, he gave me one chance to recant my story and threatened me with the insane asylum if I stuck to my truth. Thinking about Mother and how he sent her away, I quickly told him what he wanted to hear. Consequently, I never mentioned my western adventure to anyone again. As for a job, Father gave me one. He made me the scrivener for one of his lower-level administrators. He gave me the most mundane job he could as punishment for my desire for adventure.

After the first day of my new boring life, I decided to pay a visit to the old man who employed me as Verona's sheriff. I wanted to inquire if he knew what went on there. When I finally made it to Twentieth street, the city noise suddenly lulled. I strolled past the Gas Works to that beat-up old shack. It was gone. Where the Weston Office once stood looked like it hadn't been disturbed since the Dutch settled the Manhattan Island. There was no debris or any signs of collapse or building demolition. All that was in place was a lush spot of grass. No patches, no holes, just grass. Was it all a dream? I thought to myself as I headed back home only to be forever haunted by my experiences at quaint old Verona.