Father Eddie, the local reverend, began his days simply. He woke up at six to cicadas and crickets, walked past his desk that stays cluttered from the night before with papers and books. Research. He had been seeing things... Visions. People in his dreams and far away in his peripherals. Was God testing him, he wondered? Was there a message that needed to be heard? He'd toss and turn in the dark, an overwhelming sense that he wasn't alone making the air in the room thin. Something in the corner of his eye during his time in the church. Inside the church. It had to be some religious sign.
At seven, he finished up breakfast and showered. Growing paranoia, exposed beneath the stream of water, causes him to get out after increasingly short washes each day. And at eight, on his way in through the church doors, he swears he sees something brush past where he could barely see it. He turns his head quickly. Nothing. That's to be expected.
Eddie stood, lighting votive candles. He pushed at the metal of his lighter, the top flinging open with a clinking noise. A shudder rolled through him as he felt a slight breeze hit his back. He cupped the air around the wick, pressing the flame to it. It took a couple of tries, these damn things. He lit the next and the batch was done. He stepped back to see the stand with its cross, the sign of healed wounds and perfect justice. Eddie thought about his own wounds for a shaky moment. He couldn't think. Not when, at this angle, the cross appeared to be burning. The flame of the candle rose, flickering, and growing. He backed up shoving the lighter in his pocket. He took a step, all-black silhouette shifting in front of the heat of red and orange echoing off the walls. At yet another point of view, the cross burned bright. He shook his head, turning around. Latin Mass begins soon.
