Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No infringements intended. All original intellectual property is solely owned by its creator; the author.
The sound of the car door shutting echoed through the empty church parking lot. Alice gathered the lapels of her coat and, squeezed them tightly together, the chill of the November air making her feel insecure and exposed. She glanced around and saw Father Cullen standing by the church entrance, his familiar form silhouetted against the setting sun. He looked enormous to her.
As she made her way over to the priest, she couldn't help but notice how her earlier apprehension seemed to melt away in his presence. Father Cullen was a man in his early forties, tender blue eyes, and a mane of light blond hair that was so handsome against the red and orange chevrons of the sun set. Even in his casual wear, black slacks and a black short sleeve button up, he still maintained the abettor that always brought the girl comfort: his white clerical collar.
"Alice, dear," He said solemnly, his Welsh accent still thick even after years of living in the States. "How are you doing?"
She had to swallow before she could answer, "I'm okay, Father. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."
The priest gave her an empathic nod and then led her inside the church. The vestibule was long and dark and, still had the musky aroma of incense. At the end of the hall the flicker of candlelight caused her to glance at the altar. Alice froze, eyes wide from what she was seeing.
"Alice?" Father Cullen was a few paces ahead, looking back at her he frowned. "Are you sure you're alright my child?"
She stared of the vaporous image of a woman standing before the altar. Her skin the color of bone despite the amber illumination of the candles. Alice watched as the woman's papery-thin hand hover above the flames, unaffected by the boiling beeswax resin.
"Alice?"
She blinked and the specter was gone. The altar stood empty.
"Do you remember when you first started attending this church?" Father Cullen wanted to know. He now stood next to the girl, towering over her, his chin practically rested on his chest to look down at her.
"I was five." She continued to stare at the candles, firelight dancing off her pale face. Alice recalled every detail of the first time she entered the church fourteen years ago. The awe and wonder she felt from the majestic kirk. How humbled she was to sit in its pews, watching the sunbeams filter through the stained-glass windows, and hearing the sermons for a god she had never known existed before that day. Her birth mother - of what she could recall - didn't follow a religion. It wasn't until she was placed with her adoptive family that she found her faith.
"You were so curious about the altar. Wanting to know what it represented. Such a keen child to understand that everything here had meaning. Do you remember what I told you of the candle altar?"
Alice looked up to the priest. "In Catholic Rite, the candle symbolizes Jesus. The wax, his body. The wick, his soul. And the flame, his... his..."
"Divinity." The priest smiled warmly at the girl. "We are in the house of the Lord, my child. You have nothing to fear here." He placed his arm around her shoulders, and moved them further down the corridor to his office.
Father Cullen sat behind his desk. Alice took one of the two seats that faced him.
"So tell me. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
"Honestly Father, I'm not sure you can help me. I just wasn't sure where else to go."
"I can always try. Let's give it a shot."
"Do you know about my father's will?" She asked, referring to her adopted father. The last member of her assumed family who had passed away more than a week ago.
"I do. I counseled him on his decision to leave you your birthmother's property. Is that why you've come to see me? Are you worried about moving so far away?"
Alice leaned forward, placed her hands on the desk, and opened her mouth to speak but couldn't muster a sound.
"My child, whatever it is, you can tell me."
She wanted to tell him. Let him know the least of her worries were the property she had inherited in Biloxi, or the re-emergence of emotions long since stifled for a mother she scarcely recalled. Instead, her eyes drifted to the window, gazing out to the purples hues of the early evening sky.
"I recall my first pilgrimage," Father offered, "I was terrified. Thought I might be too young to leave home, but all I needed was a bit of prayer and -"
"Is the Devil real?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"The devil or even just demons. Are they real?"
Father Cullen was silent for a moment, just watching Alice. "There is evil in the heart of all men. It's your faith that sets you on the right path-"
"I not talking about evil Father. Well, I mean, I suppose I am. But more of evil incarnate. Can demons walk the Earth with us? Can they h-hurt us?"
The priest ran his hand across his desk, closer to the girl's curled fist. "Alice, do you feel you are in danger? Has someone tried to hurt you?"
She lowered her eyes to hide the saltwater that was threatening to fall, and began to shake her head. This was going to be no use, she could already tell. There was just no way to express what she feared.
Father Cullen cleared his throat. "I believe that if there are demons than there most certainly must be angels. And if demons could hurt us than we must have faith that our angels will do everything they can to protect us. Do you have faith Alice?"
The girl offered the priest a forced smile, but didn't answer.
"I want to be able to help you my dear, but I can't unless you allow me to. Please, tell me why you are asking about demons."
Her rheumy eyes sought out the window again. "Ever since I found out about this place in Biloxi I've been plagued with this... I don't know… with this bad feeling. At first, I thought it was the fear of finding out about my past, but it's more than that. Do you remember when my father would bring me to confession after my first communion?"
Father Cullen's cordial smile returned. "If I remember correctly you didn't have much to confess, just a few lies. Stories you used to tell your parents. Ghosts and ghouls. You had quite the imagination."
She looked back to the priest. "They weren't stories. The things I told them, the things I saw, they were real."
"They may have seemed real at the time."
"They were real. They are real."
"Dreams maybe?"
She tried to swallow, but found it difficult. "With every day that ticks by, getting me closer and closer to the move, those dreams or... visions or whatever you want to call them, they get more vivid. More disturbing. I've... I can see these monsters. Believe me when I tell you, they are very real."
The priest was silent for a few moments, staring at his desk and then finally he released a wearisome sigh. "Alice, I am afraid you were right on your earlier assumption." He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a piece of paper. "I cannot help you with this issue."
Alice took the small slip of paper he was extending to her. A business card, the name and address of a local psychologist embossed across the grainy cardstock. She breathed out a mirthless chuckle.
"I think you need to talk to someone about these fears."
She stood up, gently placed the card on his desk. "Thank you for your time Father. If I am not able to return before the holidays, I wish you well."
Alice walked quietly towards the door. Father Cullen called out, "Will you not seek any help?"
She stopped and turned her head ever so slightly but did not look back at the priest. "I just did."
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