Night Below

Kyrie Eleison

2008-05-10T00:02:36Z

[Written in a terribly shaking hand]

I entered the church today to find the altar destroyed.

There is nothing left. Nothing but a heap of shattered wood. The altar cloth is a shredded ruin, the candles are broken with nothing but their fragile wicks holding the wax together. And the cross--oh, sweet merciful Mary. The cross has been smashed to pieces. I fell to my knees before the remains and pawed through them in horror, shock making me numb as I desperately searched for the representation of our Lord, but I found nothing but hammered, twisted brass and, strangely, lengths of rope.

I picked up my skirts and ran through the church, searching first the rectory, then the cloister itself, my heart in my throat as I tried to find Father Eamon. I found him at last in the cloister common, sitting before the fire. He looked like a man who had walked through hell itself, pale and drawn and with eyes so dark they frightened me. But when I tried to tell him what had happened, he already knew. He already knew because he had done it. He had taken a splitting maul from the rectory storage and destroyed St. Michael's altar, but when he told me why... oh God, my God, how could someone have done something so hideous and cruel?!

Fr. Eamon's assistant and dearest friend--our Guin, dear Guin, who has always been so kind to everyone, so quick to help those in need--was attacked in the church, lured into helping a pair of monsters who then tied her to the altar and raped her there.

[The ink is smeared, blotched by tears]

Chigaru, he told me. Chigaru and his sister. They took our Guin, hurt her and violated her, there in our beloved church. I do not know this name, but it is branded on my heart. God, give me the strength to forgive, for I cannot find it in myself.

Fr. Eamon destroyed the altar for all our sakes. As he whispered to me, there in the cloister, while I hugged the poor man and wept, there are some desecrations that cannot be healed with words and ritual. He never could have given Mass on that altar again, not knowing what was done there, and he is right that it would have been too much to expect Guin to suffer through that. She has already suffered enough, and I will pray to God every day, every hour, that these monsters will be brought to justice. Midian's justice, if possible, but God's justice above all. Let them know what it is to be helpless. Let them know what it is to be hurt and broken upon the altar of belief.

Oh God, forgive me. Forgive me for these thoughts.

And now, Lord in heaven, Matthew is missing. We cannot find him. No one knows where he is! First his daughter was taken, although she was found, but the father says something is wrong with her and no one knows what it is.

Then Matthew's wife went missing, and everyone thinks it was Hookum--that, that thing that keeps leaving heads and all manner of nightmares inside the church and on the steps.

[The handwriting grows more frantic.]

Fr. Eamon has gone out to speak with the police about Guin's attack, and he asked me to call Matthew's phone while he was out. A strange, cryptic note was left in the church last night, a note that said Matthew had left us, but it was more of a riddle than anything else, and quite unlike Matthew to leave such a thing without saying a word to anyone. But when I called Matthew's number, a strange man answered, and... oh God, I cannot write it. The things he said, they were horrible! Matthew dead, and on the mainland, his head severed, his... no. No, I cannot write such things. I screamed and dropped the phone--I am so ashamed! But he frightened me so much!

Oh Father Eamon. Please come home. Something is terribly wrong.

Lord, please. Please have mercy on us all...

Many Hands, Light Work

2008-04-11T02:58:27Z

So much has happened since last I wrote in this journal. Good heavens, I swear the parish is growing by leaps and bounds since Fr. Eamon took up his post as elder priest. And for the first time in many weeks, despite the darker events that have shadowed the church of late, I start to feel real hope that the parish and its people will survive intact. It is not only the Catwalkers now who watch over us (although many of them continue to guard the church, like furry angels standing sentinel in the dark). There are others now as well--some of them strange and fell souls, almost as nervewracking as the villains who continue their attempts to harm the parish--but their grim and determined loyalty to the Church seems so very genuine, and despite the occasional unease I feel in their presence, I couldn't be happier they are here.

The father has restored the office of the Templar Swords, a small gathering within the parish itself that exists by special dispensation from our bishop--their purpose to provide additional protection to the parish, its clergy and congregation. It is currently being headed by a new arrival to Midian, a retired police officer from Chicago named Matthew O'Keeffe. He is an older gentleman, but hale, and so very kind to everyone who has come to the parish for help. And he has been such an incredible boon to the parish!

It seems Matthew owns both a construction company and an importing business. And bless the man, he saw to acquiring the supplies we needed for repairing the church! The pews, carpet, and windows have all been replaced, and the church looks more beautiful than ever.

Poor Matthew, though--his health is not the best. I keep him in my prayers, and hope he will quickly heal, but Midian is not known for being kind. He is such a great and kindly soul--I pray God will keep him safe. Matthew has also joined our tiny choir as our organist; I had the opportunity to hear him play yesterday, and his talent is truly extraordinary. We are so very lucky to have him!

Yesterday's repairs to the church went surprisingly well. It is true, what they say, that many hands make light work! We were joined by a rather interesting woman--a biomech, I believe--named Samantha Han, whose strength was truly amazing. She was able to go to the docks, to Matthew's ship, and bring all the stained glass panels back to the church in a single trip. Then between Matthew, Sam, Guin, and a pretty neko named Tae (I think? oh, I am so bad at remembering names!), they were able to remove all the wood that Fr. Eamon put up to cover the empty windows and replace them with the brand new glass. The church is so lovely now!

(I'm afraid I didn't do much myself, other than hold the doors for Sam when she returned with the panels. If the church looks beautiful now, it is because of them! God bless them all!)

The conversation I had with the neko was an interesting one. She seems such an innocent where the Church is concerned--trying to explain the nature of my position and the priests of the parish was an exercise in comedy and misunderstanding. But I found our conversation enjoyable, and I hope she will return.

Unfortunately, she does seem to be terribly skittish, bless her heart. Sammy seemed to set the neko on edge more than once, and Matthew's organ playing, while very beautiful to me (and I would imagine Sam as well, as she seemed very taken with the music while Matthew was playing) appeared to be making the neko nervous. To her credit, however, she did remain, and her nimbleness and skill at scaling the church's old stone no doubt eased the difficulty of replacing the stained glass windows. I hope she comes again, as I would love to talk with her more about the Church. Perhaps it would be in vain, but one never knows. The Lord works in mysterious ways.

I take heart in this, our brief moment of brightness, and hope it will continue. There is such darkness surrounding the parish of late, with rumors and whispers of terrible things waiting to strike against us, but the continued determination of the father, and now the stalwart presence of Matthew and our new friends, leave me hope that we will weather this too and be stronger for it in the end.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me...

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

2008-03-27T20:39:24Z

"The will of God will never take you to where the grace of God will not protect you."

Fr. Eamon and I have been in discussion about how to acquire the necessary items for repairing the church. He suggested a group of suppliers (smugglers? oh dear, it is probably better not to ask) who operate out of the gas station on the bluff behind the church. It seems he made their acquaintance some time ago, and Luci confirmed that they have a reputation for securing hard-to-get supplies from the mainland (although Luci also said that their trade usually consists of unsavory stuffs, but when I put this to Fr. Eamon, he dismissed it with a glower and muttered something about the need overriding the origin. *sigh*)

Unfortunately, my attempts to contact someone have been unsuccessful. I did leave a letter yesterday in the hopes that someone would contact us, but so far there has been no word. Guin, the poor dear, has been making inquiries as well, and it seems we may have some method of replacing the glass in the windows soon, so things are slowly coming together, but I'll be so much happier when we can actually start to do something, rather than trying to ignore the empty front of the church every time I walk up the aisle.

In the meantime, however, little Luci has proved enterprising once again. She arrived at the church this afternoon, a battered old Radio Flyer in tow--I clapped when I saw it, as I had one almost exactly like it when I was a girl! Her wagon was piled with scrap sheets of wood--mostly particle board and warped plywood, but better than I could have asked for, all of it salvaged from the ruins on the far side of the island, and she even managed to find a tin can full of nails. All these items have been stored in the back room of the church for now, and I left a note for Fr. Eamon so he knows they're available for sealing off the window frames at the very least.

And Luci--bless the child! I hugged her hard and treated her to a milkshake at Zoe's!

On another note, the parish has welcomed a new member of the clergy. A young monk, Brother Lincoln, comes to us from the mainland, and while I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting him, by all accounts he seems to be settling well into the life of the parish. I am so very pleased over this news, as we have been terribly shorthanded since Fr. Zelenski's... ah... vacation. The extra help will not only be a boon to the parish itself, I'm sure he will be able to help us repair the church all the faster. God's good blessings upon him!

A Letter Home

2008-03-20T03:27:30Z

((Written in a close, neat hand on both sides of a piece of paper.))

Dear Reverend Mother:

I write this in the sincere hope that my letter reaches the mainland, but the post from Midian is rather unreliable. I would attempt a call instead, but the phone lines in the church are down, for reasons I'll explain in a moment. I could have asked the father for permission to use his personal line, but he has been terribly distracted of late, for reasons you'll soon understand, and I could not find it in my heart to trouble the poor man further.

There is so much to tell you, but in this letter I will keep myself to the news of greatest importance.

I am writing this letter from Zoe's Cafe, a small eatery on Midian's main street, little more than a block from the church. I feel safer there, especially during the daytime, than I do anywhere else in the city--and yes, I know you read this with surprise, but you will understand when I tell you what happened in the church on Palm Sunday. The church no longer feels like a sanctuary, and even the stalwart presence of the father comforts me only a little. I am, in truth, more terrified than I have ever been.

A week ago last Sunday, a young cat of the church--one of the nekos, you'll remember--was murdered horribly, and in her will she asked Fr. Eamon to give her a Christian funeral. She was well on her way to the catechumenate, and Fr. Eamon agreed. Many in our parish mourned the young woman deeply.

The father received word from the deceased's daughter that one of the woman's suspected murderers was planning an appearance at the funeral. The city's police were notified by the family of the deceased; many of her fellow cats made plans to stand watch as well. I could not attend due to parish duties in another part of the city, but from all accounts, the service started well, and the father and the attending mourners were able to make it through most of the requiem mass itself. Unfortunately, it was not long before the aforementioned suspect made an appearance, accompanied by other allies, and the funeral service spun rapidly into madness.

Oh, Reverend Mother. You cannot imagine. The woman's body was desecrated with violence. Her daughter was terribly injured, along with many others who fought hard to stop the intruders. Gas of some nature was released, and the father tried to save some of those in attendance, but a subsequent explosion and some sort of tranquilizers used by the monsters invading the church put the father out of the action. And... oh heavens, it is too terrible. The father and at least one other parishioner--there may have been more, but the father has not yet discovered the details--were kidnapped by the intruders and carried off into the night. And tortured. Yes. I do not know the fate of the young woman kidnapped with the father--Fr. Eamon would not speak of it, except to say that she survived--but the father himself has been grievously hurt. His face is battered--bruised and badly cut, his nose broken. His arm was broken as well. And when he asked for my help in changing his bandages, I found multiple lacerations to his back and a deep stab wound to his shoulder.

You may well ask who treated him initially. There are angels in Midian still--he was rescued by Guin, another catwalker, and two unnamed friends of the latter, and treated with expert medical attention as far as I can see. I was impressed with the care taken in his bandages and the setting of his arm, and you know how exacting a nurse I can be. Still, when I took my nurses' training, I did not expect to be tending to a priest. Perhaps God knew when he led me to that vocation how much it would be needed here in Midian, where the monsters are.

Everything has changed, Reverend Mother. The church has been badly damaged. I spent today cleaning the char marks from the stonework--which despite the explosion, still stands, as sturdy as ever, thank heavens--and cleaning up the shattered remains of the pews, the lectern, the broken glass from the windows (oh, that lovely stained glass!), the remnants of the burnt aisle runner... and the huge old Bible the father used at Mass. I found it, torn into pieces and stained with blood, buried beneath the ruins of the lectern. Until that moment, I had not cried, but I confess I did so then, kneeling in the midst of the chapel's destruction, the Bible's tattered pages pressed to my chest.

Praise God, the front of the church before the altar, the beautiful organ, the confessional and the holy water font--all of these are intact, so I thank God for the small favors we have. And we have not been idle with our sorrow--the church is slowly being cleaned, and the father is already making plans for repairing and replacing what we have lost. I attempted to contact one of the city's "suppliers" this afternoon, in fact, but no one was in--I shall try again tomorrow. So yes, we are working to fix what was broken, to replace what was stolen from us, but I fear there are some things that can never be truly healed. I pray and know that we must be strong, that we will come through this trial tempered by fire and greater for it in the end--as the father says, triumph is born of adversity. But I am so terribly afraid, Reverend Mother. The shadows seem longer inside the church, and despite my hard work at cleaning, I still see the ghosts of bloodstains on the floor, and the spaces were the pews once stood, where the beautiful Bible rested... they seem to mock me with their emptiness.

And the father... he has cloaked himself in darkness. He speaks little now--and he spoke little enough to begin with--but I find him now standing in silence in the middle of the night-dark church, his arm in a sling, his eyes seeming to burn in his battered face. Depression I could understand--this is a terrible thing that has happened to him--but it is not sadness I feel. It is anger I sense in his unreadable expressions, in the clench of his one good hand, and I cannot help wondering what will become of us all.

Pray for us, Reverend Mother.

Yours in Christ,
Sr. Lisbeth Dollinger

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

2008-03-10T05:36:37Z

"Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord,
And let perpetual Light shine upon them.
May their souls
And the souls of all the faithful departed
Through the mercy of God
Rest in peace. Amen."

I am full of such sadness and horror, I cannot speak. It is only here, in the quiet pages of this diary I keep, that I can bring myself to give voice to the terrible things I have seen today, and the nightmare that has been visited upon another. My hands shake as I write this, my vision blurs, and I would give much to be able to go to sleep, in the hope that when I awakened, this would all prove some dream, but I cannot close my eyes without seeing blood and darkness, and I fear my dreams will be haunted now, for many nights to come.

My day began badly enough (although it is nothing to what happened later). Luci was sleeping in the cloister, as has been her habit since the affair of the sylphs--and I'll admit, I feel safer myself having her there. But she woke in the wee hours this morning from a screaming nightmare, and it took some time to soothe her and coax out what had frightened her so.

The story she told both frightened and shocked me. It seems that a few days before, she had been wandering the sewers (although why the child insists on doing that, I haven't a clue).

Down in the tunnels beneath the city, she found a strange pair of doors, and on the other side... well, to be perfectly honest, I almost didn't believe her, but Luci claimed to have found a morgue of sorts, but one splattered in blood and other, fouler things. She described it in eerie detail, her voice soft and still thick with tears--how its walls were tiled in clinical white, with bags of bloody viscera in one corner, a blood-smeared table in another, and a wall of drawers such as those used for storing cadavers. There was also a ladder leading up, and she ventured up there as well, only to find a dark place filled with cells and other things I will not name. She had told Guin something of this, she said, and promised not to go back, but I have no idea if the father knows or not.

Be that as it may, I thought about it long and hard after Luci had gone back to sleep, and I decided to find out for myself what was to be found beneath the city. I honestly do not know what possessed me--I have never been so brave, or for that matter, so afraid--but the father was not in, and I have been so determined lately not to cower within the church.

So as soon as my duties permitted, I slipped quietly away from the chapel, Luci's descriptions of the tunnels in mind, and ventured down into the shadows of the subway to find this slaughterhouse for myself.

I hope I never have need to enter those tunnels again. To say they were horrible would be grossly understating the truth. The smell was atrocious, and everywhere green filth covered the walls and floors. Thank heavens, the tunnels I walked were mostly dry, and I saw no one but the occasional rat, but my heart was in my throat for every step I took.

Unfortunately, it did not take me long to find the room that Luci had described. And it was every bit as terrible as she'd said. I was not brave enough to actually climb the ladder, as she had done, but I opened the door a tiny crack and peeked inside. And the blood... oh heavens...

What atrocities have been committed in this place?! The smell alone was enough to make me sick and faint, and I could only imagine what horrors might hide behind those labeled doors. Or what in the name of all that's holy lay lumped and smeared on the table!

I forced myself to see everything, so if no one else had told the father, I could be sure to do so, then I fled as quickly as I could back the way I had come. There are no words to describe my relief at stumbling through the subway tunnel once more, and never has that scrap of graffitti-covered concrete looked more welcoming.

This in itself would have been bad enough, but it was nothing compared to what followed, after I had returned to the church to calm my jangling nerves. Strangers entered the church--acquaintances of the father, I believe--and the news they had...

*takes a deep breath and forces herself to write*

A dear friend of our parish was murdered this night. Chisaki, a regular attendee at Mass, and from all accounts, one who might have soon been won back to the fold, was tortured, mutilated, and crucified to death. Her body had been found at the Pool Hall, and her friends had come to the church, hoping to inform the father, I believe, in addition to asking for prayers and candles lit in Saki's memory. (I must go find the father, in fact, as soon as I finish writing this, so he can look into Saki's last rites. Father Eamon considered Saki a friend--I do not want to think what his reaction will be when the poor man hears this news.) It twists my heart to think of it, but the nature of her death leaves me no other choice: Was this some sort of mockery of Saki's renewed faith? Or a message to the parish itself?

Her friends could not tell me with any certainty what had become of her body, only that they suspected it was still at the Pool Hall. I did not know what to make of this, and after they left and I said my first prayers for Saki, I decided to do what I could to see that her body was being cared for. Perhaps my foray into the tunnels today was God's way of preparing me for what happened tonight, for I swallowed past my fear of the waterfront (and tried to forget Fr. Eamon's stern injunction never to go there alone--God forgive me my disobedience for a just cause!) and left the church to find the Pool Hall and what had become of poor Saki's remains.

Oddly enough, I found the Pool Hall empty. I hesitated outside for a moment or two, jostled rudely by various drunks wandering to and fro on the waterfront, but no one answered my nervous calls when I stood at the pool hall door. So I ventured inside, but there was no one to be found, and no sign at all of Saki's body. I didn't know whether to be worried or relieved, but I can only hope that Saki's fiance claimed her body and took her to be properly cared for. I can do no more myself, except to ask Fr. Eamon to let me know what he can as soon as he finds out more.

But oh, that poor child. My heart breaks, and I mourn her, and the horrors she must have endured before the end. I pray God it was quick, but my heart tells me it was not.

Holy Mary, Mother of God,
Pray for us sinners
Now and at the hour of our death.

Why Luci Will NOT Be Seeing Her 15th Birthday

2008-03-05T21:04:11Z

"It's difficult to decide whether growing pains are something teenagers have--or are."

I entered the chapel today to find Luci missing, which isn't so terribly unusual. We have all been feeling the strain of recent events involving the plants, and despite Luci and the other orphans slipping out to forage supplies, much of our time was spent behind the relative safety of the church's doors. Now that the "Artifact" is gone--that strange device of unknown origin that was the cause of all our troubles--the city has taken on an air of freedom in contrast to the state of siege we found ourselves in as recently as last night. Luci had promised to help me dust the chapel, but I could hardly blame her for wanting a few hours escape in the city. Besides, Fr. Eamon told me he'd given Luci some credits for her lunch, so I suspected she had gone to Zoe's Cafe to see Guin.

It was not long before Luci returned to the chapel, as she had promised, but I do not think she expected to find me there, as upon close inspection I found a marijuana joint tucked behind her ear. Ohh, she went to Zoe's Cafe all right, but apparently Guin wasn't working then, and instead Luci was "served" by some strange woman who gave her a can of Coke for free and... and a doobie besides! I wrung the rest out of our little hellion by threatening her with everything from a frog-march to see Fr. Eamon to scrubbing the chapel's stone floor for a week, but she finally admitted that the woman was not one of Zoe's employees, but instead a stranger who took it upon herself to enter the cafe and pass out Coke, joints, and VODKA to anyone who happened by.

Thank God in His heaven, Luci refused the vodka.

The child is going to be the death of me. She begged me not to tell the father--she rather looks up to him, I think, as he's been teaching her how to read and write--but I will be telling Guin. Guin seems to be equal parts mother and sister to the girl, and if Luci won't listen to me, perhaps she will listen to Guin. And someone needs to tell Zoe about the... the miscreant using her cafe as a place to pass out drugs to little girls! In the meantime, Luci is grounded.

(And I think I need a shot of vodka. *sigh*)

A New Priest in Midian

2008-03-04T03:04:07Z

"When it is dark enough, you can see the stars."

Word arrived from the bishop that we would soon be receiving a new and potentially permanent priest in our parish. I am so happy to write here that he has arrived! With Fr. Zelenski's mysterious absence (an absence Fr. Eamon explained to me, at least as much as he could, although I dare not write the details of it, even here), we have all been feeling the strain, and particularly after the week we have had, what with the strange green things roaming the city's streets, it was indeed a welcome relief to see another friendly face making an appearance within our walls. His name is Father Dark, which is a terribly unusual name for a priest, but God is nothing if not good-humored. There is a sort of amusing irony in the father's name, but during our short meeting, I felt he was a very good man. I am so very pleased that he has come to Midian, and although he will be here in a mostly unofficial capacity until Father Eamon feels he is ready, I do hope that he stays.

His arrival was a moment of brightness in an otherwise terrible week. The green-skinned, tentacled things that have invaded our city have made the past few days within the church feel like suffering through a siege. Father Eamon has all but forbidden me to go out, and for once I do not feel up to arguing, as there is simply no way I could hope to outrun the... sylphs, I believe they are called, should one of them take a notion to come after me.

We found very old gas masks in the church's storage (how they came to be there, I haven't a clue, and it disturbs me more than I care to admit to try imagining why they were needed in the first place), so the father and the orphans have been able to venture out to acquire supplies. Some of those "supplies" have included a small, battered container of gas, which we have been using to form rudimentary fire-starters (Fr. Eamon calls them something else--a sort of cocktail, I believe?), as we have found that setting these plant things ablaze is the only effective way of destroying them quickly.

I'm not sure where Luci found the gas, and she was very evasive when asked. Fr. Eamon and I exchanged a glance, but neither of us pressed her further. In this, at least, I think we both opted to agree that the end justified the means. I can only pray that God feels the same. It would seem very foolish indeed to quibble over a bit of theft when there are so many lives at stake.

And now there are other things roaming the streets. I pray there is an end in sight.

Watch, O Lord, with those who wake,
or watch, or weep tonight,
and give your angels charge over those who sleep.
Tend your sick ones, O Lord Christ.
Rest your weary ones.
Bless your dying ones.
Soothe your suffering ones.
Pity your afflicted ones.
Shield your joyous ones.
And for all your love's sake. Amen.

Blood and Souls

2008-02-25T05:10:14Z

"The mouth of a righteous man is a well of life: but violence covereth the mouth of the wicked."
~ Proverbs 10:11

I returned to the church this evening to find an abattoir.

I'm not sure which frightened me more: the long trail of blood drying on the runner down the center aisle, or the blood I could still smell on Fr. Eamon as he approached me from the altar. His coat and shirt were stiff with it; I could feel it beneath my fingers, tacky and revolting, when I reached out with shaking hands to touch him and convince myself that he was truly all right. Some of it had even marked his collar, drying like a tiny maroon flower against that square of former white. But it was not his, thank God in His mercy. The blood did not even belong to the same person.

There was apparently a shooting at Mass today. Two women were shot, one unknown to us, the other a catwalker we know only on sight. The woman was quickly carried to the medical center, while Johnny and Elise, catwalkers of the parish, tended to the injured neko.

Most horrible of all, however--it seems the woman who did the shooting was one of our regular parishioners. The father would tell me no more than that, and indeed, when I left him, he was on his way to the MPD to give his statement to the police. But things have come to a troubling pass indeed when our parishioners take to attacking each other even during the Mass.

That explained the blood on the carpet. As for the blood on the father himself, it seems my strange visitor from days before, Hilda, arrived again at the end of Mass, after all the other madness had died down. In the process of scaring the remaining parishioners, she... well, she apparently died. Right there, in the rear foyer of the church, vomiting a stream of blood on Fr. Eamon as she did so. Only to... well, it sounds fantastic, I know, but she came back to life immediately after. I have heard of such things, of course--the biomechs, for instance, can apparently be "brought back" as long as there is technology to do so (I will not get into my feelings on that here. Not now, not tonight, with the scent of blood still hanging so heavy inside the church). But Fr. Eamon also said he thought she'd been a neko once.

*shudders and crosses herself before continuing to write*

I asked what had become of her, and he said she'd fled the church shortly after... coming back, or whatever it was. Truth be told, the good father seems troubled and distracted, and I did not have the heart to pry further. Instead, I waited until Luci arrived from wherever she goes when she's not in the church, and the two of us busied ourselves with cleaning the blood from the floors.

And now I wait for news.

Closer to Thee

2008-02-21T05:58:53Z

"To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come..."
~ Shakespeare's Hamlet

All is quiet in the church this evening. The only strangeness was in finding a young woman sound asleep on the floor in one of the back rooms of the church. I was surprised to find her upon entering the chapel on my way from the cloister, but I stepped around her carefully and let the poor thing sleep. She is not the first to find safety and some measure of sanctuary here, and I am certain she will not be the last. If she is still there upon my return, I shall fetch a blanket from our supplies and cover the poor thing. I did not do it before for fear of disturbing her slumber, as anyone who stretches out on the floor must have been tired indeed, but if she remains there too long, the chill of the stone beneath that old carpet is likely to settle in her limbs and make her stiff. No need to add insult to the poor girl's exhaustion.

I spent some time in the quiet of the choir loft, reading a book while keeping one eye on the chapel itself and the curtained room where the young woman slept, then when it seemed she would not be waking, I went out to take a late supper. Zoe's Cafe was closed again, although I was hoping Guin would be there, and while the sushi bar can be enjoyable, I don't like eating there alone with the Midian street at my back. So I stopped by the Sari-Mart instead and purchased a few small things for an impromptu "picnic" of sorts, then made my way toward the Ruins and the Midian City Park. There, I chose my usual bench to the left of the initial crossroads (marked, much to my interest and curiosity, by a voudou veve--I believe it is Papa Legba?), and ate my simple supper in the soft shadow of the trees. Oddly enough, for all its loneliness and gloom, I quite enjoy spending time in the park. There are interesting people to be found there--strange people, to be sure, with odd mannerisms and quirks of speech, but they have never done me harm. It's as if there is some Other watching over the park and those who wander there.

I took the long way back to the Church, and wrote these words while sitting on the grassy bluff that overlooks the gas station, the ridge of trees... and beyond that, the breathing ocean. There is no place safer than the Church, of course--at least not for someone like me--but sometimes it is good to be out in the open, with these towers of stone and sin at my back, and God's nature unfolded before me. Even here, in this hell on earth, sparse grass continues to grow, trees reach for the hazy, cloud-dark sky--not as healthy as they might be, perhaps, but there nonetheless, reminding me in their tenacity that even here in Midian City, life goes on.

A Horror and a Sorrow

2008-02-19T20:04:53Z

"Compassion is the only one of the human emotions the Lord permitted Himself, and it has carried the divine flavor ever since."
~ Dagobert D. Runes

While praying the rosary this morning in the candlelit silence of the church, I heard the front doors open, and the hesitant, dragging step of some person making their way up the aisle. I did not look up at first, content to be pleased that I was sharing the church with another soul, but the wretched sound of its twisted limbs as it entered the space before a pew, and knelt on the cold stone floor, caused me to lift my head and seek out our visitor in the shadows. And what I saw both shocked and humbled me with horror.

A woman knelt there--or what might have been a whole woman once, or even a girl, as her age was impossible to determine, but what had once been mortal flesh was ravaged and ruined beyond my ability to comprehend. Her skin was pale and fleshy, ridged with lines and deep wrinkles, pouches of tumorous swellings and wounds that healed and opened, wept blood and then healed again. Some sort of scarf was wrapped around her neck, soaked with blood that dripped against her torso and left smears of dark crimson with her every swaying movement. That she was some sort of biomech, I had no doubt, as her limbs and the bald curve of her skull were augmented with cybernetic devices, the latter in the form of swaying, snake-like cables in a mockery of hair. They erupted from the reddened, oozing sores that dotted her scalp, scraping against the wooden pew at her back as she bowed her head and rubbed fretfully at her temples.

But her eyes... God in heaven. When I spoke to her, rising from my pew to approach and offer what trembling help I could, she turned eyes of black and fiery blue on mine... and for a moment, it was like staring into the pit of the eternally damned.

I thought perhaps that she might have been one of the terrible experiments I'd heard tell of since arriving in this city--or worse, an escaped project of the Legion. Father Eamon told me with quiet fury in his eyes of what happened to the Catwalker's Matron. (He hides his anger well, and the Lord teaches us to forgive, but in my heart I know the UAC has made a bitter enemy of Fr. Eamon and the Parish.) The Legion's experiments seem to be of an altogether different nature, but who's to say what horrific new project those monsters have concocted now?! But no... with halting words and fractured speech, the girl told me her name was Hilda, and that she came from a ship--I'm assuming one on the ocean somewhere between Midian and the mainland,

but even my best efforts at comforting this poor, tortured creature could coax forth no further information--or at least no information that made sense. She did not accept my offer of getting her to a doctor, and in truth, upon observation it seems her wounds have the uncanny ability to close on their own, although they reopen again from time to time, leaking blood as sluggish as syrup. But I hope and pray I see her again, and that somehow this tormented soul finds a place, and peace, in the shadowed streets of this haunted city. I will not sleep well tonight--I cannot stop thinking about her, or the horror that's been inflicted. And God forgive me, but my heart cannot help but cry out, Why? Are there truly no limits to the depth of our inhumanity? We create monsters... and so become monsters ourselves.

Nothing If Not Tenacious

2008-02-19T03:31:40Z

"Verflucht wer mit dem Teufel spielt."
[Accursed be he who plays with the devil.]
~ Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller, Wallenstein's Tod

Success at last! Although with God's grace, I am not too proud to say it took a measure of courage I did not know I had. I am not some timid thing, to be frightened of shadows and the sleeping dead, but sitting on a tombstone in a night-dark cemetery is a far cry from pleasant.

I was determined to make some headway in my investigation of Artika, so once more I descended the narrow stone steps that lead from the chapel to the cemetery. I wasn't as nervous about ringing the doorbell this time, for despite night having fallen (or what passes for night in this city, which is only a deepening of the ever-present darkness), the street beyond the cemetery's gate was relatively busy with people, so while I hardly expected protection should something go awry, there was something comforting in the presence of so much noisy life at my back--particularly standing as I was, in Midian's city of the dead. Still, there was no answer once I'd squared my shoulders and rung the bell beneath the nameplate, but rather than return to the church, I decided to remain in the graveyard for awhile, in the hopes that someone would arrive.

Thanks be to God, I did not need to wait long. It was uncomfortable, I must admit, sitting as I was on a small, above-ground crypt while waiting for an arrival. I hope the soul whose crypt it was did not mind too terribly me using their grave as an impromptu seat. The stone was gritty beneath my palms, worn away by time and weather, its name obscured beneath a clinging, tattered carpet of dark green moss. And it was cold; I shivered as I waited. But soon I heard the door of the Society's "mausoleum" open, at the same time a woman unknown to me entered through the cemetery gate. I rose, and found that a man had come to the door to greet the arriving woman, and before I could lose my nerve, I cleared my throat and addressed them both, asking if I might interrupt them long enough to ask a question.

Thankfully, they did not seem put out by my appearance--on the contrary, they were both reserved but very polite. I asked after Artika, and the woman confirmed that she was indeed a Society member, but that she was currently out of the city for reasons unknown. I did not press, and left only the request that they pass a message on to Artika, telling her that Sister Lisbeth of the parish would greatly like to speak to her when and if she had the time. And with their promise to convey the message, I took my leave of them both and returned to the blessed, candlelit safety of the church.

So! Not as fruitful a visit as I would have liked, but more than I have accomplished on that score in over a week. With God's help and a little luck, I may get to the bottom of this yet!

Perception

2008-02-18T21:58:52Z

"Black it stood as night,
Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell,
And shook a dreadful dart; what seem'd his head
The likeness of a kingly crown had on.
Satan was now at hand."
~John Milton, Paradise Lost

It is strange, how one's perception changes upon coming to this city. In some ways, it is a good thing--God gives us the sweet with the sour. I feel closer to the work of Christ on earth in Midian than on the mainland, as nowhere else have I felt the need for compassion so keenly. I only need to look at the faces of the orphaned children in our care to know that our work here is truly blessed. But there is always a cost in the end, and I feel that as well when I hurry through the streets of this nighted city. Where once I could walk the streets of the mainland in something resembling safety, and offer a smile without care or fear when someone called a greeting, now I feel a shiver every time I pass a stranger on the street. "Hello, sister," they whisper. Whenever a voice calls from the shadows, I feel icy fingers on my spine.

And I turn toward the voice, wondering who I'll find. A lost and frightened child, perhaps, or some homeless soul in need of food and care and a gentle, comforting word? Or if this time there will be something far more terrible, waiting for me in the dark.

I have tried several times to make the acquaintance of Gin's mysterious Artika, even going so far as to visit the Society headquartered in the churchyard. The cemetery itself is an unpleasant place, heavy with shadows and the rich, cool smell of the moss that blankets the gravestones, but its grounds are well-tended--I believe by the Society itself. It seems a very strange place to have a headquarters of any stripe, and the building itself bears such a striking resemblance to a mausoleum, it's actually rather unsettling, although I understand the desire to make it blend in with its surroundings. There, beside the door, is a polished brass plate with the Society's name, mounted above a doorbell, but no one answered when I rang, and I did not wait for long. There is something unbearably eerie about standing on those steps, spiders spinning webs beside you, with the silent dead on every side and the wrought iron gates open to the empty street at your back. I lingered long enough on my fruitless visits to make sure there was no one "home," then I hurried away as fast as I could. I'll return again, of course--for Gin's sake, if nothing else--but I do not relish the thought. It is far too spooky for my tastes.

I sometimes wonder if these streets are haunted by more than the mad and the damned. I returned to the church to pray, and spent some time with the rosary, but my prayers were threaded through with the sound of bells. I hear them often in the darkest watches of the night--faint and far away, then growing closer, until it sounds as if they are brushing the walls of the chapel. Then they fade away again, vanishing into the constant darkness that surrounds this city like a cloak. Perhaps ghosts walk the Midian streets, wearing bells instead of chains.

Gin slipped into the chapel later, as lithe and soundless as ever, and I was so very happy to see him. We talked about everything and nothing at all, just enjoying each other's company. It was a comfort, having him there after such an unsettling night, and so many dark thoughts of my own. He reminded me again that the catwalkers watch over the church and its inhabitants, and I took comfort in that as well. Father Eamon told me their den is not far from the front doors of the church itself, and I am not ashamed to admit I sleep better knowing they are there. I thank God every day for Gin and his people.

I saw Luci as well. She is settling into life here, and eating well at last. She looks healthier by far than when Guin first brought her to us, that skinny and sullen orphan with a chip the size of Midian on her shoulder. We spoke in brief, and I casually asked her if she knew of a woman named Artika--a woman who might have been seen around the cemetery. Luci said no, but she promised to keep an eye out for her, and if anyone can find out more, it's our Luci. She knows every street, every hole and sewer like the back of her hand, so hopefully she will come back soon with information I can use. I said nothing to her about Gin, of course--that is not my story to share--but Luci didn't ask.

Look at me! I feel positively cloak-and-dagger!

Ash Wednesday

2008-02-07T04:05:18Z

"Remember, Man, that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return."

Last night I had the pleasure of speaking with Guin again, and it seems that--for the moment, at least--the strange case of the black-furred neko has been laid to rest. We shall see. She told me that the cat showed up after Mass again last Sunday, this time at the church before Fr. Eamon had departed the chapel. He had a folder of pictures and a recording of the conversation between Guin and Fr. Eamon after Mass from the previous Sunday--the same picture I saw, and the same recording he played for Guin at Fr. Eamon's quarters. As I noted in a previous entry, the conversation was an innocent one, so I'm not entirely sure what game the rogue cat thinks he's playing. But needless to say, it would seem that Fr. Eamon was less than impressed.

According to Guin, however, it seems the cat's intent was to blackmail Fr. Eamon into helping the rogue get his hands on Elise, a pretty white catwalker and friend of the parish who was helped out of a difficulty some time ago by Fr. Zelenski. She has been a faithful attendee at Mass ever since, and while I do not know her as well as the fathers, by all accounts, she's a dear girl with a truly extraordinary gift--a sort of precognition or clairvoyance, if you will.

Of course, Fr. Eamon flatly refused, attempted blackmail or no--especially considering the father has done nothing wrong and the cat's insinuations were groundless. The cat then made the mistake of trying to shift the blackmail to Guin, only to beat a hasty retreat, as Fr. Eamon was apparently close to losing his decidedly Irish temper. Ohhh, diary! I am laughing even now as I write this, wishing I could have been there to see the cat's reaction! But here is hoping that the cat has learned his lesson about threatening our priests.

Elise was warned, of course, immediately following the cat's departure, and Guin assured me that the catwalkers are well aware of the potential for danger. Still, I worry, for the cat's reasons for seeking Elise had something to do with a splinter society 'hunting sinners' (or so he said), which makes me concerned for the parish. The Church has ever had to suffer splinter societies in its midst, and while each and every one of them operating outside the laws of the Church has been roundly condemned by the Vatican, to the uninitiated and unlearned, it might seem as if they speak for the Church herself. And our tiny parish has difficulties enough without being held responsible for every crackpot Christian running rampant through the city.

I saw my dear, sweet Gin the same evening, but our meeting was a troubling one. I have been thinking about him constantly ever since. We spoke of a relationship he has, with a woman outside his pride, and while my first thought was that Gin had fallen in love (and how wonderful if true!), the more he spoke, the more concerned I became. He does not speak like a man in love (or a cat in love, for that matter). So many of the "symptoms" are the same--an inability to think of anything else, a willingness to do anything and forswear all for the sake of the woman in question--but he spoke of feeling drugged in her presence, and cleaner somehow when he was away from her, as he was last night when we spoke together in the church.

I'll confess, I'm not sure what to make of it. In another time or place, I might have chalked it up to nothing more than the

pangs of first love, but in this city? He was so obviously distressed, and Gin is not the sort prone to melodramatics. I almost believe this strange woman of his is drugging the poor boy. He said her name was Artika, and she works, I believe, for the art society whose headquarters are (oddly enough) in the cemetery behind the church. He asked if I would look into her, and find out what I can, and of course I said yes, but the more I think about it, the more determined I become to get to the bottom of this. It may be nothing, but I owe it to Gin to find out everything I can. And woe betide the woman if she's hurting him!

Today was Ash Wednesday, of course. I attended the quiet morning service with Fr. Eamon this morning, then wore my cross of ashes with mindfulness until sunset--which in Midian, is nothing more than a deepening of the ever-present gloom. But this afternoon, I was visited in the chapel by an officer of the MPD. No, not my other officer--this was Officer Jono, who wanted to ask me about the murder of the mysterious Mary Vilhemina.

No one seems entirely sure who this woman was. Fr. Eamon was questioned as well, and he told me about it in brief, but it seems a woman was found murdered either in or near the church, a woman who may or may not have been a nun. If she was a nun, she was not a sister of our parish, which is strange in and of itself, as we have no record of a sister traveling alone in Midian City, as would be the usual protocol for such a case. But according to Officer Jono, the woman had attended Mass, as the remains of a communion wafer were found in her stomach during the autopsy.

*shudders*

I answered the officer's questions as best I could, but I felt terrible--there was so little I could give her, and it was clear the officer was frustrated with the entire case. I will say prayers that God might help her and the other officers on the case, but especially Officer Jono, as from all accounts, she has been working hard trying to solve this mystery. I was able to help her somewhat with facts pertaining to another case--the selfsame floating, armored thing that had threatened little Nute in the chapel some nights past. But my heart breaks for that poor, lost woman found murdered in our parish. I will pray fervently that her murderer is found and brought to justice. And that Mary might find the peace in death that so eluded her in life.

Tonight, I return to the chapel to light a candle in her memory.

The Suspension of Disbelief

2008-02-03T00:41:15Z

"Satan exalted sat, by merit raised
To that bad eminence."
~ John Milton, Paradise Lost

The past few days have been busy indeed at St. Michael's. I have been given much to think about, and I must admit, I scarcely know where to begin. I suppose I must start with a strange conversation I had approximately a week ago with Fr. Zelenski and one Delia Noel, the latter a member of the parish choir, and the selfsame woman who came to my aid the day the church was being abused by those... nun-things. Delia and I had been practicing music for Sunday Mass (although heaven help the girl, she had obviously been drinking, which made for an interesting practice, to say the least). But we were joined very shortly by Fr. Zelenski.

As always, I greeted the father warmly and asked after his evening, but rather than the usual exchange of pleasantries, he showed Delia and I a hole in the hem of his robes, and explained that it was the result of a bullet passing through the fabric--and narrowly missing him. Of course, I was shocked--I know Midian City isn't safe, but I am still having difficulty accepting the fact that there are those who would shoot at our priests. But be that as it may...

Of course, Delia and I wanted to know more, but the things the father had to tell me--I scarcely know where or how to begin, or what I should even believe. But he added weight to the rumors that there are, well... vampires, for lack of a better word, living behind the church. And strangest of all, I found myself believing it. I've had my suspicions, of course, and he is not the first to speak of such things--even Fr. Eamon has mentioned them a time or two. But it was always with an air of skepticism, and I confess, I didn't want to believe.

The mystery of these creatures deepens. Speak of them in a public place, and the reactions are much as they would be at home, on the mainland. They are things of fairy, things of nightmare--but never real. Yet I met one who claimed to be such a thing, and Fr. Eamon seems to be suspicious of something, and then there was the conversation I had with Wolbert, not long ago. And now, Fr. Zelenski, who seemed convinced he was telling the truth. It is not my habit to doubt a priest--and I'll admit, in the candlelit dark of the church that night, with no one but the father and Delia for company, it was easy enough to fall under his spell, to believe as he did that such things exist, and that they mean us harm. God forgive me if I have done wrong, but I even offered to help the father in any way I could.

Still, the next day, in the red light of Midian's dubious morning, it was harder to believe. The entire conversation seemed like a dream. And troubled in heart, I went to speak with Fr. Eamon.

Fr. Eamon has ever been a comfort to me since arriving in Midian City. For all his occasional gruffness, he has always been unfailingly kind, and there is something soothing in that whiskey-rough voice when he speaks to those who come to him in need. I poured out everything to him at last--the stranger I'd met, Wolbert's troubling whispers, the strange tale of Fr. Zelenski--and he listened without comment until I was finished, his face grave but calm. And it was then he asked the one thing that turned all my surety to confusion.

How do you know it's true?

I must admit, I blinked at that--if I cannot trust a priest of the parish, our Fr. Zelenski, who can I trust?! Fr. Eamon waved that away, assuring me he didn't mean the other priest had been spreading untruths, but he cautioned me against jumping to conclusions. And the more we talked, the more I realized he was right. It was so strange, coming to this city and finding the catwalkers--something we'd heard about in my mainland home, but something as much a creature of legend as perhaps these vampires themselves. Yet here they are in Midian, living and loving and building their society in the labyrinth above our streets. Many of them come to Sunday Mass--we have opened our parish and our arms to them all. We have made dear friends among their kind. They are here. They are real. And I suppose, in accepting one reality, it made it so much easier to accept the possibility of others. Vampires... sin-eaters... heaven only knows what next.

But Fr. Eamon is right. Something is going on, but I should hold my tongue, reserve all judgment, and watch and wait. There is something rotten in the city of Midian, but I will do no good by feeding into a situation that may amount to nothing more than misguided hysteria. It is difficult, knowing who to trust, knowing what to believe, but I have my faith, and as Fr. Eamon so gently reminded me, adherence to the precepts of my faith will never steer me wrong. I will strive to emulate his quiet conviction.

Note to self: I must speak with Gin or one of the friendly catwalkers as soon as I can. Some strange feline followed Fr. Eamon's assistant, Guin, back to the father's apartment after Mass last Sunday. I stumbled upon him myself when I arrived there after visiting with a sick parishioner. Guin, wise girl, did not open the door, which made for a very strange conversation as she spoke through the window and I stared down the cat, but I could tell from the sound of her voice that she was shaken. The catwalker claimed to have news for the father "from the bishop," which was ridiculous, of course (heavens, the bishop would have simply called him), but he left shortly after my arrival, his news undelivered.

Guin let me in, and spoke with me. It seems the cat had seen Fr. Eamon and Guin talking after Mass, had taken pictures of them talking, and even went so far as to record part of their conversation. Now, I saw the picture, and it was innocent enough, and what little Guin could remember of the recording sounded quite innocent as well, but it appears the foolish cat was trying to blackmail Fr. Eamon (or possibly Guin herself) by implying that something inappropriate was going on. The utter ridiculousness of such an idea! Fr. Eamon, whatever his faults, is a fine and decent man, and Guin is a good girl in every sense of the word. I was beside myself with fury that this cat would not only follow Guin, but threaten her and frighten her with baseless accusations. And if I happen to find this fellow, he is going to get an earful.

Opportunistic idiot. The nerve.

Otherwise, the parish has been quiet--although the events recorded here are quite enough to go on. *sigh* Our Father in heaven, bless this parish with peace, and keep all your children safe.

Strange Days, Stranger Nights

2008-01-22T04:02:49Z

"His form had yet not lost
All his original brightness, not appear'd
Less than arch-angel ruined, and th' excess
Of glory obscured."
~John Milton, Paradise Lost

Well. Every time it seems I have finally achieved an understanding of the strange beings with which I share this city, some new and unfathomable player arrives onstage. It was late in the evening, and after spending several hours in the silent cloister attending to various duties, I reentered the chapel with the intent of prayer before bed (as well as a check on the chapel itself in hopes that I might intercept our mysterious Hindi visitor--not to mention my eye for the mural, to be sure it had not been defaced again).

A child's voice from beyond the curtains caught my attention, and I quickened my steps, as she sounded distraught and close to tears. I hurried into the chapel to find myself... well, in the midst of lunacy. A small mouseling was crouched on the floor at the railing beyond the choir pews, her hands over her eyes, her entire body trembling from head to feet to the very tip of her tail. She was pleading with a... a thing, some armored monstrosity with sharp spikes for feet that appeared to be floating several inches off the floor. It was winged, whatever it was, although I'm sure the "wings" were mechanical in nature, and some strange, bluish spark seemed to be emitting from its hands.

Another man was present--shrouded, masked--with a gun and a laser sight trained upon the creature. I soon discovered that he was trying to help the mouseling, as she was being menaced by the creature, but at first sight I was so startled and frightened I could do little more than shout at them both to desist at once, as they were standing in the Presence, in a church.

Then yet another woman arrived, a woman who clearly knew the mouseling, and everything dissolved into chaos and confusion. The child began to cry, and I thought my heart would break, so while the creature hissed and snarled at them both, and shouts and threats were exchanged, I quietly slipped around the back of the pews, behind the winged monstrosity, and reached the girl. Her friend managed to slip over as well, and between us we untied the child. I hugged the mouseling and comforted her as best I could, while the creature--seeing itself outnumbered--snarled its way out the door amid dire threats against the noble man with the gun.

The child, once she'd calmed herself, gave her name as Nute, and explained that she'd only accompanied 'the woman' (I assume the winged thing was female) into the church on the woman's pretext that she didn't wish to pray alone. But it was a trap, although why the thing wanted the mouseling, or for what intent, none of us knew. Her friend called the thing a sloth, one of the seven deadly sins, but this is the first I've ever heard of someone (or something) claiming the name for their own. I certainly don't believe in its personification, but whatever it was, it certainly meant to do the child harm, and I am grateful all three of us arrived in the church when we did, particularly the armed man who stood his ground before the creature. There are too few of such men in Midian.

Strangely enough, when I recounted the story to Father Eamon, he said my description of the creature matched one of three people (his word, not mine) who had entered the chapel the night before, when he was finishing an evening Mass, and demanded that the church be "made private" so they could conduct a meeting. According to the father, there was a great deal of nonsensical talk about a "dark mother" and a password--Sithis, I believe?--as well as an attempt to intimidate him into compliance, but judging from his expression in the retelling, Fr. Eamon was unimpressed. He told them he'd never heard of their "dark mother," and while they were welcome to use the church for a peaceful meeting, the church is for the use of our parishioners and will never be "private" in the sense they meant. This was apparently met with more snarls, hisses, and other uncouth noises, many threats against Fr. Eamon's life and limb, then the trio stormed from the church--and that was the end of that.

*sigh* It is as Fr. Eamon said at Mass this Sunday: As our parish grows in strength, as our light begins to banish the darkness, there will be those who slink out of the shadows and seek to challenge us. But I have never been stronger in my faith than I am at this very moment. I think, perhaps, that God sends these challenges to test us, yes... but also to give us strength, to bolster our courage in the face of our enemies--and to show us that, whatever lurks in the dark, we are powerful enough to face it down and banish it back to the shadows. For every enemy of the parish, we have found twice the number of allies, and it gives me continued hope that things in this city are not nearly as terrible as they seem.

There are scores of us in Midian, angels all, each one of us a little candle in the darkness.

Idle Hands and the Devil's Work

2008-01-16T05:47:13Z

"It is Lucifer,
The son of mystery;
And since God suffers him to be,
He, too, is God's minister,
And labors for some good
By us not understood."
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The last few days have been very busy in the parish. Fr. Eamon has given me permission to form the parish choir, although I think this has less to do with my powers of persuasion than his sincere desire to have someone else leading the liturgical music at Mass so he can stop singing chant every Sunday, not to mention his continued concern for my safety, bless the man. He's right, however. If there is someone dangerous lurking about the church, as he seems to believe, the chance of such a person doing me or my charges any harm is considerably lessened as long as we meet in groups. We have a soprano and an alto already, as well as one young lady (my rescuer from the incident with the--ahem--psychotic nun-things) who I've not yet placed by voice, but already we're well on our way. With God's grace, I hope to have them ready to sing at Mass this Sunday, and by next Sunday at the very latest.

((OOC: If you're interested, look up Groups: Midian Parish Choir))

There have been strange leavings in the church as of late. The first time this happened, the objects were long gone by the time I returned to the chapel, but apparently some enthusiastic but misguided soul had placed a framed picture of a Hindu goddess, Kali-Ma, upon our altar, with a dead rat (God in heaven!) and a letter expressing the wish that our gods "share the temple." Fr. Zelenski removed the items and the altar was thoroughly cleaned and reconsecrated, but a few days ago, our mysterious visitor returned. This time, in addition to the usual note and the picture of Kali-Ma, incense was placed... and the chalice on the altar was filled with blood. There are no words to describe my shock and horror when I realized what was inside it. I quickly poured it out in the cloister sink and cleaned the entire thing thoroughly, then I moved the incense away from the altar and hid the picture away in Fr. Eamon's desk. I then wrote my own note on the back of the letter and left it on the altar, explaining why this was not a Good Thing, to leave such offerings there, and inviting this confused but well-meaning stranger to seek me out so that we might talk about it.

Fr. Eamon seemed both exasperated and amused when I told him what I'd done, but he agreed at last that the intent of our visitor seems to be an offering of goodwill, and while we're both growing terribly weary of cleaning and reconsecrating the Lord's altar and tools, he agreed to keep his temper until I'd had a chance to speak with our guest. God willing, this may be an opportunity to guide another soul to the fold.

A far more unpleasant thing happened today, however, and it is this that saddens me most. I returned to the chapel this evening after supper, and found little Luci Jameson fast asleep in one the pews. She looked exhausted, bless the child, and there was an oddly strong stench of chemicals around her--chemicals I discovered later consisted mostly of acetone and cleaning solution. I fetched a blanket from the cloister and covered her up, thinking nothing of it, but in meeting with Fr. Eamon shortly after, I found out what had happened. Luci had entered the church this afternoon with the intention of sweeping behind the altar, as I'd asked, but she was therefore the first to find that someone had spray-painted GOD IS NOT HERE ANYMORE in huge red letters on the beautiful old mural behind the altar. After telling Fr. Eamon what had happened, she insisted on cleaning the mural herself, and apparently spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening doing just that. Fr. Eamon, furious and heartsick over the vandalism to that old, lovely painting--not to mention the insult to the parish--tried repeatedly to help her, but Luci adamantly refused. She seemed to take the vandalism personally, and I suppose she did. The church is as much her home now as it is mine.

The paint is gone now, thanks to Luci, but the injury remains. Parts of the mural have been terribly damaged, the paint faded in places--it breaks my heart to see it. But Fr. Eamon is undeterred; he is already investigating the possibility of finding an artist in Midian that the church can commission to repair the damage. And if the person who did this thinks to weaken our resolve or cripple this parish with such a heartless, childish trick, they are sorely mistaken. (Although we may need to guard the church more carefully from now on. *sigh*)

In far happier news, however, Fr. Eamon has been appointed head priest of St. Michael's and Midian Parish! Fr. Donovan has returned to the mainland for another diocese, and we wish him all the best and God's continued blessings in His service. Fr. Eamon has stepped up to take his place on a permanent basis, with Fr. Zelenski being assigned new duties as well, both as Fr. Eamon's assistant and advisor and Grand Master of the Templar Swords--an organization within the parish that I confess I know little about, but I pray God will bless their good works.

I have yet to hear back from my Reverend Mother about Wolbert's troubling report, and there has been no opportunity to catch Fr. Eamon alone to pester him for answers. But it will happen. Never fear!

Whispers in the Dark

2008-01-11T22:19:59Z

"I call'd the devil, and he came,
And with wonder his form did I closely scan;
He is not ugly, and is not lame,
But really a handsome and charming man.
A man in the prime of life is the devil,
Obliging, a man of the world, and civil;
A diplomatist too, well skill'd in debate,
He talks quite glibly of church and state."
~Heinrich Heine. Pictures of Travels: The Return Home

So many dark doings of late. God forgive me for saying so, but it seems that as the parish grows in strength, the darkness without grows stronger as well. Those who lurk in the shadows are drawn to us, like moths to a lonely flame, and while many of them are in desperate need, there are others who come to the church with a far darker purpose, and it is these we must watch for... if not for ourselves, then for those who shelter here. And now... ah, Diary, I wish our church was truly the rock, the bastion of strength it appears to be to those who seek comfort here, but I am beginning to fear there may be foul doings within the heart of the clergy itself.

And no, I do not mean our elder priest, Father Donovan. Fr. Eamon and I spoke at length about him, and it seems Fr. Eamon met with the man on a brief but recent visit to the parish. Fr. Eamon, surprisingly, found him to be a warm, pleasant man, albeit anxious in behavior and distracted, and when questioned about the supposed 'cult,' Fr. Donovan appeared genuinely surprised. He confirmed Fr. Eamon's appointment at the church, briefly discussed current news from the Vatican... all in all, from Fr. Eamon's account, the visit went well and Fr. Donovan was pleased with the current state of the parish.

Fr. Donovan's duties keep him often away, but Fr. Eamon was surprised at how... well... normal the good father was. As was I. I'm not sure what this means, but Fr. Eamon and I had a moment of simply looking at each other, as if we were both thinking the same thing, and were both reluctant to say as much aloud. It would seem that rumors and tales in Midian are oft a tricky thing...

But there is a stranger story to tell...

After my prayers yesterday, I turned to leave the chapel, and stopped when I realized Wolbert was there as well. I'm always delighted to see him, and he ceased writing in his notebook to speak with me, but what I'd hoped might be a quiet, pleasant conversation about the usual things turned into something, well... much more troubling than I'd anticipated. There was so much... so much... that I can scarcely be sure I understood it all, but it is this that now weighs so heavily upon my mind. I trust Wolbert completely; I have no reason to believe he is lying. And his tale upsets me more than words can say.

Wolbert began his story by telling me he'd followed the tattooed stranger, and discovered that this man makes a habit of preying upon women. I am not the first to be threatened so--and no doubt, I'll not be the last--but Wolbert seemed genuinely concerned for my safety, and made me promise him that I would be careful. I told him I would. Fr. Eamon and Guin have already made me promise to avoid being alone in the chapel.

Wolbert then told me about a poor woman who had come to Midian seeking a cure. She is HIV-positive, the poor child--my heart breaks for her, but more so because she has turned to prostitution as a means of providing for herself. I was quick to urge Wolbert to send her to me, to the church--we will care for her here, give her food and shelter and a hand towards some far nobler endeavor, and hopefully keep her from spreading the disease through ignorance and want. But, as much as it pains me to say it, that wasn't the truly disturbing part of Wolbert's tale.

The girl has been seeking out the vampires.

For a cure.

Yes, I said it. Vampires. Two months ago, I would not have believed they existed, but I have met them now, and seen them with my own two eyes. Conversed with them, and even comforted one in need.

The fact of their reality is the least of my concerns, however--as strange as that might seem. It is only this--that there is some dark connection between the vampires... and Fr. Zelenski. What it might be, I do not know, and Wolbert could only give me frustrating, fractured details, but it seems Wolbert witnessed a vampire attack on that woman--whether through her own desire or chance, I do not know. And Fr. Zelenski was there. Another woman who appeared to have connections with the undead attacker tried to stop Fr. Zelenski from doing something, and spoke of a 'deal' or 'arrangement' they had made. Which disturbs me, to say the least. I can't make heads or tails of what such a 'deal' might mean, but given all the rumors I've heard, it troubles me greatly.

But I am tired of being protected from such things. The priests mean well, but something is going on, and I am determined to find out what. I promised Wolbert I would contact the reverend mother of my House in hopes of her advice--she is incredibly wise, and very learned, and if anyone could shed light on these events in Midian, it will be her. I can only pray I am able to reach her--communication is so terribly difficult here, separated as we are from the mainland. But I also plan to go one step further and confront Fr. Eamon. Fr. Zelenski would seem the obvious choice, but as he is the one supposedly involved in this arrangement, I do not know if I can trust him (although the thought that I cannot trust one of our priests fills me with sadness--I dearly hope Wolbert was wrong!) So Fr. Eamon is due for a talk. And THIS time I plan to make sure he tells me everything.

St. Michael, defend me in battle... for a battle this will surely be.

Cold Comfort

2008-01-03T03:09:23Z

"I think if the devil doesn't exist, then man has created him. He has created him in his own image and likeness."
~Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

I am taking supper inside the church this evening, and writing these words as I do. Normally I would wander down to the sushi bar for a breath of fresh air with my evening meal, but while out this afternoon, I saw what had become of the Sari-Mart. The doors have been closed off with yellow police tape, such as that which marks a crime scene, and the windows were shattered, the remaining shards of glass blackened with soot. I wandered close, shocked into silence, and peeked through those empty windows into the remains of the shop. Some terrible explosion went off inside, and the store is in shambles. There was no sign of Sari or any of her friends, and none of the neighboring bystanders could tell me much about what had happened--only that something had exploded inside it, and the shop was closed until further notice.

I do not know Sari as well as I would like, but in our few brief encounters, she has always been friendly to me. I pray most sincerely for her safety and well-being, and I hope to find some soul in this city who can tell me what has happened. And for now, I cannot eat at the sushi bar, not with the shattered ghost of the store watching me from across the street.

Inside the church? It is not much better.

Something happened yesterday evening, inside the church. I met with Guin and Luci today, and they told me what occurred. They had gone for supper, then returned to bring supper back for Father Eamon. While talking briefly inside the church, they were--well, I do not know if attacked is the right word, but accosted certainly works--by a strange man in a blindfold, with the tongue of a snake. Stranger still, he was accompanied by Gin--yes, Gin, my catwalker friend, and yes, they were all very quick to look askance at me with the mention of his name, since I have spoken often of how much I like him--and while Guin seemed very reluctant to directly accuse him, Luci was adamant that Gin and the snake-tongued stranger were there with some shared purpose. Most of the rest of the story came from Luci herself, as she loves to talk, bless the child, while Guin seemed oddly reluctant to pass judgment on the situation. (As an aside, I think this may have had more to do with Father Eamon's reaction than anything else. To say he is furious would be understating the truth.)

The altercation, or whatever it was, seemed to end with Father Zelenski arriving in the proverbial nick of time. He apparently shot the snake-tongued man (first Father Eamon, now Father Zelenski--WHERE is the Vatican finding these priests? In military special ops?!), then the stranger leapt through the window of the church, completely destroying a beautiful window of priceless stained glass. I'll admit, however, my concern was less for the window than for what happened to Gin. No one who was present seemed able to account for where he went, and except for Luci--who will keep jumping to conclusions--no one seems willing to associate him directly with the snake-tongued stranger. I wish so desperately that I had been there--everything I am hearing is frustratingly second-hand--but every mention of Gin's possible involvement wrenches at my heart.

I know what the others are thinking--that I'm a terrible judge of character--but surely I am not so innocent as that?!

Oh, diary. There are rumors of so many dreadful things surrounding our parish now--I keep hearing rumors of exorcisms (in this day and age?!), of lunatic priests, and even darker things--things I dare not give name, lest writing them down somehow make them real. I pray to God every day for strength, but I am so weary of being afraid. And if these things are coming inside our church, wreaking havoc in this shaky haven, what will happen to the children in our care? Our mice, and Avon, and Luci...

Father Eamon told me this afternoon that he wants me to consider carrying a weapon, and learning how to use it. I stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. A nun? Carrying a weapon? But he was serious. And the more I think on it, the more I pray, the more I wonder if he might be right. He said he would teach me, and I trust him, but my God... it flies in the face of everything I believe in. Peace and love and charity--could I use such a thing, even in the defense of my own life? In the defense of those in my care? I do not think I could, but then I look at our beautiful church mice, with their sweet faces and gentle questions... I hear Luci's bright laughter... see the playful twitch of Avon's tail... and I wonder. I wonder. What wouldn't I do to keep these small ones safe?

Nowhere Warm

2008-01-02T00:29:54Z

"Therefore it behooveth hire a full long spoon
That shal ete with a feend."
~Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales

I had a lovely conversation with Guin again, in the chapel yesterday evening. We talked a little of Father Eamon--bless her, but I think the girl truly has no idea how much her continued presence means to him, something I tried to remedy a little during our talk. I meant every word when I told her that Father Eamon never smiled before Guin arrived in Midian, but now he does, although such good humors continue to be rare. I can only place the blame for his smiles with Guin. I have seen the two of them together, talking in low voices near the rear of the chapel--sharing memories of their home on the mainland, I've no doubt--and his face transforms when they are together. It is so good for him to have a friend in Guin, and if I'm being overly motherly in my concern for the good father, perhaps I may be forgiven for that.

Our talk soon turned to darker subjects, however, namely an unpleasant interaction I had in the church earlier that afternoon. The story is such: I had only just finished my prayers, when the church doors opened and Wolbert came in. A stranger entered as well, seemingly hot on Wolbert's heels, but at first neither of us paid the stranger any mind. I hurried down to greet Wolbert, delighted as always to see him, for despite his gruffness and world-hardened look, he has always been kind to me, and I must confess I've always enjoyed his company. We had only spoken for a few moments, though, when both of us suddenly realized the stranger was watching us, and what followed after was unpleasant in the extreme.

I'm not entirely sure who the stranger was, although something about him made me deeply uncomfortable. He seemed to take my presence there--or rather, the presence of a nun--as a personal insult, or perhaps a challenge he felt some twisted need to answer. There followed the inevitable challenge to my faith--an argument I am beginning to learn cannot be won, so much as forced into a stalemate, as those who refuse to believe, through blindness both deliberate and unconscious, will not and cannot understand the simplicity of my faith. They always want proof, concrete and easily grasped, and they refuse to entertain the possibility that a life can be lived in joy and hope through a belief and love in something larger than oneself, something that cannot be proved.

After all, if God could be proved, what need would we have of faith?

But it was not our argument that unsettled me so deeply. It was his tone, the fire in his eyes, the unholy seething hatred he seemed to hold for me and my 'kind,' the way he stared at me as if seeing right through me in the most physical, basest sense. The way he licked his lips as he talked, searching my face and the form beneath my habit as if undressing me with his eyes. It made me feel violated, although he never succeeded in touching me--I felt dirty, unclean, every second I was forced through propriety to endure his presence. And I am not ashamed to admit that I was so deeply grateful for Wolbert's presence, nor that I took refuge behind his broad back when the stranger's anger and continued force of personality began to frighten me in earnest.

Wolbert, God bless him, rose admirably to the occasion, making it clear by word and action that he had every intention of protecting me. And not long after that, the church mice scurried in with another young friend. They seemed to sense that something was amiss, and were quick to surround the situation--which touched me deeply. They may be small, but their hearts and courage are simply astonishing. It was a perfect distraction as well, and I took the opportunity to gather them close, all three of them, and draw them with me down the aisle and closer to the relative safety of the altar. The stranger took leave soon after, I can only hope because he realized himself outnumbered. And my mice... ohh, our dear little mice--assured me they would watch and ward against the stranger's return.

I met another man shortly thereafter, a gentleman named Aldous Dagger, and we briefly discussed the stranger as well. He is a regular parishioner, and I have seen him often at the church, so his watchfulness will be welcome. It is less for myself that I fear, in truth, but for the little ones who seek sanctuary here. As Father Eamon says, the church is to be a place of peace, a place where this city's lost and forgotten can find shelter and warmth and hope. Strangers such as that man are not welcome here.

Guin, of course, thought I should have told Father Eamon about the man, and all that had happened, but I'm not so sure. Father Eamon has so much to worry about already, and he did try to get me to return to the mainland. I don't want to worry him further, nor give him yet another reason to urge me into leaving. Especially since we both know I never will--not for that reason, at any rate. I am needed here, and if I might be permitted a moment's vanity, I think Father Eamon needs me as well. Goodness knows I need him, for a friendly ear, if nothing else.

God answers all prayers. He must. Everyone at the Mother House said I was insane for coming to Midian, and the priests worry about me constantly, but since coming here I have found far more kindness that hate. I can only believe that every one of my would-be protectors has been sent by the Lord, to watch over me and keep me safe, not for my own sake, but that I might continue to do God's work in this despairing city. Dear Lord, watch over my new friends, Gin and Guin, Father Eamon and Father Zelenski, Wolbert and Aldous and my dear little mice. Keep them safe, keep them whole, and let our church continued to grow as a refuge in your Holy Name.

A Moment's Levity

2007-12-29T04:53:14Z

"Needs must when the Devil drives."

I met Father Zelenski again today, our first real meeting since our accidental encounter, and we ended up speaking at length. I find him to be a pleasant man, very kind and warm and solicitous of my well-being and those I serve. He introduced me as well to a new priest, recently arrived in Midian. I believe his name was Father Quinnell, but he spoke very little and spent most of my conversation with Father Zelenski standing behind him, slightly to one side, and watching us both. I'll confess, it made me a little uneasy, but I have no real reason for this. I suppose I have simply become too used to Father Eamon, who seems to enjoy talking with me, and with Father Zelenski for immediate comparision (as I said, a pleasant priest with an amiable disposition), the other priest's silence seemed passing strange.

Father Zelenski wished to know how much I knew of the parish's history. I told him, of course, that Father Eamon had filled me in on much of it, although there is ALSO much he refused to tell me. God bless the man, but he's overprotective to a fault. Father Zelenski seems equally cautious, however, and when I told him Father E had nearly tried to get me on a boat back to the mainland (this after he'd told me that I was alone, the only active nun of Midian parish), Father Z agreed. Oh heavens, I could kiss them both and shake them silly besides. God sent me here for a purpose, and I will not run away. Yes, I know it is dangerous for me here, but sister nuns or not, I'm hardly alone. I have made friends in this city--kind souls like Gin--and while I would never be so foolish as to think myself protected, it's not as if I've been cast into this vipers' nest alone. I have the priests. I have my faith. Pray God it will be enough.

As a brief aside, I am considering forming a choir for our church. We have very few parishioners, and the church has been locked in a process of decay for so long, there is no one to lead the music for the Mass. Father Eamon has been doing a beautiful job of filling in with chant--which I love, for purely selfish reasons, and he has a lovely, deep baritone well-suited for such. But I know he longs for a proper choir, so I may present the idea to him and the other priests in hopes of their approval. I have a solid background in liturgical music; I think I would do well with this. And it would be good for the church, for a multitude of reasons--no less as an open expression of our plans for stabilizing the parish.

BUT... enough seriousness for the moment. I do have one other thing to write, then I must return to cleaning this *sigh* empty cloister. Something marvelous and delightful happened today, and I simply must write about it. At one point yesterday, Father E returned from his walk and was actually grinning, and anyone who knows him would KNOW that a grin on that man's face is practically unheard of. I couldn't help smiling in return, and I asked after his mood. He then told me the strangest story.

While down at the waterfront, he was approached by two mice. Yes, MICE. Mice-women, to be exact, not unlike the catwalkers--except, of course, mice as opposed to cats. He said they were "bonny things," as he puts it, all in white and pure white themselves--sisters and twins, unless he missed his guess. They asked him how he felt about "church mice," and explained that they were looking for shelter. They were also very quick to offer their services for cleaning and maintaining the chapel. And after he got over his initial surprise (not to mention his apparent amusement), he invited them both to make the church their home.

So... it appears we have church mice! *laughs* I met them this afternoon myself, and a more darling pair of girls I cannot imagine.

I also met a friend of Father E's, from the mainland. Her name is Guin, and she's equally charming. Father Eamon has mentioned her a time or two before, mostly in passing, but I gathered from his comments that she's a good friend from his past. She was very warm, and I liked her a lot. I hope to see her again. I am so glad she came to Midian as well, for she seems to know Father Eamon well, and it would appear they are very close. I try, of course, but he broods SO much, it gladdens me to know he has someone to talk to, someone to confide in. Between his friend Guin and our new little mice, maybe the man will start smiling more often!