Read part one here
Read part two here
With haste, the pair quietly exited the sanctuary and walked through the town that saw itâs citizens begin making their way to Black Rock Chapel. âWednesday massâŚâ, Father Carroway muttered, silently chastising himself for the lapse in memory. âWhat is it, Father?â, queried the budding nun, sighting the expression of anxiety on the elder priestâs face. Father Carroway, still bearing a worried face; shook his head and blankly reassured her that all that was important was that they sought the Archbishop as swiftly as could be humanly possible. Within the span of another five minutes of walking, they arrived upon a small cottage built from stone and mortar. Fixed upon the front of the wooden door was a silver crucifix that hung by a string of rosary beads dangling from an outwardly protruding nail. Above the decoration were inscribed three words in latin: âIn Nomine Patrisâ in bright red.
âIs this the Archbishopâs homeâ, asked Sister Merideth. âIndeedâ, replied Father Carroway. He spotted an air of curious skepticism mold itself on the young fledgling nunâs face. âArchbishop Marcus always preferred modestyâ, Father Carroway told her as he had already anticipated her question. As he reached to ring the worn down, yet functional bell that was fashioned to the right of the door, the elder priest briefly recollected a few of his memories of his years under Archbishop Marcusâ apprenticeship.
He gave the small, frail string that hung the bell two light tugs, hearing the six high-pitched rings of itâs frail clapper impacting against itâs interior. In the mere span of a minute after the bell rang itâs last, the wooden door began to jolt ajar. âWho seeks my home?â, a voice called out from the inside of the cottage. The voice was that of a man far older than Father Carroway. âWe have seeking council and aid against a grave and unknown evil that has plagued Godâs kingdom of Black Rock Chapel.â, Father Carroway couldnât help but emphasize the urgency of his request for an audience.
The entrance of the cottage was revealed as the wooden door was opened fully. Standing in the doorway was an elderly man clad in a soft velvet robe with a white cross stitched into the left. Despite his aged appearance, the man stood a solid six feet in height, even dwarfing Father Carrowayâs mere five feet six inches. The manâs head bore a clean shave; bearing only an albino mustache and beard that reach down to his collarbone. For a solid moment that felt to stretch, the man in the doorway examined them; evaluating the sincerity in the spoken urgency. âWell then, youâd best come inside.â, said the man in the doorway, finally breaking the ever-straining silence and gesturing for them to enter.
The pair entered, the older gentleman promptly closing the door behind them. Inside the cottage, the young Sister Merideth felt a sense of warm comfort. The walls held different varieties of oils and myrrh. Large, thick leather-bound volumes were neatly lined atop a shelf perched above the fire place that housed a ferocious blaze within. Father Carroway became once again lost in his memories of days past.
âSo tell me; what is this vile menace you beseech my aid for?â, the question breaking the elder priest from his memories. Wasting not an instant, Father Carroway began regaling the Archbishop of the hauntings of the prior two days. As he continued his dreadful of the horrors that occurred in Black Rock Chapel, the elder priest saw the face of the Archbishop become grim, somber; as if he bore some grave piece of the macabre enigma the other didnât. When Father Carroway was finished describing their peril, a long and unsettling silence hung in the air of the cottage.
âThe ground upon which Black Rock Chapel stands wasnât always holy.â Archbishop Marcusâs voice evoked the same foreboding feeling of sorrow and regret that remained reflected on his aged face. The elder priest himself hesitant to press the Archbishop for a further explanation, as if the hidden revelation could scar him further than what his psyche could recover. âYou made mention of one Father Edwards, the priest bearing the serpents, yes?â Father Carroway nodded in response and offered a âY-yes, excellencyâ, nervously stumbling over his own words. âI might have known this day would come again. As you no doubt have realized; this âFather Edwardsâ is no priest, nor is he a man. At least, not any longer.â
As fearâs chilling grasp began to slowly take hold of him once more; the burning question that had been suppressed by hesitation before now embedded itself into the forefront of Father Carrowayâs mind and erupted from his lips: âWhat do you mean, your excellency?â His heart hanging a heavy pendulum of rueful regret and worry, Archbishop Marcus began to enlighten the pair of the unfortunate tragedy that molded the infancy era of Black Rock Chapel. âBefore the land that the Chapelâs foundation rests upon was first consecrated as hallowed soil, it had served as a sanctuary for a coven of gypsy folk. When I first came upon the land, I was as you were when I tutored you; I was a pupil under the tutelage of my predecessor: Archbishop Duncan. It was my first journey abroad for the spread of gospel.â For a brief moment, Father Carrowayâs mind, with cursory accuracy, recollected small fragments of his own initial journey abroad before he was commissioned to the status of priest. His recollection of prior ages halted when the Archbishopâs voice began again.
âWhen we arrived, it was a mere darkened patch of earth that appeared to bear sparse, if any, vegetation and in itâs center, a massive dark, stone boulder sat in perchance. I remember that, engraved on itâs outward-most surface, was the image of some manner of talisman with two words in the dialect of the gypsies: âTara Condemnatilorâ. The Archbishopâs face darkened, the aged features of his face beginning to pronounce themselves by shadow. âOnly long after the grave events that occurred there did I ever learn what those two words meant; for, in our tongue, these words translate as: âLand of the Condemnedâ. The dread incubating within Father Carroway tightened itâs firm grasp on his mind.
âWe wished at first to establish commerce with them. We thought that, through fellowship, we may convert some of them to the lordâs gospel.â Archbishop Marcusâ eyes fell to the ground in a frightened, stoic gaze as a chilled shudder escaped him. âWe were wrong.â, his voice was devoid of any emotion, save for petrified trauma. Stare still fixed to the ground beneath, the Archbishop continued in a gravelly voice, âtwo years passed in harmony, until strange occurrences began.â
Morbid curiosity bested Father Carroway and he queried Archbishop Marcus as to the implications of the occurrences he referred to. âAt first, we simply brushed them off as minute phenomena, events that we wouldnât try to bear real significance to as they occurred few and far between. With the progression of time, however, the phenomenon became more recurrent and amplified in itâs malignance. The other priests in our congregation awoke every night in terror and foretelling of unrighteous envisionings plaguing their sleep and storms began to grow fierce and unwavering night and day. It was one dusk, however, when our paranoia reached an apex and our goal of peaceful fellowship was abandoned.â
The cracks of the flames dancing upon the oak kindling inside the hearth arrested the mournful stare of the Archbishop. âVoices; it began with the voices that came to me, whispering all manner of unrighteous blasphemies to me. Night upon night, the ghastly voices beckoned to me, tempting me to partake of the ungodly acts they would describe to me. Though the grace and strength of the Lord willed me to resist them, I began to grow worried and I recounted my experiences to another apprentice under the former Archbishopâs study,â the Archbishop met gaze once again with the elder priest, âthe man you named as âFather Edwardsâ.
Father Carroway stared in confusion at what he was told. Just before he could question to himself of the plausibility of what Archbishop Marcusâ implication was, morbid realization sent a thunderbolt that shook his his mind to itâs inner-most foundation. âNot a man, not any longerâŚâ, the words pierced him like a finely-sharpened dagger as he began to slowly piece together the connection between the malign hauntings that menaced him in the previous days within the the Chapelâs walls and those recounted from the Archbishopâs macabre anecdote. Noting the clarity molding itself to the elder priestâs face; Archbishop Marcus continued, âHe suspected immediately the machinations of the gypsies were at fault. He was certain that their foreign customs had; in some form, wrought evil forces against us. Over time, paranoia became disdain and mistrust until one grave twilight, the night that blind fear drove us to violenceâ.
âIâll never forget their faces as we came upon them, wielding the instruments that razed their livelihood to ash. Their homes, their shops, everything was set ablaze by the hands of our convent.â The Archbishopâs mouth split into a morbid, dead smile; wholly devoid of any authentic joy, âEdwards told me what we were doing was an âexorcism of the landâ; that our actions were in righteous merit of the Lordâs service.â, a small tear escaped his lifeless eyes and ran down his cheeks. Father Carrowayâs blood began losing itâs warmth as he was witnessing the collapse of his former mentorâs psyche.
âThey fled the land that night, but not before letting slip an omen: âMay you all be spared of Degasii.â As if mention of the word carried a supernatural force of itâs own; the hearth exploded outward, the flames dance upon the oak kindling shifted erratically. âIf I could have known of the unholy evils we wrought upon ourselvesâŚâ, Archbishop Marcusâ lips quivered as he continued, âWe thought that by ridding the land of the gypsy heretics from the soil, that the evil would flee with them. What we were too blinded by arrogance to see at the time was that the ones we were swift to drive away, were the same whose practices acted not as a weapon against us; but to spare us from something far worse.â
âDegasii?â Father Carroway queried, more from instinct than genuine curiosity. A sullen nod of the Archbishopâs head, coupled with his chiseled expression of recriminatory despair served to reply to the query. âLike with what was inscribed upon the stone; I learned only long after what âDegasiiâ was.â âWhat is it, excellency? Is it the name of a demon?â, Father Carroway asked, attempting to recollect the multitude of malign spirits dwelling from the lake of fire that were catalogued in âLe dictionaire infernalâ, (a volume he was required to devote hours of study to in his apprenticeship under Archbishop Marcus) to find one by the name of âDegasiiâ.
Archbishop Marcus arose from his seated position and went to his bookshelf and pulled out a volume dressed in dirt and dust, adorned by cobwebs. âFather, you misunderstand; âDegasiiâ is no demon.â Blowing away the concealment provided by the dust on the cover; the volumeâs cover was revealed to be a faded, yet polished brown hue, leather-bound, and bearing no title on the front. The Archbishop fixed himself with his reading lenses and opened the worn volume halfway and began turning further pages until he found the specific page bearing the heading of âBlestemĂšl lui Degasiiâ. Father Carroway gazed intently at the faded page before him; unsure exactly of what to make of the foreign runes scrawled upon the page. Archbishop Marcus placed his index finger upon the passage in question, directing Father Carrowayâs gaze. âWhen they fled, the coven of gypsies left behind this tome.â
Archbishop Marcus read the passage that detailed the BlestemĂšl lui Degasiiâ, âthe curse of the debasedâ in their tongue. Father Carrowayâs blood chilled, draining his skin pale as he listened to the Archbishop tell of âDegasiiâ being the physical manifestation of mankindâs condemnation itself. The memories of the Chapelâs phenomena abrasively invaded his mind once again, pronouncing emphatically the gratuitous blasphemies the wraiths assaulted him with. The Archbishop further explained that those that fall victim to âDegasiiâ , do so when they call out to them; seducing them to either embrace whatever sins theyâd committed that drew the attention of them, or by stripping them of all hope of salvation until their demise wherein theyâre to join the ranks of the condemned. As Archbishop Marcus continued reading, the elder priest glanced at the page when he felt his skin begin to crawl at the sight of the illustration on the pageâs bottom right corner.
The illustration depicted the scene of a man brought to his knees and clutching his forehead as long, black serpents appeared to swarm over his body. The face of the man was craned back to face the sky above and was twisted into an expression of perpetual agony. The detail of the image that disturbed Father Carroway, however, was a large, dark monolithic stone stood erect and protruding from the black stone was what looked like a cyclonic whirlwind formed from many faces that appeared conjoined; all of them twisted in the same expression of abject horror and sorrow. Spotting this, Father Carroway felt a dreg of nausea grasp firmly to him as the recollection of his nightmare forced itself abrasively into the forefront of his thoughts.
âHow has it been taking the form of Father Edwards?â, Father Carroway queried, using the question to void the malignant event from his mind. The Archbishop fell silent once again, his aged face giving away to itâs earlier state of mournful despair. âAs writ in the tome hereâ, Archbishop Marcus began as he placed his index finger upon the excerpting passage he meant to reference; his vocals low and forlorn, âDegasiiâ can assume the avatar of any that are of them to walk the earth above.â The chilling words returned to Father Carroway: âNot a man, not any longer.â
Utter despair consuming him, Father Carroway gave in to the compulsion to query Archbishop Marcus of how Father Edwards, a servant of the Lord, could have been met with such a fate. âWe were all lost to righteous arroganceâ, replied Archbishop Marcus. âBut Excellencyâ, the elder priest cried out, interrupting the Archbishopâs reply, âhow could that alone condemn a servant of Christ?â âHis pride attracted their attention to him, but it was what he did next that allowed them to consume him.â Tears began to run freely down Archbishop Marcusâ cheeks.
With heavy, shuddering breath; the somber Archbishop recollected the event that wrought damnation upon the arrogant priest that Father Carroway once thought of as a brother in faith. âThe night of the raid, I found him wielding one of the gypsyâs own blades against one of the maidens of the coven. She begged for her life in her peopleâs tongue, but his murderous judgement was unbound. I called to him, told him to stay his hand.â The Archbishop froze, his stare became distant as frightening recollection of the gypsy maidenâs screams and the sickening squelch of flesh being penetrated molded vividly in his mind.
A deadly silence hung within the cottage, contested only by the cracks of the kindling beneath the flames that only ever-lightly increased in volume. Father Carroway felt himself in a state of fruitless denial at what he was just told; that a fellow servant of the cross was a murderer and had committed himself to the whims of an unspeakable evil that, even now, wears his face. It was then that a horrific realization revealed itself to him that almost caused him to faint: âwho else but Father Edwards could have called the mass for sermon tonight?â âCan it be stopped?â, Sister Merideth queried with a shaking tone of panic seeping into her voice. The young fledgling nunâs voice caused the two men to glance at her with mild surprise as, until that instant, her silence had caused them to forget her presence entirely.
Before a reply could be offered, a mass of shrill screams in the distance arrested their attention. The three listened to the sound of many clamoring, stampeding footsteps accompanied by a collective cacophony of frightened screams. Father Carroway opened the front door of the cottage to reveal that the source of the sounds were of the townsfolk who had gathered for mass before; now fleeing Black Rock Chapel for their very lives. The full magnitude of the mortifying display caused the elder priest to fall to his knees in a trance of terror-induced shock. âFather Carroway!â, exclaimed Sister Merideth as she rushed to him with urgency.
Archbishop Marcus exited the cottage into the midst of the chaos. âWhatâs going on?!â, the Archbishop demanded to a fleeing youth farmhand. âM-monster, I-in the sanctuary!â, cried the farmhand before pushing past the Archbishop. Once his stance was regained, Father Carroway waded through the horde of fleeing congregation until he found Archbishop Marcus once again. âItâs âDegasiiâ, it must be! Tonight was Wednesday mass; it was a trap!â, the elder priest exclaimed with staggered breath.
With a cold, icy, and stoic glare carved into his aged face; he turned to Father Carroway and said âWe must destroy the evil of Black Rock.â âHow?â, Father Carroway queried, remembering his own encounters with the frightening entity and the lack of effect his holy objects with warding them away. In a grave tone, Archbishop Marcus answered, âBy fire, this evil was born; through fire, so too shall it die.â The two continued pushing through the terrified churchgoers; climbing up the steps and thrusting the Chapelâs entrance open.
Credit : Corpse Child
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