The monastery stood alone atop the hill, bathed in silver moonlight. The windows looked like piercing eyes concealing a secret hidden for all time. The door was boarded up, and had the menacing look of a grotesque demon smiling through broken shards of rotting teeth. The building stood in relapse, a figure of time and space. The wood itself was a sullied gray from the weathering of its thick skin. All who saw it were repelled by its hideously decrepit state.
No one entered the infamous structure. No one even neared the skeletal ruins. Out of fear. Fear of something not mentioned for centuries but was somehow breathed into the soul of even the smallest child. There was sinister regard, even an obscene respect, for this place; and all those God-fearing people living in town knew to be leery.
Being a newcomer, I wondered where and when this foreboding came about, but when I inquired, I was consistently circumvented. On my own, I decided to uncover these stormy secrets.
Not without some trepidation and doubt, I began my grueling studies. Starting at the Public Hall, I gathered old letters, photos, and such to obtain any information that might lead me toward my objective. Thus went several months of gathering and sifting through heaps of useless knowledge. It seemed I was getting nowhere, despite all my searching.
One night, late at my studies, I heard a rap on my door. A chill slowly crept up my arms to my spine, where it seemed to settle indefinitely. In a state of detached interest, I slowly rose, moving toward the door; revulsion bubbling below the surface, ignored. I opened the door. There stood a man, or the specter of a man, older than should have been possible. He wore a black, ragged, stained robe; his face obscured by a drooping hood. His eyes; however, keen and sharp, drilled into mine. I addressed him thickly but only his eyes acknowledged the address, glaring at me with the same gleam as the eyes of the old church. Horrified, I swallowed dryly and asked him what he wanted. He continued to glower but his mouth curled into a grueling, sharp-toothed leer. Out from under his robe, he extended a withered, gnarled hand with protruding knuckles and long, jagged nails. Seizing my arm, he pulled at me with formidable strength, out the door. In a low, croaking voice, he explained his position: master of all, king of the unliving, teller of lies, and killer of fools and saints. He had come to take me to my destiny.
In horror, I drew back but he continued to pull me on, undaunted by my resistance.
“Follow me,” he demanded.
I followed.
Moving in the stifling darkness, the hour tolled in the distance. Midnight. A perturbing thought rose in my consciousness. Not only was it the “witching hour” but also the very night when hell was to take over the earth. Halloween. That innocent, candy-laden holiday of my youth. Not since I was a very small child had this occasion given my heart such a reason to beat wildly or my nerves to be drawn taught. Never had it seemed anything more than a night for foolish pranks and bellyaches. Until now. A slick, greasy wave of nausea rose in the back of my throat.
Abruptly, my senses were adverted to the scene before me. Lifting my eyes, I felt the blood drain, for we were standing before the very hill on which the monastery loomed. I shrunk away but could not break free from the tenacious grasp of that old demon. Up the hill he drew me, wrenching at my arm as I stumbled on. The windows stared down upon us, reflecting the blood-red moon that had been hidden by the now-dispersing clouds. The glowering mouth stood open, greeting us with a hiss from the wind whistling through its fractured hinges. Inside, a deep smoky fire spewed daggers of flame about the room and out the chimney, where they played against the darkness and died in the moonlight. The crackling timbers sounded like bones being splintering into blistering shards. With a powerful shove, the demon forced me into this carcass of insanity. Upon entering, the fire became unbearable, burning my face. Choking on the searing, putrid vapors, I felt bile fill the back of my mouth. I became aware of faces gaping at me. As I squinted in the foul air, impressions of grisly scenes stood lurid against the dim, rotting walls. These repugnant visions told me all I had been searching for these last, long months. The secret was poured in through every sense. The brutal murders, bloody sacrifices, and gruesome tortures; all forced upon the most innocent – the children - by those most trusted – the parents. Feeling a creeping loss of sensation, my body slumped to the floor, acutely aware of the wails and screams floating about my head.
Awakening to the sun stabbing my eyes, I jerked upright, and found myself lying at the hearth of my fireplace. Shaking the fog from my head, I rose to my feet, relieved that the night terror was over, and I turned to go to the kitchen to make a much-needed cup of coffee. It was then that I felt it, clutched in my hand, the black robe, singed, and stiff with dry blood.