Holy Water

“It seems the scythe around your neck was not enough to keep you buried.”

Observed Sir Loudon without turning from his knelt position in front of the altar.

He looked weary as he chuckled to himself.

“The Bishop told me you wouldn’t stop until I was dead. It pains me to admit he was right.”

He rose slowly, using the support of his sword.

“He also advised me to start praying, but that, it seems, has had little effect.”

The stench from the dark, unnatural figure by the chapel entrance crept into his nostrils, mixing with the sweet incense swaying above his head.

‘Loudon,’ it hissed ‘Loudon….’

“Go ahead, say my name thrice!” He gave a hearty laugh that shock the entirety of his body.

“It will have no effect on me within these walls. I know that’s how you’ve been calling my tenants from their sleep. Enchanting them from their beds at night and to their deaths.”

Sir Loudon turned slowly to face the creature. His body physically weakened, but his eyes glinted with determination.

Staring blindly into the gloom, he continued.

“It ends here, tonight.”

The creature crouched on all fours and scurried up a pillar where it hung ready to pounce from the chapel’s eves. Its once-human body shook like a spider in a web, having been rudely disturbed. It answered in a harsh, rasp whisper.

“Did you think, Sir Loudon, that a creature such as I, could not enter a chapel?” Its pale face twisting into a grin.

“No,” replied Sir Loudon, slowly shaking his head.

“I was counting on it.”

The creature launched itself at the knight with such speed, he was unable to raise his sword. Instead, the force of the attack knocked him from his feet, leaving the knight sprawled on the altar steps. As quick as it came, it was gone again.

“You grow weaker with every encounter.” Whispered the remnant from somewhere near the vestry.

Loudon’s eyes searched frantically to locate its vicinity.

“How many times have we met like this?” it hissed.

“More than I can count on my fingers.” Replied Sir Loudon, unable to hide the exhaustion from his voice. He glanced down at his scarred, calloused hands. He could no longer remember how many men had met their fate by them. Forming a fist, he yelled back,

“and every time I have returned you to the ground!”

The attack came from the opposite side of the chapel, knocking the sword from Loudon's grip. It clattered noisily to the floor. Defenceless, the knight backed slowly towards the altar, knocking a chalice in his retreat.

Grabbing it, the knight lurched towards the font as the creature once again appeared from the gloom.

Filling the cup with holy water, he threw it in the creature's face. The shock of the water delayed the remnant for a split second but still it came. Clawed fingers grasped him around the throat with more strength than any man alive.

The Bishop who had borne silent witness to these events, picked up the chalice and returned it to the water.

Pouring the contents over the pair. The creature writhed in pain as the water burnt deep into its flesh. Lord Loudon pushed the steaming remains off him.

“You took your time.” Sir Loudon said to the Bishop between laboured breaths.

“Why didn’t the holy water burn the creature when I threw it?” He asked, confused.

The bishop smiled and replied.

“Because you didn’t believe it would.”