A Step Into Madness : Scene 1 Act 1 The Meeting

DeJoker

DeJoker

Master of Mayhem
This thread starts the story involving Father Mark Kingsley a simple man, a simple priest whose fairly mundane troubled life was about to change and get a whole lot more troubling so much so that his current troubles were going to pale greatly in comparison to the ones he would soon be facing.

This story starts on a fairly normal day on a fairly normal afternoon with Mark taking tea with Mrs. Digsby something he did most Wednesday afternoons. The conversation even went as it normally did, they talked about the weather, the Saint Anne parish, the Grey Nuns and the Orphanage, James Cagney's latest movie Taxi that had just seen recently, basically the usual kind of things a couple of older people might chat about on a nice afternoon while taking tea. Then Gerald, Mrs. Digsby's butler, showed a man into the room.

"Why hello Joe." Eleanor says to the man as he walks in. She's sets her tea cup gently down upon its saucer then says, "Joe this is Father Kingsley," she gesture her right hand towards you palm up, "Mark," she moves her hand in Joe's direction, "this is Mr Joseph Kennedy."

She says his name rather matter-of-factly but any good Irish Catholic new exactly who Joseph Patrick Kennedy Senior was and Mark was definitely a good Irish Catholic. Granted Mark had never met him before, as the two generally moved in different circles.

However, Joe was everything he had ever heard about the man, a very well tailored lean businessman with a balding hairline and round wire-rimmed glasses. He had an air of confidence about him that Mark could sense from even across the room, and which only become more noticeable as he approached extending his hand to shake Mark's. "Father Kingsley, a pleasure to meet you, Eleanor has told me so much about you. Oh and would you mind if I just called you Mark?" The significance of that simple statement did not escape Mark's sense of social decorum. Not only was he elevating Mark to equal footing but he was also giving Mark permission to do the same. Looking at Joe's hand that sense of deja vu that he often had, just washed over him. It was as if he had been here before and he knew that shaking this man's hand would change his life forever. He could not tell if it would be for good or ill just something very significant that had already happened and he was just going through the motions once again. Still perhaps this was just a premonition from the Holy Spirit letting him know that this was what God was calling him towards. So the question was would he trust in God and take that step of faith?
 
Last edited:
There was such an uncanny ease and air of confidence in Joseph Kennedy's gait as he approached to shake Father Kingsley's hand that it was almost disarming. Mark's eyes widened with a brighter hazel, fascination and a reverential excitement swirling within. He offered a smile, but it was careful and measured, a far different smile than that he would give an innocent and guileless child. Yes, Mark had been a priest long enough to gauge that men with a winning smile in the realm of business and politics -- and religion, he may add -- were far from spotless. To be successful in such dishonest fields usually meant one is not innocent from their pitfalls and influences.

"Ah," the fifty-something stuttered when Mr. Kennedy offered to call him Mark and do away with the formal titles -- all while Mr. Kennedy was still shaking his hand that has now slackened, wanting to be freed. To Father Kingsley, this was shocking. It shouldn't even be asked! Yes, of course, money and politics make the world spin, but they should not supplant the higher place that God should occupy in people's lives. So Mr. Kennedy's request to address him by first name was to bring down his reverential position as a representative of the Most High.

"Yes, yes, but of course," he grinned admirably, reaching out with his other, free hand to clasp the man's counterpart still clasping his right hand. "If Mrs. Digsby, our kind host here," he nodded to Eleanor whom he still couldn't believe was an intimate acquaintance of The Mr. Joseph P. Kennedy. "Is willing to call you 'Joe', Mr. Kennedy, then I don't see why we can't address each other by first names!" Mark had decided to leave the matter in the Highest Court's jurisdiction and not on his own judgment.

Deep inside, Mark knew he that singular second of hesitation was enough to add a tinge of awkwardness to the introduction. But if Mr. Kennedy was a good judge of character, he should view Mark's reticence as a sign of genuineness -- that he wasn't swayed too much by prestige and power, even from someone who had done so much for the Irish Catholic community here in New England.

It was just that Mark had suddenly felt sick to his stomach, and he was doing his best to hide it. And no, it wasn't because of the sudden realization of a real rival to Mrs. Digsby's will and riches. It was more because of an intense feeling of déjà vu... of repeating a dreadful mistake. But that was the damning nature of déjà vu's. If you don't say the wrong things again, you wouldn't get déjà vu. It's like you're doomed to make the same mistake only so that you could learn from it. Except that you're always one word, one action, one second too late.
 
"Good," replied Joe with a nod, "Formalities can often get in the way of good business." he finished with a friendly smile. When the handshake broke, Joe moved and pulled up a nearby chair to sit nearer. Meanwhile Eleanor took the extra cup and saucer, which was now evident to Mark why it had been there to begin with, and set it on the coffee table and poured some tea into it. As Joe adjusted the chairs position he asked, "So Eleanor have you told Mark about my proposition?"

Without looking up from pouring the tea she replied, "No I thought it would be best to let you breach that subject."

"Ah yes, you are probably right," he said as he sat down in the chair and picked up the saucer and cup and took a sip. Mark could tell the action was simply one meant to give Joe a bit more time to compose his thoughts but it did not take Joe long to do so for as soon has he set the cup onto the saucer he began. "Mark, I am going to cut to the chase. While what I am about to ask might seem a bit odd in this day and age, I want to assure you that I am quite serious. You see, I recently acquired a piece of property in this area that, well... to put it bluntly, is considered to be haunted. My request is would you mind investigating this rumor and if necessary blessing the house so that it can be put to rest. I am willing to cover any expenses you might incur and when the house has a clean bill of health I am prepared to make a fairly nice contribution to the orphanage." During his brief explanation his eye contact never wavered nor did it stray once he was done. Mark could tell that this was no joke, and the request and offer were quite genuine. While definitely an odd request almost eccentric in nature actually, Mark knew enough about Joe to know that he was anything but eccentric. Further the Lord knew that the orphanage could use more funds in order to help more children in these trying times, as did Eleanor, thus most likely Joe. Still all in all it seemed like an outright win but then there was that déjà vu tickling at the back of his mind telling him that he had just been introduced to an iceberg and there was going to more to this than would initially be visible on the surface. Still Eleanor had brought this about, and her mere presence meant that this had to be as above board as it was appearing, which made that tickle itch even more. The ball was in his court now, and he could tell that... They... were awaiting his reply.
 
Last edited:
Mark was speechless, in disbelief. He stared at Joe's face, looking for the slightest flicker, and then at Eleanor's. He already was in disbelief about how Joe addressed her as 'Eleanor' with relative comfort and how Mrs. Digsby was able to secure an appointment from one of New England's most important men. But these were nothing compared to the request at hand. After a minute of searching their eyes, disbelief slowly gave way to rational thinking -- actually contemplating whether he was qualified for a possible exorcism-type task of this scale.

Father Kingsley remembered his tea, picking up the cup to take a sip before rising up from his seat. He needed to gather his thoughts. He walked up to the bookshelf filled with the classics. The Time Machine by H.G. Wells. Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. Great Expectations by Charles Dickens.

'Great Expectations. Really?' He huffed through the nose, humoured by the titular understatement. It was like God was telling him in a mysterious way to take the job. The Mother Mary figure of his life, Eleanor, had already acted to bring him to this juncture.

"Well," he turned around to address the pair, breaking the long silence. "I need some time to think about it. When do you want my answer by?"

He didn't say that out of mere formality. There were actually some things he must first confirm before making arrangements. But he already had in mind the two people he must bring: Grimes Berg, a good friend and cop, and Father Harold Bethesda, one of the diocese's official exorcists.
 
As Mark began to rise so to did Joe but Eleanor made a subtle gesture and Joe relaxed back into his chair. The two sat quietly as Mark glanced over the books. Besides noticing a few titles he also noticed a spot where a book had been recently that was now currently missing, kind of odd as Eleanor did not typically remove books from this bookshelf as it was her collection of books she had already read. Perhaps something insignificant, she may have removed it to lend it to someone else to read, maybe she was reading it again herself, although that was not something she tended to do so probably the former.

When Mark began to speak Joe stood up from his chair and turned to face him. To Mark's question Joe replied, "Well I suppose the sooner the better as I cannot really do anything with that property until the rumors have been laid to rest." Again that term, why was he choosing those particular words, was it significant or was Mark just being a bit overly anxious right now. "But tell you what," he said as he reached into his right pocket and stepped closer to Mark. "Why not take these keys," he pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket, "and if you decide not to or have completed the work just return them to Eleanor." He held the keys out by the ring for Mark to take and continued, "Further Eleanor will be able to handle any expenses that you incur, and I will simply reimburse her. As for me, I have other pressing business matters to take care on the west coast so I will be gone for a while but if any emergency arrises that needs my attention Eleanor knows how to get a hold of me."

There were quite a few keys on the ring that Joe was holding out for Mark, three of them Mark seemed to instinctively know what they were for, the larger black key was for the front gate, the slightly smaller stylized brass key was for the front door, the even slightly smaller plain brass key was for the garage, but the other newer looking keys he had no idea what those could be for. Of course how he even knew what any of the keys were for seemed extremely odd, since he had not even seen the house yet. Granted those first three keys did speak loudly that it was a much older style grand house of some sort so perhaps his mind was just working in overdrive and adding things up faster than he could keep track of right now. Joe continued to stand there holding the keys out waiting for Mark to take them. While, Eleanor still remained in her chair quietly holding her tea resting upon its saucer which was in her other hand. Things seemed to moving so fast, or extremely slow, or well... time just did not seem to be flowing... normally. Just too much déjà vu most likely.
 
"Thank you," Mark nodded after Joe agreed to give him a day or two to fully assess all facets of the proposal before committing. It was a sign of modesty to make a thorough check first, not just of the situation but also of one's own qualifications before hopping on board. "Yes, of course, as soon I am able know for sure that I can do the job, I will let you know."

Of course, everything was working in favour of Mark taking on the assignment. If he were to decline it, perhaps consign Father Bethesda to it instead, he could see his uneventful life continuing in its solemn and mundane rote. He didn't even need to exert effort to visualize such a predictable contented existence of divine service. It was simply the default expectation for a priest.

On the other hand, all the signs were there: the support and recommendation of one Mrs. Digsby, the personal attention of one of Massachusetts' most influential, the sense that the holy spirit was guiding him by the book. And besides, what was possibly more adrenaline-pumping for a priest than to rid a house of bad spirits?

But the greatest, most in-your-face, or rather, in-your-gut motivating factor was that sense of deja vu. It seemed to flare up like cans and whistles when he was faced with a significant decision. Choosing the safer route quietened the alarms. But he would be left with an empty feeling, of his curiosity left unsatisfied. He would try to delay the decision to the last possible split second to see if he could glimpse what was beyond that moment without suffering the consequences. But he would fail every time. What he was hoping for was more like a premonition, a prognostication, a looking into the future. Deja vu was different. It was looking into the past. Whatever action or decision was needed - usually reckless and against his better judgement - Mark had no choice but to perform it first in order to experience it all over again.

And deja vu grinned when Joe presented him the keys. It was actually a reasonable arrangement, considering Mr. Kennedy was a very busy man with West Coast appointments and all. Mark still felt free to decline should the task prove to be too big.

"Oh right, I forgot, you already own the property. Acquired recently, you mentioned. Well, that really shouldn't diminish the importance. I mean, as compared to a pre-purchase assessment and check. But definitely, Joe, I'll take a look."

Mark reached up to heft the keys onto his right palm. And just like that, deja vu struck him with imagery of the gated grand house property with a garage...
 
"Well," Joe began and extended his hand, "It was a pleasure to meet you and I am sure you will make the best decision for yourself and the kids. I just honestly hope it includes me." He said that last with a soft genuine smile. After Mark shook his hand, receiving a sold firm handshake in return. Joe turned towards Eleanor, "Well Eleanor", he began moving towards her, "I would love to stay and chat some more but I have a plane to catch and a few business items to take care of before I leave so," he leaned down and gave her shoulders a hug, "just a hug and a kiss," he kissed her gently on the cheek then softly said something to her in her ear and she smiled and patted him motherly on the shoulder.

As Joe stood back up Eleanor said, "You take care Joe and know that my love goes with you, your wife and those wonderful kids of yours. Stay safe."

Joe nodded, "I will do my best." Then he turned and left the room.

Eleanor went back to sipping her tea, and leaving Mark to think for as long as he felt he needed.
 
Last edited:
Mark nodded one last time to Joe as he left the tea room before turning his attention to the good ole congenial Mrs. Digsby sipping her favourite tea, smiling as if nothing extraordinary had just occurred. In fact, it was more bizarre than Mark could care to admit. No, it wasn't just the prospect of blessing a rumoured haunted house, but more the fact that Eleanor kept high and prominent company that he never knew about. She certainly was full of surprises, but half of him wasn't too surprised at all. After all, Mrs. Digsby had proven time and again to be an astute observer and businesswoman, with her greatest decision being the selling of her deceased husband's stake in the Consolidation Coal Company in 1920, a couple of years after the end of the Great War, and just before the industry took a turn for the worst -- the coal industry turning out to be one of the hardest hit by the Depression. When Mark asked in passing what gave her the foresight to sell before the downturn, Eleanor always joked with a wink that it was because, "Oh, y'know me, old-fashioned, antique collecting, I wasn't liking the direction the industry was heading - with mechanization and conveyor belts and all that - didn't want good hardworking folks to lose their jobs, so I said, well, this might be high time for me to part ways and sell." Which left Mrs. Digsby filthy rich.

Indeed, because of her wisdom, Mark had always admired Mrs. Digsby, had learned throughout the years to trust her judgment. But in this particular instance, seeing how she was very chummy with Mr. Kennedy, Mark felt something he rarely felt. A tinge of jealousy. As if another favourite son just came into the picture and threatened to supplant his position in Mrs. Digsby's eyes.

"Well," Mark smiled as he returned to his seat. "You're just full of surprises, Mrs. Digsby," he made a point of calling her normally formally, as if to highlight his unnegotiable respect for those wiser in age, not devolving to this casual address by first names. "But you know, I'll do my best, seeing how this is very important, enough that you gave me this audience with Mr. Kennedy."

Yes, of course. Mark must prove to both that he was up to the task, seeing how they handpicked him for the job. But more so to Eleanor, to prove that he could earn this funding for the orphanage and not to be seen as complacently reliant on her charity.

"I think I might just go ahead early and take Officer Berg with me for a preliminary," Mark muttered as he glanced out the window at the waning afternoon light. He'd hate to bother Harold if this turned out a wild goose chase, after all.
 
Eleanor smiled at Mark about his comment about her being full of surprises, and said, "Well a woman needs to remain somewhat mysterious if she wants to keep the guys chasing her." Mark knew this to be a joke, as he was quite aware that she had not been nor was she looking for any knew romantic relationships. She seemed perfectly content with her current status and life. Still Mark got a strange sense that there was more to her comment than was on the surface, it was not something he knew but more just a vague feeling that he would soon find out more about how true this statement really was.

"Now Mark," she said in her motherly tone as she leaned forward and patted his hand reassuringly, "I hope you still do not feel that you need to impress me, I know you very well. I know you will do your best. I also know that you still have that pocket watch I gave you, but what I never told you is that it was my husband's pocket watch. However, since we never had kids, we had no one to pass it on to. Further until I got to know you, we never had anyone we felt that was worthy of it. Now when this is all over with remind me to tell you the full story about that watch, but for know just promise me you will keep it on your person while you are investigating that house as well as anything related to it. Sort of as a good luck charm, if you know what I mean." This was an unexpected bit of information but it did explain perhaps Mark’s overwhelming feeling of wow when she had first presented him with the watch, which had seemed a bit, overmuch at the time it had happened.

She nodded to his last comment, "Just be careful Mark, there may be more truth to the rumor than is initially evident. Some things do not show themselves until they feel threatened and in those cases when they do they generally mean serious business or at least that is what my husband used to tell me about some of his hunting trips. So is there anything you think you might need?"

When Mark eventually goes to leave he is going to almost literally bump into a delivery man. I am telling you this so that you do not inadvertently skip to far ahead.
 
Mark took a couple of seconds longer than usual to realize that Eleanor just made a joke. It wasn't just because he was in a state of serious thought brought on by the conversation they just had with Mr. Kennedy. It was also because of his longstanding struggle to fend off people's suspicions - perceived or otherwise - that he was after Mr. Digsby's money. And now, tinged with newfound jealousy after learning that Eleanor may have a new favourite son, Mark was thrown off by her quip about keeping an air of mystery to keep the guys chasing after her. He thought maybe she was referring to him chasing after her wealth, but he laughed afterwards, albeit without unease, knowing that she probably meant a pursuit in the romantic sense. And septuagenarians were not known nor keen to seek romance at such a late stage in life.

As Eleanor patted his hand reassuringly, he almost went to fetch for the pocket watch inside his vest right there and then. However, he decided not to, even after she finished speaking. He learned it was her late husband's, making him feel even more unworthy of having received it. So why produce a memento of a sad past now? Besides, she promised to tell the full story after this was all said and done. Why deprive her the privilege of providing what must be the climactic segment of this increasingly intriguing development? Especially after she gave him what must be a very important piece of information for the intervening acts - that he should keep the watch during his haunted house investigation? The Bible was just like that. The Lord never gave the story away all at once. Bit by bit, throughout the Old Testament, the identity of the promised seed became clearer from Abraham's time, to Israel's, to David's, and finally to the day of his arrival.

But the time of his departure has come.

"Ah, Mrs. Digsby, you need not worry, for I always keep your precious gift on my person."

He patted his heart, where the pocket watch rested against.

"Not just because of its sentimental value, but of its pragmatic use as well. It keeps me on time with my sermons and not ramble on and on to bore my sheep to weep or sleep."

Mark now got up, ready to leave.

"Hmm. I think I'm good for now. But if there is anything, I could use your prayer on my behalf. Grimes and I will have to do it early morning on a sunny day, and with backup from his precinct. Godspeed."
 
Eleanor smiled at the both comments that Mark had made about keeping the watch on his person, although it almost seemed like the two smiles were slightly different like perhaps the first was more a smile of relief while the second was on of mirth. To the second comment she replied, "Indeed a most useful thing, sheep can be so... well I guess I do not need to tell you what they can be like as you fully well know." She watched Mark stand up and get ready to leave, "Yes Godspeed and may God protect and I will be praying for you as always, but do this old lady a favor before you leave and give her a little hug." While not necessarily odd unto itself as he had given her diplomatic hugs before, this was to his recollection the first time she had every requested one.

During the brief hug where she remained seated she softly said, "Stay safe." Then when the hug had ended she said with a soft smile, "Thank you."

On his way out the door he almost collided with the a deliveryman, "Hi I have a package for Mrs. Eleanor Digsby," he said as he handed the book sized package and a clipboard towards Mark. "can you sign for it, please." Mark had done this kind of thing before simply signed for a package and then brought to Eleanor so doing so was not such a big deal. She seemed a bit tired anyway, which is probably why she had not walked him to the door. After signing for the package which also felt like a book and while walking it back to Eleanor he could not help but read the name on it. It was not someone he recalled knowing but the name did seem familiar.
Edward Softly
10 Barnes Street
Providence, Rhode Island 02906​
 
He hugged her tight, holding on for a moment more. How could he have been so preoccupied as to forget the usual ritual of hugging before parting? He felt obliged to add a kiss on her forehead, which he had done on occasion. It might as well, for his heart was telling him that this mystery would forever change things. He might not come out the same. And Mrs. Digsby's prayer? It might turn out to be his eulogy.

"Oh, excuse me, so sorry," he nodded to the deliveryman, hoping that Gerald the butler would come around to attend to the visitor. But seeing that he was not coming, perhaps busy, he decided to sign off on the package and bring it to Eleanor himself. Especially since the sender's name seemed familiar. He would not press, of course, but in case Mrs. Digsby was in the mood for sharing who Edward Softly was, all for the betterment and appeasement of his curiosity.

He hefted the package with his left hand carefully, just to confirm to himself that it was most likely a book.

"Hi, Mrs. Digsby?" Mark knocked on the jamb, craning his neck into the tea room. "I'm sorry, but seeing that Gerald isn't around at this time, I took the liberty to sign off a delivery for you."
 
"Back so soon, Mark?" Eleanor quipped with a slight smile as she pulled her head forward from where it was resting on the back of her high backed chair, her tea cup and saucer still in her lap indicating that she had not been trying to nap so perhaps she was praying or just thinking.

At the disclosure of why he had returned Eleanor smiled, "Why thank you dear. So who is it from?" She nodded to the name Mark reads off, "Thank you again, now would you be a dear and unwrap it for me and set it here on the table." She indicated the table that was sitting next to her. "Those things just seem to get harder and harder to unwrap these days, I would like to think it is because they are using better wrapping but I am afraid its just the results of age creeping up on me."

The brown wrapping was several layers thick with the inner most wrapping being actually wax paper. Whoever Edward was he had taken great care to protect the contents which turned out to be a odd looking but plain brown book. Odd in that it seems to be have been hand made rather than mass produced and while old it did not seem to be quite that old. Further the title on the front was actually hand written calligraphy very nicely done that render the title as "The Journal for the Stories of an Antiquary". After Mark set it on the table Eleanor said, "Thank you once more, now you have a safe day and let me know how things go with that house. In fact," she paused for a second or two then continued with, "why not get yourself a journal so that you can record what you find and think. My husband," she reached out and padded the book on the table, "always said it helped him in his endeavors to be able to reference things more clearly later on."
 
Last edited:
He was hoping that revisiting Eleanor at her table would explain why the name Edward Softly sounded familiar, but unfortunately, this time, that pervading sense of deja vu didn't rear its nostalgic head. Perhaps it was of no significance. Maybe he just chanced upon the name while reading something -- the newspaper, letters from the diocese, or maybe from another parcel belonging to Eleanor discarded amongst a heap, or maybe in the trash. Or maybe he had heard in passing from some conversation. Whatever the case may be, again, it may not turn out that important, although the nature of the content -- he knew it was a book -- got him very curious. It was even personally tailored. Now, he thought instantly the memoirs or journals were about Mrs. Digsby, but then she mentioned her husband and his penchant for penning down his endeavours to reference for later on; the book might very well be about Mr. Digsby's journals.

"Oh? And here I thought you... the book was about you, ahaha, which if it were so, I'm sure it would be a bestseller." Now at this point, he was thinking this Mr. Softly fellow was a bookbinder at the very least, if not a writer. And to recruit or hire a third party to perhaps consolidate one's collection of life's notes into something more marketable, readable, was there any other reason? But he didn't really wish to take any more of Eleanor's precious time for today. He was partly jesting, for it could very well be a book about some other and famous Antiquarian which of course Mrs. Digsby would read ardently, perhaps looking for inspiration for what other items of antiquity she could collect.

"You know what, I think that's a splendid idea. I shall bring myself a notebook -- we got plenty at the rectory. And I really would hate to take any more of your time, Mrs. Digsby, so maybe we can chat later. I bid you good night again," he nodded with a smile, even more eager to get this adventure started, if he wasn't already eager enough.
 
"Oh no, this journal is one of my late husband's... not one of his personal journals but one that he acquired on one of his outings. I had just sent it to someone who likes to read these kind of journals to salt them into stories. He had already read the stories in the book that had been produced from this journal but wanted to see the original accounts to get a more complete picture."

She smiled and nodded, "Yes we can chat and you have a good afternoon as well Mark. See you soon."

Nothing interrupted Mark's departure this time and he was able to go out and get into his car and drive off.

Okay first - its afternoon but before 6pm so let me know what you would like to have Mark do for the rest of the day and/or what you want him to do "next" in general.

Oh and if you want to read a book that relates Ghost "Stories of an Antiquary" is a free pdf download :) and a book that Mark might be able to find at the local library or bookstore. He just might find the book very interesting in many ways :) Note I quoted it the way I did in case Mark did go looking for it the full title includes the word Ghost but he would be able to find it by looking for just Stories of an Antiquary
 
Last edited:
It didn't really occur to Mark until five minutes into driving on the road that the journal sent back to Mrs. Digsby was a real life journal, and upon the entries contained therein formed the bases for stories. Stories in the plural rather than one big biographical episodic procession. Mark was probably thinking a lot about the haunted house that he didn't realize the realness of the journal at the time. Plus, the beautiful calligraphy on the front had fooled him into thinking that it was a finished volume meant for commercial circulation. Still, if the journal contained the original source materials, why wouldn't have Mrs. Digsby offered to lend him it just as she loaned it to some interstate acquaintance? The more he thought about, the more curious he got. Perhaps it was best to read the inferior published stories first before devouring the inspirational real life accounts. In any case, Mark filed the name Edward Softly in the back catalogue of his mind.

His more pressing concern was to read up all the literature he could gather at the rectory on the matter of Catholic Exorcism. Probably mention it to his brethren Father Louis during supper. Mark needed to arm himself first with knowledge before approaching Grimes, and, if necessary further down the road, Father Bethesda, the Exorcist of New England.

It was 6:33pm when he drove into the rectory courtyard garage, stepping out the parish automobile, looking at his precious pocketwatch, already late for the evening meal. He was just glad there were no religious services scheduled for the evening of a very eventful Wednesday.
 
Upon entering the dining room he is greeted by the staff, his brethern, seated around the table, however they had not yet begun to eat. They had obviously waiting upon the rest of the families arrival, which at a glance told him that was only him. No one, of course, mentioned his tardiness as that would have been a sign of self-centeredness something all the brethren knew was not how a man of God should be. It would be assumed that he had good reason for being delayed or would have called ahead if he knew he would not make it in a timely manner. Further it was his responsibility to speak the grace at the meals or to ask someone at the table to do so.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top