Holt Principality

1. Auflage 1998
ISBN: 978-1-61792-836-9
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 274 Seiten

A young Catholic priest is challenged by a strong demonic presence. The future of the small community depends on the priest's abiity to convince the people that they are not fighting flesh an blood but powers and principalities in the heavenlies.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Holt, Dennis

Leseproben

CHAPTER ONE: THE SIGNATURE “Father! Hey, Father Macon!” Father Macon turned his head toward the direction of the voices and saw a couple of boys approaching from the direction of the highway. As they drew closer he recognized them as two of his parishioners, Bill Geller and Eddie Long. He waited on the steps of the rectory until they came within speaking range. “Hey, fellows, what’s going on?” The two boys stopped as they came to the steps where the priest stood, and paused momentarily to catch their breath. “Father,” said Eddie, “we just came from Mr. Bowman’s farm. There’s a whole crowd of people over there. Something really strange happened to one of his prize bulls last night.” Father Macon came down the steps closer to the two boys. “Did someone shoot it thinking it was a deer?” “I don’t think so, Father. The sheriff and everyone else were pretty closed-up about the whole thing, but one thing that we know is there were no bullet holes found anywhere in the bull. They have the whole area barricaded off. Seems some big shot from out of Little Rock is coming up to take a look at the area and they don’t want people in there gawking around and stirring things up. The sheriff told everyone to go home and he would keep everyone informed of the details.” “Are they sure it happened last night?” “Mr. Bowman says he checked all his herd yesterday evening and everything was in order, so Sheriff Martin said it had to have happened last night.” Bill nervously reached over and tapped Eddie on the shoulder and mumbled, “Come on.” “Father, we’ve got to run,” Eddie explained. “Bill’s got to be at work in an hour, so we’d better hit the road.” With that the two boys turned and headed back toward the highway. Father Macon watched them as far as the bend in the road as he pondered the information. As he stared down the road, the boys now out of sight, his thoughts went back to a year before his ordination. He had been home for a month’s break when suddenly cattle in the local area began turning up mutilated. It never was talked about publicly, and people seemed bent on keeping it quiet. His younger brother had discussed the matter with him at some length before his death from the car wreck had changed the focus for everyone, and after about three months the whole thing faded and nothing more was said or done. Helping the family deal with the grief from the accident and with the preparation for his ordination, he had not had the time to pursue the matter. He had not even thought anymore about it until today. His concentration was broken by the sound of the phone ringing in the rectory. He again climbed the stairs and unlocked the side door to the rectory. “St. Mark’s parish, Father Macon speaking. May I help you?” he said into the mouthpiece, as he quickly pulled it from the desktop. “Father Macon?” the deep voice asked on the other end. “Yes.” “Father Macon, this is Sheriff Martin and I’m here at Carl Bowman’s farm. It seems we’ve had something happen over here that we thought you might assist us in.” “Does it involve the dead bull?” There was silence on the other end for a few seconds then the sheriff replied, “Uh, yes it does, but how did you know?” “Bill Geller and Eddie Long were just by here and they told me about the strange goings-on at Carl’s farm.” The sheriff, somewhat relieved, spoke again, “News sure travels fast in this small community. I don’t think we could keep anything quiet if we wanted to.” “That’s very true. How can I assist you?” “Well,” the sheriff stammered, “there are some strange markings on the ground in the area and it’s nothing like we have ever seen before. Mrs. Bowman says you speak Hebrew, Greek, Latin, and a few other languages and we thought maybe you might have seen something like them before. It’s really weird and we thought that you might add something to this.” The desperation in the sheriff’s voice was more than enough to convince Father Macon that he could at least take a look. “I’ll be there in about thirty minutes, sheriff.” “Thanks, Father,” the sheriff replied, obviously relieved, “we’ll expect you.” Father Macon walked to his bedroom, removed his clerics, and put on his work shirt and blue jeans. He called them his “knock-a-bouts”. He rarely wore them in public because he knew the people preferred him in his clerics. Tradition was a powerful force and in the Catholic community it was everything. As he climbed into his jeep and started the engine, the words of the sheriff echoed in his mind. Engleton was definitely a close knit community. It had been settled by German Catholics around the turn of the century and in some ways time had stood still for the people who lived there now. They were very strong in the tradition of their faith, but it seemed to make no difference in their day to day life. In the year he had been there he had not grown close to any family and the more he learned about the community, the more he realized how dysfunctional they were. He had learned of the abundant alcoholism in the area when he closed down the Holy Name Society which was nothing more than a front for Monday night beer drinking. Many of the men had become angry over the closure but had very few grounds to argue the case. Spousal abuse, incest, thievery, and destruction of property were only a few of the problems that seemed to be associated with the small community, but for some reason the bishop had seen fit to place him in this parish. The first year had been a definite struggle, full of frustration and even questioning of his vocation. How could people profess to be followers of Christ and still choose to do so much evil? Mr. Bowman’s farm was only a couple miles from the church so the drive was relatively short and as Father Macon pulled his jeep into the Bowman’s driveway he could see the sheriff talking with a man and a woman and Carl Bowman, the owner of the farm. Father Macon pulled his jeep along side the sheriff’s Bronco and turned off the key. As he opened the door the sheriff had already made his way over to Father’s jeep. “I really want to thank you for coming, Father. This is a strange one,” he said as he extended his hand. Father shook his hand. “I’ll be glad to do whatever I can but this is not my usual house call.” The sheriff laughed and motioned for him to follow him, “I’d like for you to meet Miss McClain and Mr. Bellows. They’re from the State investigation bureau in Little Rock.” The couple looked as if they were deep in discussion until they saw the sheriff and Father Macon approaching. They stopped their conversation and turned to face the approaching duo. Mrs. Bowman had called Mr. Bowman to the house for a phone call. “Mr. Bellows,” said the sheriff, “this is Father Rex Macon, our local parish priest.” Bellows extended his hand. “Phil Bellows, Father. It’s nice to meet you. This is my partner, Jamie McClain.” “Hello Father,” she said, smiling as she too extended her hand. “Very nice to meet both of you,” Father replied. “What type of investigative bureau do you belong to?” Jamie looked at Phil as if to see who should answer the priest’s question, then with a sense of affirmation she said, “We deal mainly in areas of investigation that do not fit what you would call mainline. We’re not in homicide or property destruction unless it shows some aspect of abnormality.” Father laughed. “This sounds almost spooky.” Jamie again looked at Phil, who now decided to comment. “As you are well aware, Father, things are sometimes not what they appear, and as public servants we have an obligation to give the public at least an attempt at an explanation.” “Like the reason for a dead bull in a rural town in Arkansas?” replied Father, halfway laughing again. “Well,” laughed Phil, lightening up a bit, “like they say it’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it. We have no idea what’s going on here. Sheriff Martin called headquarters this morning and the chief thought we should come up and take a look.” That caused the sheriff to perk up and enter the conversation, “Which is what we really need to be doing folks. Father, neither Phil nor Jamie have been out at the site yet. Let’s all go to the field and take a look. Father, why don’t you take your jeep and follow us because you may not want to stay as long as we do.” “Sounds good,” Father replied. “May I ride with you, Father?” Jamie asked as Father Macon turned toward his jeep. “I would be honored with your company,” Father nodded as she hurriedly walked to catch up. Father climbed into his jeep and hit the automatic door locks to open the lock for Jamie. She then opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat. They both fastened their seat belts and watched as the sheriff’s Bronco pulled out in front of them and started back down the drive. “What do you think we have here, Jamie?” asked Father, mainly wanting to...