The blind creatures followed with hissing laughter. They crawled on long claws, eyes like molten balls of tar; yet, burned with the alien green light. Elongated mouths prattled. In the unsteady light of the night, the lantern at the end of the stalks blazed. Its brilliance centered in the head. Deep in the glow, there was an awful truth that eclipsed the mind. Together the heretics came, lured by a call of Color’s Folly. Whip-like intestines that hung like tails, ensnared others, until they became one of many bodies. The Rat King of the Black Priory howled up at the storm above.

Sheila ran, forced her gaze away from the blasphemy of flesh and madness. All that remained was the bruised purple in her mind, and the slither of half hidden worms that crossed her vision. Blaze of the Rat King’s lanterns grew brighter, yet she refused to look back. The hiss rose as teeth chattered, which was closer with each beat of her heart. Before her, the shadowy figure looked back in mind devoured horror. Look forward, her besieged mind bellowed.

She threw herself through the Black Priory’s front door. The fragment of the past staggered into the wall before her. Numb legs buckled. Sheila fell on the dark stone floor. Back she looked, heart pounded, and numb muscles refused to work. Boom of the Rat King resounded through the Black Priory. Made up of many disfigured creatures, only one passed through the door. The length of tail, which tied it to its brethren, stretched as the creature lunged. Claws scrabbled at the floor, snapped back, but it launched forward again. She screamed, scrabbled away, and her back struck the wall. Elongate jaws snapped at her. Terror tore at her guts, and bile shot from her mouth to splash across its face. A nasty laugh seeped from jaws too malformed to properly close.

Away she lunged, claw seized her ankle, but Sheila kicked away the hand. Through the house she ran, and the Rat King’s other creature squeezed into the Black Priory. The box, she thought, I have to somehow get it! She ran to the basement door; but the Rat King drew closer. The shadowy figure ran away, and she followed with a curse.

Back out into the storm Sheila ran. Bolts blasted the forest. More of the creatures, once men and women, searched the forest. Neon clover-green brilliance haunted the darkness, and devoured the mind like a blasphemous acid. Along a tail she followed the fragment of a soul, memory of a dark endeavor, as it ran before her. Lightning fell from the cold firmament above to the frozen forest below. She saw the murky figure of gloom drop.

“Preacher’s Jump,” she said, and tried to stop.

Sheila’s feet flew up, and she saw the long drop below. A flash of light show the glassy depths below. Air whooshed from her lungs, before the back of her head slammed against the hard earth. A meager groan passed between her lips. Icy rain stabbed at exposed skin, and she slung an arm over her face. Each desperate suck at the air drew in wintry drops. Dark stones shifted beside her, as neon clover-green light blazed out of the unholy sarcophagus. Over her stood an emaciated cadaver, stained white collar caught a flash of lightning. Eyes, which had been sewn shut, turned down to her. She flailed but slipped on the slick stones. From the symbol carved upon its brow, its lantern emerged. Tremors ran through her. Hands and heels drummed on the icy earth. A bruised purple galaxy drowned the mind.

She watched the icy ground. Thin red lines traced her skin, and Sheila felt the world’s thinness. All that held it together as the frailest of thread. They carried her with prayers.

Sheila’s eyes were pulled up by the shift of the world. Lines stretched and bent. Impossible angles and geometry assailed trees, until they were an amalgamation of writhing madness. They swayed to a song, cosmic winds, which flowed through the fractured reality. Every branch slithered, covered in razor sharp frills. Boughs had mouths with shattered teeth, which gnashed at the night. Sap bled as malignant tears. A warm stink of simmering infection clung to the fog that possessed the fouled woods. Even the bolt of lightning became malformed, when it struck a decayed oak. Hateful life was born in the brief existence; it licked all within its reach, so to torment with caustic touch. About roots that ensnared and crushed, ice congealed into glassy serpents with the faces of those claimed by the Black Priory. They swam through the air; little legs along their bodies scrabbled. They moaned out their last words in life, pleas for deliverance. Green streaks of electricity flowed through the mist, like lightning in a storm cloud. It whispered to her, as it flowed, of many truths beyond the mind of the ordered, sane world. Sheila’s mind, divorced of flesh, felt the entire strange mind slicing at her. She wailed, and even the cry became a twisted parody of life.

With great joy, they carried her into the monastery. It too was bathed in the glory of a heretical god. As Sheila passed the front door, she saw Haas, who had returned with her car. A piggish squeal escaped her, and for a brief moment, he glanced at the dark doorway. Haas looked away briefly from the Priory’s ghastly visage, when the door slammed.

Down into the basement they carried her, although they handed her off to monks. Inside their robes they seemed to float, as if in water. Skeletal hands were oddly gentle, almost reverent. The neon clover-green light roamed over the blasted walls. They set her on the ground, upon the wicked mark.

Sheila looked to the podium, where she had hidden the box. The blasphemous bible was gone, and her evidence on the others was spilled out all over the floor. All because of Kayden, she thought. Maybe, if I hadn’t of got his wife Jillian fired, and then this could have been avoided. She sneered. I’m glad that junkie trash died. I hope he dies face down in a gutter.

An enormous shadow moved through the darkness and the vile eldritch light. Under the thick hood, three pairs of eyes burned. Long arms split into more, until she could no longer count them. Sheila screamed. Countless hands waved before her. Her lips were sewn shut, so no more could pass beyond them. In the other hand, runes sung on the heretical bible. Purple light burned in her eyes. Deep in the darkness of the priest’s hood a smile contorted long dead lips. He beckoned. Her eyes pulled forward, until they popped out. Like a lollipop pulled from a child’s mouth, a mad voice considered. Optical nerves snapped, but she could still see, even as lids were sealed closed. Sheila eyes floated up, and then burst into purple flame, as the word trapped inside was released. This utterance imparted by Kayden was set free. The heretical priest offered it to his blasphemous god, as dark stones rose to make Sheila a tomb.

Haas moved Sheila’s car. Although she had been thoroughly unpleasant, he regretted calling her a tourist. She lives here all alone, he knew. No one was her friend, except for Tracy Chaney. His lip twitched at the woman’s name.

A little squeal escaped the Black Priory. Haas turned away from the car. His heavy brow turned down. Was that Miss Richardson? He saw the door was open. With a deep sigh, he stepped towards the old monastery yet eyes turned away, but the door slammed shut. “She really hates locals,” he muttered, faced flushed.

Free of charge, he thought, though shook his head. Haas turned back to the tow truck. Maybe, she just needs a show of kindness from a local. We are no better or worse than anyone else, but the people on the television do portray us poorly. Hopefully, this may make her a bit nicer. Miss Richardson will see we are okay people. He smiled, and pulled out of the parking lot.