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front of the trees in the
yard. After his mother and brothers would go to bed, he’d stare out the kitchen
window, watching and waiting. Finally, two weeks to the day after his father
died, he saw movement in the trees. It triggered the sensor and light flooded
into the trees. Matthew clutched the curtains in his hand as he watched in
horror. The upper body of a tall, lanky figure was standing behind a bush and
staring directly at him. It pointed at him, then turned and ran at lightning
speed into the woods.
    Scared shitless,
Matthew called the cops. By the grace of God, Sheriff Kelly actually answered
the phone.
    “Sheriff Kelly!
Thank God! I need someone to come to the house! There’s someone in the backyard
and I think it’s the killer!”
    “Now son, your
teenage imagination is running wild. It makes sense that you would see things
so soon after your father died,” Sheriff Kelly lectured.
    “No, sir, you
don’t understand! I saw it!”
    “Don’t you mean
you saw ‘him’?” the sheriff corrected.
    “No, sir, I mean it ,” Matthew said defiantly. “Even if it’s human, it has to be pure evil
with a face like that!”
    The sheriff
actually laughed. “Young man, you sound like the clergy. A noble profession. If
you want to fight demons, Mr. McMillan, become a priest. Leave the police work
to the professionals.” Then he hung up on Matthew.
    Though he was
still furious about how he was treated, he did owe Sheriff Kelly a small amount
of gratitude. If it hadn’t been for him mentioning the priesthood, he probably
wouldn’t have started so early in life. As lonely as the priesthood could be,
Father Matthew had no regrets. He knew it was the right thing to do, and God
would not let him down.
    “What’s so
interesting out that window, Father?” Martha asked as she continued typing.
    “Not a thing,”
he lied. The events that had led him into the priesthood were unfolding once
more, just as he knew they would. And this time he was prepared. He had always
excelled academically, so when he entered seminary he attached himself to
influential faculty. He spent two years at the Pontifical North American College
in Rome, studying the occult, exorcism, as well as abnormal and parapsychology.
Though he could never explain it, Matthew had a gut feeling his training would
one day provide answers about the death of his father.
    “Father?
Father?” a voice said, increasing in volume.
    “Yes?” he
answered, turning away from the window and his dark thoughts.
    “We’re ready for
you,” Dean Lofton informed. The chair of the finance committee, as well as a
cop, Dean was Matthew’s right hand man.
    “I’ll be just a
minute,” Father Matthew said with a forced smile. He stepped into his office,
grabbed the necessary paperwork, and made his way down the hall to one of the
Sunday School classrooms beside the Social Room. He heard laughter from the
women’s group, and the deep voices of several men in the finance meeting. He
laughed to himself about how segregated men and women were in the Catholic
Church. Shaking his head, he put on his jovial face and pushed the past out of
his head as best he could.
    “Father?” Dean
repeated a third time.
    “I’m sorry, what
did you say?” Matthew asked.
    “I was asking
about our investment funds and whether we need to transfer money into the
general fund to cover any excess costs involved with the new heating system.”
    Matthew stared
at him blankly. Everyone looked at each other in awkward silence. They weren’t
used to Matthew being anything other than outgoing and brilliant.
    “Father, are you
okay?” Stan Stellworth asked timidly.
    “I’m sorry,
gentlemen,” he said. He tried to feign illness, hoping they would buy it. “I’m
feeling a bit under the weather tonight. I believe it must have been those
tacos I ordered for dinner!” He roared with his usual laughter, and the men in
the room visibly lost their collective look of concern.
    “We can take
care of