The young priest’s fingers tightened on the envelope.“Father O’Malley, forgive me, but this seems highly irregular.Midnight Masses?For a medical condition?Surely there must be some other arrangement—“
“There is no other arrangement.”Desiderius spoke for the first time.“We can only receive the Sacrament in darkness.It need not be at midnight sharp, but we must arrive after sunset and leave before sunrise.Beyond that, we can accommodate your preferred schedule.”
Father John took an involuntary step backward at the sound of Desiderius’ voice.The senior vampire of our little family, if you could call us that, spoke like no one else, like he’d come from a faraway country, or from another time entirely.Both were true.But I doubted the young priest could figure it out.
“I...I would need to pray on this matter,” Father John stammered.“Perhaps consult with the Bishop—“
“Of course,” O’Malley interrupted smoothly.“Prayer and discernment are always advisable.But might I suggest you meet with them tomorrow evening?Midnight, here at the church?Give them a chance to demonstrate their faith.I think you’ll find their dedication… inspiring.“
The request hung between them like a challenge.Father John’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes darting between O’Malley’s serene face and our shadowed forms.
“Tomorrow at midnight,” he agreed finally, though his voice carried all the enthusiasm of a man agreeing to his own execution.“I will...consider your request.”
“That is all we ask,” O’Malley said, rising from his chair with enormous effort.
He dragged himself across the floor toward me, each step a negotiation with pain.When he reached me, I saw in his gaze a sorrow so complete that my eyes fell to the floorboards.“Alice,” he whispered, his voice barely disturbing the air between us, “don’t forget our conversation about suffering.St.Teresa knew something we often forget—that God doesn’t send trials to break us, but to beckon us closer.”
I clutched the book he’d given me tighter against my chest, feeling its edges dig into my palms.“Father, please—“
“No more words,” he said gently.“Only faith now.Only endurance.”
He collected his traveling case with movements that spoke of enormous will overcoming failed flesh.Father John held the door for him, and I watched as O’Malley stepped through it into the graying dawn.The sound of his shuffling steps faded gradually, each footfall taking him further from this place that had been sanctuary, further from us who needed him so desperately.
When the last echo died, the rectory felt hollow as a tomb.Father John stood at the threshold, clearly eager to follow O’Malley into the safety of daylight, yet bound by politeness to offer some word of farewell.
“Tomorrow at midnight then,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.“I’ll...I’ll be at the church.”
He fled before any of us could respond; the door closing with a bang that almost forced what remained of my soul out of my animated corpse.
The day was a blur of sunless, breathless waiting, a shallow grave in time.We did not live it; we endured it, listening for the bells that would call us from the silence of the rectory to the vast, unforgiving silence of the House of God.
We knew we couldn’t stay at the rectory.Often, Father O’Malley had allowed us to remain there during the days, but with Father John moving in shortly—apparently he was staying at a motel nearby in Exeter for now—we’d have to relocate.
Finding a suitable haven had been the constant, grinding struggle of our existence.Exeter was too small, too watchful—vacant properties quickly filled, neighbors noticed oddities, developers circled like vultures.For a time, I’d haunted the rooms where I’d once lived as a child, until lawyers finalized my family’s estate.Later, we’d claimed the Brown house after death emptied it of all its occupants, knowing some distant relative would eventually arrive with a deed in hand.And now, with Father O’Malley’s protection withdrawn, we faced bleaker prospects: a damp root cellar beneath abandoned farmland, a crumbling charcoal kiln half-swallowed by forest, or one of those forgotten stone outbuildings scattered throughout the pine barrens—any lightless corner where we might hide our unnatural existence until something more permanent could be secured.
The church doors groaned as we pushed them open at the stroke of midnight.Beyond the familiar incense and wood hung the sharp scent of fear-sweat from the figure at the altar.
Father John stood behind the communion rail, gripping his prayer book as though it were a shield.We moved down the aisle like ghosts.Father John’s gaze darted between us, his chest rising and falling more rapidly with each step we took toward him.
The candlelight cast dancing shadows across his face, making him appear even younger than his years.He’d positioned himself strategically, I realized—the altar between us, the sacristy door within easy reach.I could tell he’d figured something out, something of the truth.
I approached slowly, deliberately adding weight to my steps to seem more human.The gesture proved futile.When I drew within ten feet of the communion rail, Father John recoiled as though I’d brandished a weapon.
“Stop there!”His voice was high and thin.“Come no closer.”
I halted, raising my hands in what I hoped appeared as supplication.Behind me, Desiderius, Ruth, and Rebecca did the same.
“Father John.”I tried to maintain a soft tone of voice, unthreatening.“We’ve come as you asked—“
“I know what you are.”
His words dropped like stones.Behind me, Ruth gasped.Rebecca’s nails scraped against wood.
“I’m not certain what you mean,” I tried, though the pretense felt hollow.
Father John’s laugh held no humor, only the brittle edge of barely-contained hysteria.“Please.Do not insult my intelligence or compound your sins with lies.”His grip on the prayer book tightened until I feared he might tear it.“Vampires.You are vampires.”
An icy silence filled the air for what felt like a full minute.
