The Haunted Cathedral

by Antony Barone Kolenc

  “I am as much a criminal as he. Neither of us can have recourse to the law that we so flagrantly cast aside. But the Master has his own methods of justice to collect his debts.” Poor Uncle William was trapped. No wonder he seemed to despair of his very life.

  Father Philip stirred from his silence. “How much do you owe this man, William? Surely a wealthy merchant like yourself could sell what you own to repay this debt.”

  He sighed. “God has punished me for my crimes in His own way, Father. Everything I owned of value I put into a shipment that now lies at the bottom of the sea. Even worse, I took usurious loans from the Master to double a second shipment’s value, only to have it sunk also.”

  “What of your business? Your home here?” the priest asked. “They must have worth.”

  “Aye, and the Master has already collected by violence all that I have of value on this earth. That has paid barely half of what I owe. The other half I must pay with my very lifeblood.”

  “Is there no way we can help you, then?” Father Philip said.

  Sorrow reflected in Uncle William’s eyes. “If you truly want to help, pray for my immortal soul.”

  So that was it, then. How could his uncle take Xan into his care in this condition? It was impossible. And how could he pay for Xan’s head money? Also impossible.

  “What is your will for your nephew, then?” Brother Andrew asked. “Shall we take him back to Harwood Abbey and let him pursue a future there?”

  Uncle William hesitated again. “I wish it were not so. If I could have but a few more days to consider my situation, maybe I could find a way out of this cursed dilemma.”

  “But how?” the monk asked.

  “Never you mind, Brother. I am considering options of which I cannot speak.”

  Just then a shout came from outside—perhaps a child playing in the road or a farmer yelling at chickens. Uncle William started as though it were the Master coming to retrieve his life.

  “I must go,” he said. “I have already stayed too long.”

  “We cannot wait forever for your decision,” Brother Andrew said. “If you mean to place a claim on this boy, you must do so soon.”

  He headed for the door. “I will, Brother. You have my word.” He turned and embraced Xan warmly. “And you, Stephen, will be in my thoughts both day and night. Though I may fail you in the end, know that in my heart I wish to be the perfect uncle.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “God go with you, Uncle.”

  After Uncle William left, Lucy came and sat next to Xan on the wide bench. “Are you doing all right?” she asked, her voice soft and supportive.

  He nodded, but what exactly was “all right” about all this? It seemed more like “all wrong.” Though Sister Regina might disagree, surely God was torturing him for no good reason. He’d been dragged from his home at Harwood Abbey to a city days away in the hopes of finding a big family for himself. Not only was Uncle William unmarried, but the man was also facing disaster as a lawbreaker and a fugitive from ruthless men. Nor could his uncle pay the head money to free him from service as a serf in Hardonbury, or even offer a safe home here in Lincoln.

  Meanwhile, the bandit who’d killed his parents sat in chains just minutes away, somehow expecting forgiveness from Xan, while another bandit lurked ready to kill again. Not to mention the possibility of a ghost in the cathedral who might be evil and who might or might not be able to give him insight into where Mother and Father were now and what they hoped of him in the future.

  Nay, he was not all right, and Lucy seemed to know it too. She placed her hand gently on his shoulder. The last time she’d done that was back at Harwood Abbey. Their eyes had met that day and she’d talked of God’s will. Now their eyes met once more.

  “I know what you need,” she said. “Another mystery to solve. If only there were one here in Lincoln somewhere. Anywhere.” Her voice was whimsical, her lips turned up in a playful smile.

  She was right. When his soul had sunk to its lowest depths of despair at the abbey, solving the mystery of the Shadow had brought new purpose and given him renewed faith in God’s will.

  Her lightness raised his heart from its despair. “A mystery around here?” he said with feigned doubt. “I can’t imagine where. We should go to that cathedral to pray for God’s guidance.”

  Father Philip overheard their comments. “Don’t forget to bring your new friends with you.”

  Lucy’s smile dimmed just a little. “Of course,” she said.

  They excused themselves and headed outside. Taking to the cobblestone paths, they went to Christina and Simon’s house. Along the way, he explained how he’d felt standing on that rock in the old Roman burial ground, and how he’d decided to trap that ghost somehow.

  “See?” she said. “God has been leading your heart to this mystery the whole time.”

  True. But why?

  They found Simon outside his house, apparently expecting them. “You’re finally here!” But Christina made them wait while she finished getting ready upstairs. When she emerged—hair combed neatly and emerald frock as crisp and clean as her green eyes—she paraded out with poised steps. Upon seeing Lucy, her lovely eyes grew wider.

  “Why . . . you look . . .” Christina paused and breathed. “You look so marvelous, Lucy.”

  “Thank you,” Lucy said, grinning with pleasure. “As do you.” Why did it seem these girls were having some sort of contest? The only contest Xan wanted was for some good ideas on solving the mystery.

  “Are you all ready to go find that ghost?” he asked.

  Simon seemed unsure. “About that. Maybe trapping a ghost isn’t such a good idea.”

  “And why not?” Christina said. “Nelly is just a little girl.”

  Simon gritted his gapped teeth anxiously. “Aye, a dead little girl!”

  If the ghost were Nelly at all. Though Xan hadn’t found any evidence at the Roman burial ground, still it seemed more likely this ghost was evil—the suffering soul of a mortal sinner.

  “Don’t worry,” Xan said. “We’re not trapping anything right now. We just need to get into that cathedral and search for clues. What do we know so far about this ghost?”

  Simon paused to think. He put his tongue to his lips. “There’s the child’s wailing. And the metal scraping noises. And the feelings of being watched. And the candles lighting up and disappearing. And the angry tremors, of course.”

  Xan nodded at each of the boy’s descriptions. “All those clues are in the cathedral. Don’t be afraid, Simon. We’ll try to get out of there ere dark.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Christina said, as though she hadn’t been the entire reason for their delay. “The day isn’t getting any longer, you know.”

  18

  The Haunting

  During his first visit under the vast roof of the cross-shaped cathedral, Xan had been overwhelmed by its enormity. But every detail of the place felt intriguing now, each one a possible clue. He and Simon patrolled the side aisles, examining the rows of candles and statues of saints. Christina and Lucy had gone together to look for clues by the altar, hand in hand like sisters.

  Xan stopped to admire the tomb of Bishop Remigius, with curvy lines and a jagged crack. Its dark cover, long and narrow like a human body, was etched with figures and strange markings.

  Then, for a moment, he felt a tremor under his feet: a slight vibration, as though old Remigius’s tomb was reliving the moment the roof of the cathedral had fallen upon it.

  Simon looked at him strangely. He must have felt the vibration too, though it had lasted only a brief moment. When nothing else happened, Xan shrugged to Simon and kept walking.

  In the left aisle, he inspected the statue of Mary and baby Jesus and the candle lit in front of it. This was the candle Christina had said the ghost favored, although it seemed normal now. He breathed in the warm scent of beeswax as the light of the fading sun cast an orange glow across the altar. How could such a peaceful place be haunted by an evil s
pirit?

  He looked up at a window. When darkness came, the priest would close the church. “C’mon,” he said, leading Simon back into the nave to pace its full length and back, then up and down the side aisles again.

  In the left aisle, near the metal candleholders in front of the statue of Mary and Jesus, marks on the stone floor caught his eye. He bent and touched them—a clue. “See these scratches?” he said to Simon, gesturing to the cluster of scrapes.

  “What is it?”

  “Maybe nothing,” Xan said, not wanting to frighten the boy.

  One of the ghost tales had mentioned a scraping sound of metal upon stone. Could that have been coming from here? If so, the ghost was moving the metal wall of candles within the cathedral. As a child, Xan had heard stories of ghosts that would throw cups and bowls or push over furniture like a child throwing a tantrum. Maybe this ghost was like that too: a bratty baby.

  “C’mon,” he said, taking Simon into another aisle, examining the floors as they walked.

  All this time, visitors came and went—some praying as they stood, others kneeling before an altar or statue. As twilight approached, the last of the visitors left and a thick silence descended.

  The priest emerged from a back room and clambered down the left aisle, putting out many of the candles with a long, silver candlesnuffer. He did the same on the right aisle. “Children,” he said. “’Tis time for you to finish your prayers. I will be locking up soon.”

  The priest went behind the altar and extinguished every light save one: the lamp lighting the golden vessel with the holy bread of the Blessed Sacrament. As Brother Andrew had explained, that solitary lamp stayed lit perpetually, symbolizing the presence of God within the cathedral.

  Lucy and Christina met them in the nave, near the altar rail, as the priest disappeared into the back room. The cathedral was dimmer now, even though candles in the aisles remained lit.

  “Everything seemed normal to us in here,” Lucy said. “Did you find any clues?”

  Xan shook his head. “Just a few scratches. Did you two feel anything under your feet?”

  Lucy said, “No,” but Christina nodded. “I did.”

  “We should go,” Simon said. “’Tis getting dark now.”

  “Wait.” Christina held out her arm to stop her brother. “Do you feel something?”

  Was she feeling the vibration again? Xan closed his eyes and held his breath. There were no noises except the priest in the back room. Then he felt it: a tingling that started on his spine and worked its way to his scalp.

  “I think I feel it,” he said. “I can’t really describe it. ’Tis like . . .”

  “Like eyes watching us from behind the wall somewhere,” Lucy said.

  “I feel it too!” Simon grew loud with fear. His long legs jittered nervously, as though they wanted to break off from his little torso and run away without him.

  “Shhh!” Christina said. “Just wait and listen, noisy head.”

  They waited. Nothing else happened.

  “What are we waiting for?” Simon asked.

  Xan pointed toward the giant stone columns holding up the arches over the right aisle. “Let’s get out of the center of this church and slip behind one of those pillars for a minute.”

  They followed him to one of the tall columns, where they stood in silence, facing the cross of the crucified Christ hanging behind the altar. Yet, from that spot they could observe much of the cathedral in the periphery of their vision.

  As the moments passed, the notion that something was watching them continued to grow. Xan couldn’t explain the feeling; it was more of a sense or suspicion than a reality.

  “We’re not alone in here,” he whispered.

  The final light of day—the sun had already hid behind the horizon—brought a growing shadow within the cathedral’s walls. The four of them stood silently like the statues of saints.

  That’s when the noises came: a clanging and banging that arose from deep within the belly of the cathedral and echoed off its walls. Then a scraping of metal upon stone.

  “What was that?” Simon’s voice barely croaked out the words, like Joshua when he’d first seen the Shadow walking across the abbey’s grounds at night.

  “Shhh! Stay still,” Christina said.

  Xan listened in silence and stared into the thickening grayness. This could be the moment. If there were a ghost in this cathedral that could move furniture and throw tantrums and steal candles, then this could be it. And if it were something else—not a ghost, but some other natural phenomenon—then they might solve the mystery this very instant.

  “Wait! A shadow, see?” Lucy’s finger pointed across the nave to the left side aisle.

  In the darkness, something crept noiselessly across the floor toward the rounded walls of the apse behind the altar, where the light of the Blessed Sacrament still shone dimly. It had shape and form, but in the grayness it could be anything: a giant dog, a wolf, a crawling man, a boar.

  If this were a ghost, wouldn’t it be glowing from its own eerie, interior light?

  Even Christina seemed to be getting nervous. “What do we do?”

  Xan gave no sign. This was not so different from that night on the abbey’s granges, when he’d dared to follow Death. Except now he had others who might be in danger with him.

  “Time to decide, Xan,” whispered Lucy. “Do we stay, or do we flee from that thing?”

  Simon whimpered, scarcely making a sound. “Let’s go. Please!”

  Xan didn’t answer. He was still peering across the dim cathedral. Before their eyes, the shadow had disappeared into the growing dimness. But it was likely still there.

  He’d assumed the ghost would glow, but why had he thought that? Perhaps that was the way the storytellers had always told it. Yet it might not be so. A ghost could be a shadow, probably. But if this was a ghost, how could he approach it, talk to it?

  Unless this wasn’t a ghost at all, but something of flesh and blood, just like them. If so, it was living somewhere deep inside this cathedral. Whatever it was, it had revealed itself to them, whether on purpose or not—who could say? But now it had disappeared into darkness and had not reappeared. Perhaps it had heard them?

  “You all can go if you want,” Xan said finally. “I can’t. Not yet.” His voice cracked with uncertainty, but still nobody left his side. Lucy began to murmur words under her breath: “Our Father in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name.” Of course, she was praying. Who could fault her for it? This seemed like the perfect time.

  “All right, then,” Xan said, his skin now crawling with pimply bumps. “I’m going to flush that thing out of its hiding spot, whatever it might be. Just stay here.”

  “You’re going to do what?” Christina said. “Not while I’m—”

  Xan sprang without warning from the pillar and darted into the open nave of the cathedral, calling out in a loud voice, “Spirit, show yourself!”

  His challenge echoed as they waited for the ghost’s response. Nothing.

  “Show yourself!” he yelled again, even louder.

  The priest strode from the back room, waving his finger in the air. “This is a house of prayer! Have you no respect for the temple of God? Who are you—the troublemakers who have been emptying the bowl of holy water each night?”

  Holy water? Someone had been taking the priest’s holy water? “Nay, Father.”

  The priest pointed to the door. “Out now, all of you, this instant!”

  Xan turned to him with a pleading voice. “But, Father, we—”

  “Out this instant!”

  Xan bowed his head in submission. The priest was not in a listening mood. “Come on,” he said. They began walking through the nave toward the exit. Then the scraping sound came again.

  “What was that?” the priest said. “More hooligans in the aisle?”

  A line of smoke rose from a candlewick in the left aisle, near the statue of Mary and baby Jesus, as though a ghostly breath had blown it out. They
halted and peered into the darkness.

  A vibration began under their feet again. Christina laughed at the tickling sensation.

  “What is that?” said Lucy.

  “I don’t know.” Xan stopped and listened, the hair on his neck standing on end. The vibration grew in intensity. Soon it was a low roar. The lit candles in their metal stands along the walls flickered wildly in place. Small particles fell from the ceiling above their heads.

  “You’ve made it angry!” Simon shouted above the din.

  A rumbling—deep and threatening—came from within the belly of the cathedral. The priest stood staring at them in shock, as though they’d started the trembling.

  Then, as abruptly as it began, the rumbling ceased.

  Candles immediately took their natural form. An eerie silence descended upon them.

  “We should go quickly,” Lucy said. Xan nodded and started toward the exit again. “Agreed.”

  But before they’d made it two steps, a mournful cry resounded from the cathedral’s walls. Its wail was as sorrowful as Xan’s when he’d learned of his parents’ death all those months ago.

  That was enough. They all ran toward the back of the cathedral and out its massive doors into the twilight.

  Back at the old priest’s cottage, Xan sat in stillness before the hearth.

  Father Philip and Brother Andrew chatted in a corner of the room, unaware of what had happened in the cathedral. Xan hadn’t dared to mention it for fear of starting an argument again between the priest and the monk over the presence of ghosts.

  Simon and Christina had fled to their home soon after leaving the cathedral. Lucy too. Christina had been angry at him before they’d left. “Whatever that thing is, ’tis not sweet little Nelly. Why did you have to provoke it like that? It could have killed us all!”

  Now he peered at the glowing embers of the hearth, his mind racing through explanations. Christina and Simon had said that he’d aroused the wrath of the ghost. Like a sudden storm, it had come to his call, furious at his bold but foolish challenge.