The Soul Auction

by Amy Cross

  “She might still have had questions,” he points out. “In fact, she -”

  Before he can finish, there's a creaking sound nearby. I turn and watch as Dora Ohme comes out of another room, and we briefly make eye-contact before she heads out of the building.

  “That's Ms. Ohme,” Father Cole explains. “She sometimes arranges flowers for us here. We're very much a community-minded church, and people chip in whenever they can. People like to help.” He looks down at Kate again. “Perhaps children are drawn to that kind of thing,” he adds. “In a tumultuous world, perhaps all of us are drawn to places where kindness and charity are most commonly practiced.”

  “Her...”

  I hesitate, wondering whether I should tell him more, before realizing that there's no point holding back.

  “Her father died six months ago,” I say finally. “My husband. He had cancer.”

  “I'm very sorry for your loss.”

  “He wasn't ill for too long,” I add. “Still, Kate saw some horrible things. Alice is too young, she won't even remember, but Kate's just the right age for it to take hold.”

  “And does she talk about her loss very often?”

  I shake my head.

  “People deal with grief in different ways,” he continues. “How old is she? Six? Seven?”

  “Five.”

  “Indeed.”

  “She acts older,” I point out. “People are always a little surprised when I tell them she's just five. I think she had to grow up very fast.”

  “Might I offer you some advice?” he asks.

  “I'll take anything you've got right now.”

  “Let her sit here for as long as she likes,” he continues. “We'll both be on hand to answer any questions she might have, but for now, I think we should give her the necessary space to make up her own mind.”

  “She's only five!” I point out.

  “Please...”

  He leads me back along the aisle, although I can't help glancing over my shoulder and seeing that Kate is still kneeling in front of the altar. I want to run to her and ask her to talk to me, but finally I reach the door and turn to the priest.

  “We'll give Kate time,” he says calmly, “and we'll let her come to us. Does that sound like a good idea?”

  “I have no idea,” I reply, as I feel tears in my eyes. “I don't think I even know the difference between good ideas and bad ideas anymore. I'm totally lost.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Alice

  Today

  As I make my way through the gate and into the cemetery, I check my phone again. It's now been several hours since the Dora Ohme account posted another review, but I guess I shouldn't be too impatient. I just hope there'll be more reviews, so that I can try to figure out what's really going on.

  Ahead, St. Leonard's is nestled at the far end of the cemetery, and its spire rises up through the trees at the edge of the forest. To be honest, if the grass hadn't been recently mowed, I'd be tempted to think that this church is abandoned, but as I make my way along the path I notice that the wooden door ahead has been left propped open. There are moss-covered gravestones on either side of me as I head toward the church, and birds are tweeting in nearby trees. The whole scene is very beautiful, almost idyllic, and after a moment I turn to look back the way I just came.

  In the distance, the English Channel glistens under a bright midday sun. For a moment, I can't help thinking that this must be one of the calmest, most peaceful places in the whole world.

  ***

  “There'll be a small service, most likely on Thursday week,” Father Redman explains as he leads me past the pews, toward the altar at the far end of the church. “I anticipate quite a lot of people coming. Ten, maybe even fifteen.”

  “Are you sure Dora had no family?” I ask. “No nephews or nieces, at least?”

  “She spoke on several occasions about her lack of family,” he replies. “She was a lonesome woman, but not lonely. I believe she was quite content with her lot in life.”

  “And what exactly did she do with her time?” I ask. “I mean, if she lived all alone, what was she doing day in and day out.”

  “You said you were a friend she met online?”

  “Something like that.”

  Stopping as we reach the altar, he turns to me.

  “Dora and I did not have an easy friendship,” he says cautiously, as if he's not quite sure how to explain the situation. “Over the years we had our ups and downs, and there were quite long periods of time when we wouldn't speak at all. I suppose that's why I wasn't too worried not to hear from her recently. Sometimes she'd go years without coming to the church, but she always returned eventually. Whatever was troubling her, I feel she found comfort in the church's teachings from time to time.”

  “So she was worried about something?”

  “Dora Ohme was a devout Christian when I first met her,” he explains. “That was a while ago now, when I first came to this parish. Dora had tremendous faith, the kind of faith that inspires others. But then...”

  His voice trails off for a moment.

  “But then what?” I ask.

  “Something changed,” he continues. “It was about thirty years ago. Actually, the first time I met her, I hadn't even quite taken over here at the church yet. I was that fresh to the area. I remember her rushing in through that door over there, running right along here, and dropping to her knees.”

  He turns and points at a spot in front of the altar.

  “She was sobbing, and she had her hands clasped tightly together. I tried to get her to tell me what was wrong, but she simply rambled about having seen something. Whatever it was, it had shaken her faith. I remember her begging me to help her. She was saying the same thing over and over again, asking me to calm her fears and restore her faith in a greater good. I was rather shocked, but I did my best. I sat right there, on those steps, and tried to console her.”

  “I don't understand,” I reply. “What exactly was wrong?”

  “She didn't make much sense, I'm afraid. She just kept saying over and over again that she'd seen something on the beach, something that had shaken her faith to its absolute foundations. She wasn't the first person who ever came to me with such concerns, of course, but usually I can at least help to some degree. In Dora's case...”

  I wait for him to continue, but he seems a little shaken by the memory.

  “What exactly had she seen?”

  “She wouldn't say.”

  “And did you eventually manage to help her?”

  “She ran out of here,” he explains. “I was worried about her, but she refused to speak to me. And then, about five years later, she came to one of my services. I noticed her loitering at the back. After, I spoke to her a little, and she made it clear that she wanted to come to church again. I thought she was over whatever had scared her, but during the following weeks it quickly became apparent that she was struggling a great deal. I would see her weeping during services, and she refused to discuss whatever was weighing her down.”

  “But she kept coming to church?”

  “For a while, until I noticed she was drifting away again. I went to ask what I could do to help, but it was clear she was terribly conflicted.”

  “And she still never told you what was troubling her?”

  He stares at me, and for a moment I think I see a hint of fear in his eyes.

  “No,” he says finally, “she didn't. Just that her faith was wavering, and that she'd begun to think that there were darker things out there.”

  “Darker things?”

  He takes a bible from one of the pews and holds it up for me to see. The cover is battered and torn, and the spine looks to be on the verge of falling apart.

  “Things that are not in here,” he explains. “Things that defy faith. She kept talking about seeing something on the beach, and whatever that thing was, it shook her faith for the rest of her life. The last time I saw her was maybe a year ago, when she made
one of her occasional attempts to come back into the fold of the church. She stood at the back during one of my sermons, and I was struck by the scorn in her eyes.”

  “Scorn?”

  “It was as if she pitied me,” he continues. “It was as if she thought me a fool for believing, as if she saw me as a naive fool child who was unaware of the true nature of our world. As I stood in the pulpit and spoke of the goodness that the Lord provides, as I spoke of a fair and just world in which the faithful earn their rewards, I felt Dora's eyes burning into me. By the time she turned and left, I had come as close as I think I shall ever come to doubting my own words. Something in her eyes made me feel that...”

  He pauses, before shaking his head.

  “No,” he adds finally. “My faith was not shaken. I merely worried for poor Dora. And now, one year later, here we are preparing for her funeral.”

  “And she never told you exactly what was troubling her?”

  He shakes his head again.

  “Did she ever mention something called a soul auction?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “But what about -”

  “And I'm afraid I don't have time to discuss this with you any further,” he adds, checking his watch. He takes a step back, and it's clear that he's suddenly feeling very spooked. “I'm sorry that I could be of no further help to you, and I'm terribly sorry for your loss if you were a friend of Dora's. Regardless, I have duties to perform. Please feel free to remain in the church if you wish. I'm sure you'll find that a moment of quiet contemplation will help you to feel much better about the world.”

  “I'm sorry,” I reply. “It's just that I was last here thirty years ago with my mother and my sister, and -”

  “Was it your mother who...”

  His voice trails off, and for a moment he seems shocked.

  “I'm sorry,” he stammers finally, as if something has spooked him. “I have to... I mean, I must go and attend to other matters. You'll have to excuse me.”

  “But -”

  “I'm sorry!”

  I open my mouth to ask him another question, but he quickly turns and walks away. It's almost as if I spooked him, and I'm pretty sure there's no point hurrying after him and trying to pressure him into giving me more answers. Like everyone else in Curridge, he seemed troubled when he realized that my mother was the woman who dropped dead on the beach here all those years ago.

  Chapter Thirty

  Lizzie

  Thirty years ago

  “Have you noticed the birds?” Father Cole asks, as we stand outside the church and watch the cloudless blue sky.

  “What birds?” I ask.

  “Precisely. I haven't heard a single tweet in... Oh, it must be two days now.”

  Pausing, I realize that he might have a point. The whole town seems strangely quiet, and I've noticed that eerie sense of calm without having managed to put my finger on the cause. Now that he mentions birds, I'm starting to think that he's absolutely right. It's as if all the town's birds simply upped and flew away over the past few days.

  “Sometimes,” he continues, “one wonders whether something is afoot. Something that one cannot see. Something that one only sees the consequences of.”

  He's starting to sound a little crazy, but I guess I can't exactly walk away right now. Glancing over my shoulder, I look back into the church and see Kate at the far end of the aisle. She's still on her knees, still looking up at the altar, and she looks so small against the vastness of the stone building. I can't even begin to imagine what's going through her mind, and I desperately want to run to her and make everything alright. At the same time, I think maybe Father Cole has a point. Maybe I need to give her space.

  “What kind of something?” I ask, figuring I should at least pretend to be interested as I turn back to him.

  “That indeed is the problem,” he replies, looking up toward the sky. “Sometimes I imagine there are vast gears turning, gears that we are not privileged to witness.”

  “Gears?”

  He smiles. “I must sound utterly out of my mind.”

  “I'm just not really too good when it comes to things like that,” I tell him. “Metaphysical stuff, things I can't actually see... I prefer things that are more...”

  I pause, trying to think of the right word.

  “Solid,” I add finally. “Visible.”

  “And perhaps that is for the best. Perhaps there is nothing hidden away from the sight of man. It's just that...”

  I wait for him to finish.

  “No,” he adds finally. “I'm being foolish. There's nothing.”

  “You seem worried.”

  He hesitates, and I can tell that there's something he wants to say.

  “For the past few days,” he whispers cautiously, “I've felt as if something is different. Almost as if something has come to our little town. Something that shouldn't be here.” He pauses. “Then again, that will be something for my successor to deal with. I'm retiring soon, and I believe a replacement has already been found.”

  “What do you mean by different?” I ask. “Like -”

  “I'm finished, Mummy.”

  Startled, I turn and find that Kate is standing right behind us.

  “You are?” I reply, forcing a smile.

  She nods.

  “And did you gain anything from your moment of reflection?” Father Cole asks.

  “I didn't hear God,” she replies, clearly giving the matter a lot of thought, “or anything like that. I thought maybe I would, but I didn't.”

  “Well, that's a relief,” I tell her, although I suppose maybe that's not a very tactful thing to say. At least my daughter isn't starting to hear voices.

  “I felt something, though,” she continues. “It was like someone was there with me.”

  “I was right here,” I point out.

  “It wasn't you, Mummy. It was someone else, standing right next to me the whole time.”

  I glance at Father Cole, and I can see that he seems a little troubled.

  “I suppose I'm just too little,” Kate adds.

  “Too little?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “To understand. I'm only five.” She turns to the priest. “But I'll be six soon.”

  “You're a very mature and intelligent young lady,” he replies, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sure your mother is very proud.”

  “I am,” I reply, although I can't help thinking that I should get Kate away from the church. The last thing I want is for my daughter to become religious. For one thing, I'd have to take her to church every Sunday. “Why don't we go and get some ice cream, huh?”

  “Did you find Mr. Puddles?” she asks.

  “Not yet, honey, but -”

  “That's alright,” she adds, interrupting me. “I'm sure he's okay, and he'll come back when the time is right.”

  “When the time is right?”

  “Can I have strawberry?”

  She takes my hand, and it's clear that she's ready to go.

  “Thank you for looking after her,” I tell Father Cole as we walk away. “I'm sorry if we bothered you in any way.”

  Reaching the gate at the front of the church, I stop and look down at Kate. She seems so much calmer than before, and I'm tempted to believe that her time kneeling before the altar might have somehow changed her. Still, as I kneel in front of her and take a closer look at her face, I can't help wondering whether she's simply learned to hide her fear a little better.

  “You scared me,” I tell her.

  “I'm sorry, Mummy.”

  “You can't just disappear like that again.”

  “I won't.”

  “If anything had happened to you...”

  “I just wanted to stop being scared,” she replies. “I saw the church yesterday and I know sometimes other people feel better after they've been there, so I wanted to see if I would too.”

  “And do you?”

  She furrows her brow for a moment.

  “There
was something in there,” she says finally.

  “In the church?”

  She nods. “But it's not only in the church. I think it followed me in.”

  I feel a shiver pass through my chest.

  “It's easy to imagine stuff, honey,” I tell her. “Especially when you're smart.”

  “I don't think I'm smart.”

  “Come on,” I add, getting to my feet and taking her by the hand, “it's still early. Let's get ice cream for breakfast.”

  “Is that allowed?”

  “Anything's allowed. Just don't tell Alice, okay? This can be between you and me. She really doesn't need to know. And we can -”

  Suddenly a huge crashing sound rings out, shaking the ground beneath our feet with enough force to knock me back. I grab hold of Kate tight and hold her as I lean against the church wall, but the whole world seems to shake for several seconds before the terrible sound subsides. Hearing a series of smaller smashing sounds, I turn and see that several tiles are falling off the church roof, and a moment later Father Cole comes stumbling out of the church.

  “What was that, Mummy?” Kate asks, clinging tighter and tighter to my waist. “I'm scared! What was that noise?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Alice

  Today

  “You're welcome to stay for as long as you need,” the landlord says as he sets the plate in front of me. “We've got five rooms here, and there's no -”

  Before he can finish, there's a loud bump from somewhere upstairs.

  I look up toward the old wooden beams that cross the pub's ceiling, and a moment later I hear another bump, followed what sounds like someone walking down the staircase that runs around the rear of the kitchen.

  “As I was about to tell you,” the landlord adds, “we've got five rooms and there's nobody in three of them.”

  “I thought I was the only person staying at the moment?” I ask.

  “You were, until a chap turned up today. I suppose it's like buses, isn't it? You wait months for someone to come and stay, and then two show up at almost the exact same moment.”

  I look over at the door, waiting for the other guest to come through from the hallway. After the footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs, however, there's a brief pause and then I hear the wooden side-door open.