MUSICAroLina

by Daniel William Gunning

  ***

  John watched her go until she was lost among the figures in the darkness. He stood there for a moment, spellbound, and then he gradually closed the gate. He turned, confused, and with no other options, he headed back toward the church. He saw Kurt was now standing in the doorway, waiting for him with an odd impish grin on his face. John crossed the churchyard and came to stand beside his friend. “She seems nice,” Kurt said.

  “Shut up,” John replied, stealthily wiping away a tear as they went inside.

  When she was certain they were safely inside and could no longer see her, Virginia returned to the closed gate. Smiling, she reached over the fence and plucked a flower from the church lawn. Once again, her voice cracked into its British accent and she said, “Well my love, it’s all up to you now. Don’t worry though, I have faith in you.” With that she placed the flower in her hair, just above the ear, turned and rejoined the crowd once again.

  CHAPTER 13

  ANSWERS OR MORE QUESTIONS?

  John entered the church alongside Kurt. Kurt moved on casually toward the front of the building, while John hung back warily near the doorway and cautiously surveyed the room. He found the interior to be exactly as he had imagined it would be, given the modest exterior. It was an exceptionally humble building in every imaginable sense of the word. Everywhere his eyes cared to look inside, it was, quite simply put, plain, without any unnecessary decoration or trappings whatsoever, and every wall, all the pieces of furniture, and each structure was made entirely of ordinary wood. He found the pews to be little more than simple wooden benches and there was just a small stand, near the back, that he supposed passed as a pulpit, and behind that stand stood a large wooden cross.

  Moonlight streamed through the slats of the shuttered windows, but most of the light in the room was provided by candles or lanterns, which hung at regular intervals around the room. There were no garish paintings of the saints of old, no opulent stained glass windows, or any of the customary adornments one would expect to see in a modern church, especially for one in a town where all the buildings were as ostentatiously elegant as in Musicarolina. After a long and thorough survey of the room, including the brief instant when he sheepishly ducked down to look under the pews, just as a child checks under their bed for monsters, John was finally satisfied that there wasn’t anything sinister lurking in this particular wooden room. He turned his attention to the occupants. He noticed that Kurt was now sitting on one of the pews near the front of the church, calmly drinking from an old-fashioned wooden cup. The preacher approached John and handed him his own cup filled with cold water. “Here drink this; it’ll help. I figured you lads must be a mite thirsty, after a long night spent fleeing from your own personal, but not so personable, demons,” he said, smiling warmly.

  “Is that what they really are out there, Preacher? Demons?”

  “Well, the mayor is, most definitely; yes, to be sure. On the other hand, most of the other various creatures I surmise you’ve had the rather dubious honor of making acquaintances with tonight are merely things that he manifests to keep the people trapped here until they eventually choose to submit to his will. They crawl out at night to serve as his sentries, to shepherd back any wayward lambs that go missing during the night, while he is so dreadfully occupied with his feeding. Now, the townsfolk are another story entirely; a sizeable portion of them, I am loathe to admit are my congregation, or more accurately, I should say that they were my congregation. You see, they have gone the tiniest bit astray under my watch; I’m ashamed to say.”

  “I’d say that would be in the early running for the understatement of the century, preacher. Plus, on an uber-fun side note, you kinda suck at your job.”

  “It may seem that way now, hopeless, bleak and absolutely doomed to failure, but I still have the highest of hopes that they’ll come back into the light one day. I mean, I’ve got to remain positive no matter the situation don’t I? At least, that’s what my dear old mother used to say to me. Let’s face it; I’ve already waited for what’s seemed like an eternity now, so I may as well see the thing through to the end. Just because things look bad for a few centuries doesn’t mean the tide can’t turn any day now; besides, there’s not much else for me to do in town. The mayor doesn’t let me walk about much anymore, after that time I hit him with the holy water. I must say, I do dearly miss my midnight strolls along the edge of the woods to taunt the ravenous wolves and skipping stones off the lake monster, but, to be honest, it was all worth it for the pure pleasure and satisfaction of seeing the look of genuine surprise on that hideous demon’s face as the water burned his flesh. He does get so spoiled here by being practically immortal and all; it is always quite refreshing to see him taken off guard and reminded occasionally that he can indeed be harmed.”

  “Oh, that’s just what we needed to cap off our night, a spiteful and more than slightly disturbingly, violent priest—great. Moving past that, and not to bring hurricane-force storm clouds to your exceptionally sunny disposition, but it’ll be kind of hard to recover your flock if they can’t even cross the threshold of your church, won’t it? I imagine that’ll put quite the damper on your reconversion plans; won’t it, padre?”

  “You do make a good point, my son, well-observed. Bravo. I believe, when the time is right, a way will be provided. After all, I already know that...”

  The preacher started to say hopefully, but he was cut short by Kurt, shouting, “Yeah, that’s great, preach! You’re going to save your wayward flock; be a big crusading hero for Jesus someday and all that. That’s perfect, great, grand, even fan-freaking-tastic, but right now, and I know this may sound a little selfish, but I couldn’t possibly care less about any of the demonic dancers out there right now. I’d just like to ask you one simple little thing, and I’d like to get a straight answer for once. No nonsense, no double talk, just straight up; what in the name of the almighty Whedonverse is going on around here!?”

  ***

  The preacher took in Kurt’s outburst with a look of placid compassion and then he replied, “That’s fair enough. I did offer you answers, didn’t I? I should be a man of my word—quite right, quite proper. It was indeed rude of me to make you wait. Fine, I’ll see what I can do to explain things. Have a seat my son,” he said, motioning for John to sit beside Kurt. John obliged, and figuring since it was there and maybe almost out of habit, he began to drink his water.

  “Oh boy, we get to hear a sermon. That’ll really round the day off nicely, won’t it? I’m sooooo glad you went and made a scene, baby,” John said sarcastically to Kurt.

  The preacher ignored this interruption, took his place behind the pulpit, set his Bible down on the stand, cleared his throat, and as if he were merely starting his customary Sunday service, he said in a clear regal voice, “You have come to the town of Musicarolina.”

  “Yo! Preacher man, sorry to interrupt, first question right here. That seriously can’t be the real name of the town, can it?” Kurt asked.

  “Excellent question, my son; a quite bright lad you are, to be sure. Believe it or not, it actually is.”

  “Huh, and I suppose it’s actually some kind of singing tourist town, that just so happens to be run by a demon and infested with monsters, as like a wild coincidence or something, right?”

  “Oh, no that’s entirely wrong my son. Oh, it’s not a town by any wild stretch of the imagination; it never was. It’s a trap, pure and simple.”

  “Meaning we unfortunately stumbled into this trap and now we are just stuck here forever then?” John asked, starting to feel somewhat defeated.

  “Oh, your coming here is no mere accidental occurrence, my children; in fact, nothing could be further from the truth. You see, only souls that are traveling along a certain path, or I suppose, a lack thereof if you really think about it, are ever allowed to come here. Let me try to explain this, if I may. A soul traveling along a wayward path toward the loss of that very soul, stumbles off the path they were meant to be on. Most
of the subsequent paths they find themselves on at that point are dark and forbidding roads, I assure you. Unfortunately for you, one of those very roads leads to where we are now. It’s not entirely accidental then, as you must have already been drifting off the straight and narrow to even be allowed to cross into the realm of Musicarolina. So you see, it’s equal parts of ‘you just have really rotten luck’ and your own, shall we say, rather dubious decision-making skills. I hope that makes you feel better about the whole ordeal. Now, on the other hand, the original citizens of this town, well, they chose to come and settle down here of their own free accord. It’s somewhat different for them, although they too strayed from the path. One thing that always remains constant through it all is that you have to be a sinner to come to Musicarolina, and a truly remarkable one at that.”

  “Oh no, you’re not about to sing, are you?” John moaned.

  The preacher seemed to ponder this idea for a moment and then replied, “Hm, well, now that you mention it, while, Only Sinners Come to Musicarolina does sound like a fantastic Top Ten pop hit, I’m afraid I must disappoint you at this time. While I can sing, in fact I’m quite good at it, regrettably living in this town for as long as I have I just don’t enjoy it like I used to somehow. Can you really blame me?”

  “No, I guess not. So what then, were we drawn here somehow, by something? Were we, in some way, always fated to come here one way or another?” Kurt asked.

  “No, it’s nothing as elegant as all that, my dear boy. Part of it is still up to chance. While actually stumbling onto the road that leads to this town is still a pretty random occurrence, actually getting here is the much trickier part. The journey, you see, starts at the railroad tracks that you came to last night; they are the proverbial gateway. Once you’re there, the train holds you in place long enough for Him to search, to probe, and to pry into the very depths of your soul. Only those with the weight and the stain of enough sins on them will be allowed to pass onto the long road beyond. Once through the gateway, you are on that long and lonely road.

  There, He searches your entire soul, everything you’ve ever done, every thought you’ve ever had. He sees it, and He absorbs all that knowledge of everything you’ve ever said or ever done. Every hope, every dream, every fear, and every secret you’ve been hiding in the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind are laid bare for him. That way, by the time you find yourself here, He already knows you inside and out. He knows your every weakness, your every dread, your every desire, sin, secret, everything; that’s how He knows how to ensnare and control you.”

  “I take it you know all of our sins too then, preacher, like the rest of the town?” John asked.

  “No, not in the least my child; I’m quite in the dark about your darkness, I’m afraid. You see, I’m not like the crowd out there, not in the least. They don’t always know everything He knows immediately, either. Their knowledge of you was a freak occurrence; as luck would have it, you arrived in the dead of night during one of their meetings. While his tentacles were deep inside feeding off them, they were also connected back to him. Therefore, they saw everything that he saw that night and that’s why they all seem to know everything about you. If you arrive in the daylight it’s quite different. Oh, they still learn what they need to know about you during the next night’s feeding of course, but he is more in control of it by then, only doling out the information he wants them to know. Truth be told, he rarely lets anyone in during nightfall. He must have thought you were very special for some reason.”

  “And the crazy girl that claims to be in love with me?”

  “Ah, you mean Virginia? Yes, lovely girl, very nice. Yes, she is telling you the absolute truth and that’s a pretty rare thing to be found in this town, believe you me. To be honest, that’s an extremely rare thing in any ol’ world. You see, Virginia isn’t really like all the rest of them out there either. She was entirely too young when she first arrived here with the original settlers to truly make the choice of her own free will, to truly give in to him and know what she was doing. For all those centuries, the townspeople coupled as freely as they wished, since they do have an eternity of time to kill, not a lot of modern entertainments ‘round here, you know. You’ll find that morals are pretty loose in a town run by a demon anyway, but for all those centuries, Virginia has never shown the slightest interest in any of the people in town. She has the purest soul of anyone here; I think on some deep, spiritual level, she senses the depravity and the darkness that is so firmly rooted inside everyone else’s. Not that they possess much of their hearts to offer her anymore, anyway. I like to think that she’s been waiting for another truly good soul to come to town, but unfortunately for her, good souls always drive past the railroad tracks and just continue on the normal road beyond. They never come to Musicarolina.”

  “Well, since we ended up here, I guess that isn’t very flattering; is it?” Kurt mused.

  “Don’t take it so personally, lad; even the best of souls bear some darkness. It’s not the bitter end, no matter how much it weighs you down. It’s just a bit of challenge, really; it requires you to be that much stronger to hold it up.”

  “So, if there is a normal road, as opposed to what we went on, then this is what? Some kind of alternate dimension or something?” John asked.

  “Something like that, surely. Unfortunately there are some things even I can’t clearly explain to you. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth’ and all that. All I know for sure is it’s not on the same plane of existence as the rest of the world. We exist just beyond their perception. What he opened here was a crack between this world and the next. He carved out the town in that place where souls are lost so he could trap them there. We religious types sometimes like to refer to that place as Purgatory.”

  “So, what was with the freaky people outside the town that surrounded our car?” Kurt asked.

  “As far as I can tell, they don’t even know. In fact, they seem completely unaware that they even do that, from the best of what I can tell. It’s like some extreme form of sleepwalking. I suppose it’s an effect of being so close to a crack between worlds; almost a human immune reaction to the sickness that lurks just beyond their view.”

  “Wait, go back a second. Did you say she’s been here for centuries?” John asked.

  “Oh, yes, she has; several of them to be precise.”

  “How long has this place been here then?”

  “Since the late 1580s.”

  “I’m sorry; did you say the late 1580s?”

  “Yes. I suppose I should explain.”

  “Oh, please. Do I really want to hear this?”

  “Ha, ha. You’re in love with an old chick,” Kurt snickered.

  “Shut up, douche, or I will punch you in the face so hard your ancestors won’t be able to come back as zombies.”

  “Gentlemen, may I kindly remind you that this is a church?” the preacher said, scoldingly.

  “Sorry, preacher. Please continue,” John replied.

  “You’re in trouble,” Kurt whispered. John elbowed him hard.

  ***

  The preacher cleared his throat yet again and began his tale; for their part, John and Kurt were just relieved that it was a story and not a song. “We were part of a group of settlers that came to your country a long time ago. However, we were poorly prepared for the arduous challenges that awaited us here. We soon found ourselves stranded and desperate, waiting for supplies and reinforcements which hadn’t arrived for over a year. We were running low on food, illness was beginning to sweep through the settlement, and we had to endure several assaults from the natives. In fairness to the natives, we often brought those attacks upon ourselves. Shamefully, I am loathe to admit, like many so-called well-meaning settlers before us, we were less than Christian to the natives hereabouts, as all invading forces seem to be. The group that came before us once burned an entire village to the ground simply because they accused them of stealing a single silver cup; so needless.

&nbs
p; It seems strange to me now, in retrospect, that in all of man’s glorious conquests, he comes to places that others already own. Once there he claims it for himself, and he tries to kill the actual owners; all this he does in the good name of civilizing them, of bettering the very lives that he’s destroying. Civilization already existed there long before he came to the shore, just not the one he was used to. For the great conceit that he knows so much better, blood must flow, rather than to stop and take a single moment to understand. Tragically and ironically that hardly seems like a very civilized thing to do, don’t you think? But I digress. That is a futile conversation for a completely different time.

  Through all these hardships, the people began to lose hope and then, worst of all, as the days passed by and their prayers for help went unheeded, they began to lose their faith. That’s when he came to our settlement. He wandered onto our island, and strode in straight out of the woods, bold as brass, like he owned the very trees. He was oh, so charismatic, and oozed charm from every pore; every bit as seductive as you’d expect the devil to be. He told the people that he had come here with another group of settlers and that they had built for themselves a marvelous colony, but the other settlers from his expedition, missing their homes and families across the ocean, had returned home and left the colony behind, completely abandoned. He alone remained here, unable to leave what he had built with his own two hands. He said that he had heard of our struggles because he was actually friendly with the natives and that they had told him of our plight. We should’ve known that he was lying from the start. The natives that were around avoided him like the plague. We never saw a single one of them from the moment he came into our settlement, not even a sign of one of them, but foolishly we thought nothing of it at the time.