"Oh Lord!" The abbot reached down and lifted a boy from the snow. As the holy man turned to head inside he noticed an arm where the child had lain. The abbot deposited the boy inside the door, away from the wind, and reached down to clear snow away from the appendage. The rest of the body took shape as he brushed. A young woman, blue and stiff, stared at the sky. The abbot gasped and stumbled backwards. He made the sign of the cross and grabbed the boy, determined to see him inside before dealing with the corpse.
The abbot summoned his staff of three monks to the common room, a space with three long tables and a blackened hearth. It was not a prosperous monastery, located far from any large settlements and surrounded by inhospitable terrain. Despite this the abbot believed in his work and ran an efficient operation, confident he was doing God's work. He dispatched two monks to the front gate to move the body to the small graveyard inside the walls. The other monk he ordered to stoke the fire, which was usually kept smoldering. The abbot sat down at a table next to the boy who was currently engaged in chewing on a chunk of stale bread. The man watched as the pale boy steadily gnawed on the coarse nourishment in small bites. The boy did not stop until the bread and its attendant crumbs were finished. At this the abbot walked with him to the fire, which had become large enough to project warmth to the nearest bench. The monk who had worked on the fire, a short, scrawny man with only the stubble of a black tonsure, waited at the bench with hands clasped.
"Thank you Bernard, you may return to your prayers."
Bernard bowed and left the room. The boy leaned towards the fire, his arms outstretched.
"Be careful, don't get too close."
The boy showed no sign of hearing the abbot, his small fingers only a foot from the flames. The abbot put a hand on the boy's arm and drew it back with a gentle touch.
"You don't want to get burned, do you?"
The abbot rubbed a hand around his plump midsection and wondered if the boy was deranged. Perhaps the events of the day had stolen his mind? The abbot sighed and leaned back against a table. The two monks who had gone outside entered through the main door and paused to brush snow from their clothes. Brothers, they had similar features, with strong jaw lines and thin noses. The taller of the two, standing over six feet, spoke. "The body is at the gate to the cemetery, Abbot."
The second brother, almost as tall as the first, walked to the fire. He stared at the boy but did not speak.
"Warm yourselves for a moment, then return to your prayers. Thank you for your work."
The pair lingered by the fire, enjoying a luxury usually unseen in the monastery. After a minute of silence the shorter brother plucked at his companion's sleeve and led the way out the back door. The abbot stood and looked down at the boy.
"Do you have a name?"
The boy's stare remained fixed on the fire.
"What did your mother call you?"
The boy glanced at the abbot for a second, then turned back to the hearth.
"You must have a name. I am Cornelius. And you?" The abbot pointed to himself as he spoke his name, then turned his finger to face the boy, who did not respond.
"Alright, if you don't have a name, I'll give you one." The abbot tapped a slender finger against his cheek. "I've got it. You'll be Christopher, for the patron saint of lost travelers." The abbot smiled, pleased with his decision. He touched the boy on the chest. "Christopher."
The boy looked down at the pointed finger, then up at the abbot. His eyes, which the abbot only now noticed were a deep shade of green, flashed with an inner flame as if some of the fire had been absorbed into the pupils. The boy opened his mouth and slowly let out, "Christopher."
"Good! Now Christopher, if you'd like, one day you could be a monk like me and the others you saw. I could be your teacher!" The abbot smiled at the boy, convinced he was saving a life and a soul. The dead woman's face was already banished from his thoughts. The boy did not share in the abbot's enthusiasm..
"Very well, you don't have to make up your mind now. I must see to some matters of business, will you be alright here alone?" The boy did not acknowledge the question. "Of course you will. I will return later to check on you." Cornelius walked to the back door and pushed it open. As he entered the passage that led to the monk's rooms and the small chapel, he looked back. The boy hadn't moved from his seat. Cornelius gave a mental shrug and headed down the hall to his chamber. It was almost time for the afternoon prayer service, and he wanted a moment alone to reflect. As he passed Bernard's chamber he heard the crack of a whip against flesh. Cornelius shook his head and walked on. Each man had his own means to come closer to God.
As the group sat down to eat at the table closest to the fire, Cornelius stood and offered the prayer. At the end he added, "And thank you Lord for sparing this young child," the abbot nodded at Christoper, "and for bringing him to us. Amen." The group set to the food that Bernard had prepared in the small kitchen at the back of the room. Each had a bowl of thick porridge and a chunk of the same stale bread the boy had eaten earlier. Cornelius positioned himself next to Christopher, who had turned around in his seat at the sight of food. As far as the abbot new, the boy had remained seated by the fire all afternoon.
"Abbot, have you discovered anything about the boy?" The taller of the two brothers, George, asked.
"No, I'm worried there may be something wrong with him. I named him Christopher, and I ask that you all refer to him by that name so he recognizes it."
The meal finished in silence, as was usual, and the monks retired to their rooms.
"Come Christopher, I have a room where you can sleep." Cornelius took Christopher by the hand to a chamber just inside the back door. There was a straw pallet on one side and a small desk with an unlit candle on the other. Cornelius pointed at the bed. "You sleep there." The abbot pinched his lips together at the lack of a response. As he was about to explain further, the boy laid down on the bed and closed his eyes.
"Good!" The abbot clapped his hands together. "Good night, my boy."
The abbot found his own bed, in a room furnished exactly as the boy's except with a large, care worn bible on the table. Cornelius knelt for a moment and prayed for the boy and the dead woman's soul before drifting to sleep.
Shadows inhabited the abbot's dreams. Shadows in the shapes of men with fierce red eyes. The wraiths surrounded him, enveloped him in silky darkness. Whispers caressed his mind, promises of power, wealth, women, all that he could ever desire. All would come to him, for a small price. The shades did not name their price, but as Cornelius shook awake he felt their lingering desire like a hollow at the base of his skull and shuddered.
Cornelius rushed through morning prayers, his thoughts consumed by the shades of the night before. Goosebumps ran across his skin as he remembered their cold, tender touch and he shivered. Their voices still echoed in his head. He found his hands trembling and clasped them together until his fingers grew white from the strain. A hand on his shoulder jolted him up, eyes wide and panting.
"Abbot! Are you alright?" Bernard was standing next to Cornelius' kneeling figure. "You look ill. Perhaps the chill of going outside yesterday," the abbot rubbed sweat from his brow and stood, noticing that the other two brothers watched from their usual position in the back of the chapel.
"I'm fine, it's nothing. Come, let's go break our fast."
The others formed a line behind the abbot as they entered the main room. Christopher sat at the table, his legs swinging. Bernard hastened to the back of the room to prepare some broth while the others took their seats. George spoke with his brother in a hushed voice while the abbot addressed his small companion.
"Christopher, did you sleep well?" The boy looked at the abbot but remained silent. "Today you shall join us in afternoon prayers. I will stay here with you after breakfast and teach you. How does that sound?" Still the boy remained silent. Bernard returned with a bowl of steaming broth for each. The boy slurped up his portion, heedless of the temperature.
"He's a hungry little one, isn't he?" George asked. The others only nodded. The abbot forced his mind to focus on the boy and ignore thinking of the night before.
As they finished, the three monks left for their cells. The abbot took the boy by the hand and led him to the chapel. Cornelius knelt by the altar and helped the boy do the same. "Now hold your hands like this," the boy folded his hands together, "and repeat after me. Our Father,"
The boy watched as Cornelius ran through the prayer twice. Christopher's small hands held together but he did not speak. Cornelius recited a variety of prayers but the boy did not so much as part his lips. The abbot and the boy stayed in the church until time for afternoon prayers, when the other monks entered. Cornelius led the ceremony and the boy watched from his position by the altar. At the conclusion, the abbot finally felt as if the shadows of the previous night had receded to their dark abyss and would not return. Dinner passed uneventfully, the boy still refusing to speak and the other monks reticent to break the silence. As Cornelius retired to his room apprehension bubbled in his belly.
"It's nothing," he muttered, "silliness, that's all." The abbot sped some prayers heavenward, again for the boy and the boy's mother, before slipping into slumber.
The shadows returned, and this time they had gaping mouths dripping with red ichor. The eyes and mouths hovered in the darkness, moaning their promises of riches and power as the abbot curled into a ball and covered his ears. He started to recite the Lord's Prayer but couldn't recall the words. Whispers filtered in between the moans. Whispers coaxing him to do horrible, unspeakable acts. The abbot squeezed his eyes as tightly as he could, then pulled them open as he realized he was no longer dreaming. The shadows crowded close to him and he screamed.
"Abbot!" Bernard was at the door, shaking the thin wooden planks with rapid bangs of his fist. "Cornelius!" The door was flung open and the short monk rushed to the abbot's side. "What is wrong? What happened?"
Cornelius sat up on his bed, covered in sweat. His breathing was ragged. He pressed a hand to his chest and willed his heart to slow.
"I'll go warm some broth, come and sit by the fire." Bernard led the shaking man to the common room and sat him at the table nearest the fire. As Bernard went to his cooking the boy trotted in and sat next to the abbot. He laid a small hand on the abbot's arm, who instantly felt his body relax and his mind ease. Thoughts of the demons receded to a blurred memory.
"Thank you, my boy. Thank you."
Christopher nodded, removed his hand, and looked into the fire. Bernard hustled over with a bowl, steam rising from the simple mixture of water and herbs. "Drink this, Cornelius. No arguments."
"Yes, thank you Bernard."
"Your shouting must have woken the boy." Bernard moved next to Christopher and looked into the little one's eyes. "He has green eyes! Remarkable, I don't think I've ever seen that before."
"Me neither."
Bernard took a seat beside the abbot. "Tell me Cornelius, what was it that frightened you?"
"Just a dream, that's all."
Bernard shook his head. "No, don't try to tell me it was just a dream. I know you too well to believe that."
The abbot glanced at the boy, unsure he wanted to voice what happened in front of him. He leaned close to Bernard and spoke in a hush. "I saw some sort of spirits, Bernard. Shadows, haunting me. In my dreams, and then for a moment when I awoke."
Bernard nodded, a frown digging into his forehead.
"I know it sounds ridiculous,"
"Not at all. Not at all, the Church has had plenty of experience with hauntings and exorcisms. It's just strange that it is happening here." Bernard's eyes settled on the boy. "You don't suppose that he,"
"Nonsense!" Cornelius' tone startled the shorter monk. "Why, just now when he put his hand on me I felt invigorated."
"Interesting." Bernard steepled his fingers, then pressed them against his chin. "It could be connected to his mother. She is still outside, unburied."
"Of course!" The abbot stood and took a step towards the door. Bernard jumped forward and restrained him. "No you don't, you need to rest. Besides, the sun isn't up yet. Going out at night in this cold is too dangerous. I'll send the brothers out after breakfast to bury the woman." The abbot moved back to his seat near the fire and Bernard tossed a chunk of wood into the flames, sending a cascade of sparks into the air.
The brothers followed Bernard outside after a broth breakfast. The sky was clear blue, the deep color that draws your eyes to the horizon as if the view were limitless, but no enjoyment could be found in it as the cold air bit into each inch of exposed skin. A light breeze cut through their meager robes, which made the trip outside a true test of will. George carried a shovel and as they approached the body they found it in similar condition to two days before, blue and frozen solid.
"I have the spot picked out for her, just here." Bernard pointed to a plot in the corner of their small cemetery. George nodded and bent to the task, the shovel thudding into the frozen earth. A small divot rose with each stab at the ground. George's brother, Adam, stepped close to Bernard.
"Why are doing this today? Couldn't it wait for the weather to break?"
Bernard rubbed his hands together in a feeble attempt to inspire warmth. "The abbot decided she could be left above ground no longer, lest her spirit wander the earth, unable to reach heaven. We don't need to dig deep, just enough to cover her. A better job of it can be done later."
"This just seems," Adam's face contorted into a sneer, "it seems like a waste of time! We don't even know who she was." The monk stomped away, engaged in a muttered conversation with himself. Bernard was stunned. Adam rarely spoke, and when he did it was with a quiet respect.
"Here," Bernard moved to take a turn with the shovel, "you two go rest inside, I'll get you when I can no longer stand the cold." George took Adam by the arm and the two entered the common room. They sat by the fire, where the boy maintained his vigil. Cornelius rested in his chamber, afraid to sleep but too tired to continue the boy's education.
"Adam, what's wrong?" George asked.
Adam stood and began pacing around the table. "It's nothing." He grabbed his head and rocked back and forth. "Just those dreams, those dreams won't leave me alone." George had to strain to hear his brother. "I can't silence the voices. Do you know what they want?" Adam glared at the boy, whose green eyes turned to match the stare. "They want him." Adam took a step towards the child and George interposed himself between the two.
"I think you should go lie down, Adam. I'll check on you later."
Strength drained from Adam and he slumped in his brother's arms. "Yes, rest. I just need some rest." His voice was barely a whisper. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's happening."
"It's alright. Come on," George escorted Adam to his cell while the boy looked on. Bernard clomped in and rushed to the fire, leaving the shovel propped against the wall. The monk's scrawny body rattled with cold. George reentered the room and spotted Bernard, who raised an eyebrow.
"Where is Adam?"
"He isn't well. I'll go out and take a turn digging."
Bernard nodded as George took the shovel and exited.
"Strange." Bernard sat next to Christopher. A figure lurched into the rear doorway.
"Adam! George said you are sick. Can I,"
Adam lunged towards the table, hands grabbing for the boy. Christopher scampered away and crouched in a far corner.
"Adam! What are you doing!" Bernard stood and placed himself in front of the child.
"Him! I need him! Get out of my way!" Adam shoved the smaller monk aside and grabbed the boy's shirt. The small figure curled into a ball. Bernard tackled Adam and both men tumbled across the floor. Adam punched Bernard across the face, knocking the smaller monk senseless.
"Now it's just you and me, blessed one."
The front door banged open and George walked in, shovel in hand. His eyes widened as he took in the scene. "Adam, what is happening here?"
"Don't get involved, brother." He spit out the last word, then advanced towards Christopher. George placed the shovel against the wall and ran to intercept Adam. The enraged man let out a bellow and tried to toss George aside, but found his strength matched. The two struggled as they pushed back and forth until Adam lunged forward and brought his forehead smack onto George's nose with a loud 'crack'. George stumbled, blood flowing from the break. Adam howled and knocked George to the ground. He stepped in front of the boy and laughed, an echoing trumpet like the baying of Cerberus.
The shovel crashed across Adam's skull and his body slumped to the floor. Bernard leaned on the weapon, blood staining his mouth and his breath ragged. "Are you alright?"
Christopher nodded.
"Go get Cornelius, quickly."
The boy ran out the rear door. Bernard knelt next to George, who was groaning and clutching his face.
"You'll be alright," Bernard announced after a quick examination.
"My brother?"
Bernard glanced at Adam's motionless form. "I don't know."
Adam's body was wrapped in a linen sheet where it lay before the altar. Cornelius led a service for the monk's soul, espousing his virtue and respect for God. At the end of the service George carried the body outside, then returned for the shovel. Bernard cast a worried look at Cornelius and joined him by the altar.
"Adam was possessed. And I'm worried that this isn't over yet."
"Possessed? Are you sure?"
"How else do you explain it? He tried to kill the child. He attacked his own brother!"
Cornelius nodded. "That would mean I wasn't the only person visited by spirits." Cornelius scratched his thin wisps of hair. "We need to ask George if he has been having nightmares."
"I'll leave that to you. I don't know if George can forgive me for his brother's death."
"I will speak to him."
"Thanks. I'll be in my room, atoning."
Cornelius shut his eyes. He could already hear the scourge against Bernard's flesh.
After a solemn dinner Cornelius asked George to meet him in the chapel. The tall monk took a seat before the altar. The abbot sat beside him.
"I'm very sorry for your loss, my son. Adam was a good monk. A good man."
George nodded.
"I need to ask you some things, George. Please answer as truthfully as possible. Have you had any nightmares recently?"
George shook his head, but his face turned bright red. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes.
"Perhaps this is too much, I'm sorry,"
"No!" George dropped his head into his hands with a sob. "This was my fault!"
Cornelius waited as George sniffed back some tears.
"Adam had been experiencing nightmares for days. Almost a week. At first we just thought it was a lack of faith, and we doubled our prayers. The night before the boy arrived, the dreams turned murderous. I, we, thought we could handle it, thought it was a test from God."
Cornelius patted George on the shoulder as another sob broke forth. "It's not your fault, what happened."
"Yes it is! I ignored Adam's madness, for that's what he was! Mad! I did nothing, and Bernard and the boy almost died for it! Abbot, how do I ask for forgiveness for something like this!"
"You just ask, my son. You just ask. But you must tell me, truthfully, have you had any dreams like those of your brother?"
George rubbed his eyes free of tears, the sobs under control now. "No, I haven't. You think that means I can be forgiven?"
Cornelius smiled. "I think that means you already are. Go to your room and rest now, you've had a trying day."
George left for his bed, his eyes downcast and thoughts turned inward. Cornelius was in turmoil. If Adam had dreams for a week, then whatever force was at work had known that the boy was coming here. And that force was now focused on him. The abbot knelt by the altar and began to pray.
That night, the abbot was visited again. This time it was a single shade. The eyes flared with fire, but it neither spoke nor moved. Cornelius watched it for what seemed like hours, afraid to shift his body an inch lest the demon summon it's friends. As morning approached the beast faded, and Cornelius breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he had bested the fiends. God must have heard his prayers.
Bernard was late for morning prayers. Cornelius nodded to George to continue on his own with the boy, whom Cornelius now brought to every prayer session. The abbot stopped outside Bernard's chamber and knocked on the wooden door. He heard the whip strike flesh.
"Bernard? You're late for prayers."
Another lash, a spatter of blood.
"Bernard?" Cornelius pushed the door open, afraid of what he might see but worried for his friend.
The abbot took a step back. Bernard knelt in the middle of the room, facing the far wall. His bare back was scored by a multitude of red welts, many coursing with rivulets of blood. The scourge in the monk's right hand flicked up and back, too weak now to do any damage. Cornelius rushed inside and tore the whip away. The slight monk slumped into Cornelius' arms.
"Shadows," Bernard mumbled, his face covered in sweat, "shadows tried to take me. Force me to hurt," Bernard shuddered as Cornelius shouted for George. "I couldn't let them, this was the only way."
"Yes, yes, Bernard. Just hold on."
George ran into the room and gasped.
"Help me carry him! To a table in the common room, by the fire."
The pair wrestled Bernard onto the table, face first so they could bandage his back.
"Get me some clean linen, and a bucket of water. Quickly!"
George hastened to obey. The boy watched from the corner near the fire. Cornelius waved at him.
"Christopher, this is no place for you! Go back to the chapel!" The boy looked up at the abbot, then walked forward. "To the chapel I said!"
The boy reached the edge of the table and clambered onto a bench just as George arrived with the supplies. The bucket sloshed water on the floor as he came to a sharp stop in the doorway. The boy set a tiny digit on Bernard's arm and instantly the monk's features relaxed. Lines around his eyes eased and the knotted muscles in his back unbunched. The damage from the whip remained, but Bernard slipped into a contented slumber. The boy stepped down from the table and sat by the fire. Cornelius then noticed George in the doorway.
"Come come, bring the supplies!"
George set the bucket and linen on a bench, and the two went to work bandaging their friend.
Cornelius sat next to Christopher by the fire. George sat with Bernard in the injured monk's chamber. The frail monk was stable, his wounds bound and God-willing, uninfected. The abbot looked at his companion.
"You know what's going on here, don't you. I wish you could tell me." The boy offered a slight smile, then turned back to face the flames. Cornelius sighed. "How do I stop demons," he mumbled, "I'm no exorcist. Last night they visited Bernard, one visited me. And George has received no visits. What does it all mean?" Cornelius slumped back against the table. He needed an answer soon as the day was already halfway over.
That evening they ate dinner slowly. Bernard sat at the table, strain evident on his face, but he had refused to be served in bed once awake. Cornelius asked for their opinions on how to combat the demons. George spoke first.
"Holding a blessed crucifix does not work. Adam tried that."
"How about reading from the Bible?" Bernard offered.
Cornelius responded, "One night I tried to recite the Lord's Prayer in my defense but I couldn't remember it. I don't think we would have any better luck remembering Bible passages."
Silence accompanied the rest of dinner, until Cornelius had a revelation. He spoke his current thought process out loud, "The only thing that has helped so far is him." He turned to look at the boy, who was busy stuffing his face with leftover bread from the abbot's portion. Green eyes flashed at him as the abbot spoke. "This boy has a strange power, I'm sure of it. I think that only leaves us with one option."
Bernard frowned. "I see what you're thinking, Cornelius, and it's a bad idea."
"It's our only idea. Soon more of us will be dead, possibly even this child. Night is on it's way now. What else can we do?"
George held up a hand. "Wait a moment, what are you planning?"
"I'm going to let the demons possess me."
Bernard slammed a hand on the table. "This is madness!" George looked from one man to the other.
"Why would that help?"
"You see George, when that boy touches one of us who is afflicted, it erases our symptoms, eases the pain. Perhaps, just perhaps, if the demons are in the person whom the boy touches, they will be destroyed."
"That's a terrible a risk. If this fails your soul suffers the torments of demons until judgment day."
"I know, Bernard. But if I do nothing, I risk the same thing."
George raised a hand again. He was unused to this informal conversation with the two older monks, and felt a need to ask permission to speak. Cornelius nodded to him. "Adam wasn't afraid of the boy, he lunged right at him. Surely the child could have destroyed the demons then?"
Cornelius shook his head. "I believe from watching him that the boy needs some time to perform his work. The demons only need a moment to kill a child. In addition, I'm not convinced that Adam was possessed, as he attacked during the day. I think our friend was driven mad by his nightly visits." Cornelius locked eyes with the tall monk. "George, this plan requires that you restrain me. I will do what I can to hinder the damned creatures, but I'm going to need your strength."
George nodded. "I'll do anything to get back at the things that destroyed my brother."
"Good. Stay with the child in the common room tonight, and be ready."
"Cornelius,"
"No Bernard. This is the way it has to be. And you're took weak to help. Stay in your room, no matter what you hear."
"I'm going to be out here. To witness the miracle, if nothing else."
Cornelius opened his mouth to protest before realizing it was pointless. Bernard would do as he liked once the abbot was possessed. After a few more moments of planning, during which all potential weapons including the shovel were removed from the common room, Cornelius went to bed.
The shadows formed around the abbot, dark mists that congealed into black, billowing masses. They crowded the abbott, who made no effort to blot out their offers of power. Their whispers probed deep in his mind, sought out his worst fears and strongest desires. Visions flooded the abbot's perceptions, images of violence, screams of death, the rush of sex, the taste of blood, the smell of disease, an exultation in power over it all... and before he realized it the perceptions pushed him beyond any self-awareness and the demons were in control. Cornelius, the consciousness known as Cornelius, was trapped by nightmares of suffering, enclosed within his own mind by powers that force-fed alternate awareness to him, which blotted out all hope, all reason. Cornelius screamed, his body jerked to its feet, and a broad smile ruptured his lips. The scream went unheard outside of his skull.
George sat next to the boy, whose eyes were set on the fire. "They're coming." The slight voice almost went unheard and shook George to his feet. Green eyes glittered at him, and the monk spun around as footsteps echoed from the back hall.
Bernard jolted upright from his seat opposite the boy. Had Christopher just spoken? He shook his head to clear it of pain and cobwebs. The cobwebs dispersed. A figure stood at the rear door.
"Abbot! Are you alright?" George's fists clenched and unclenched. He didn't know how to tell if the abbot was possessed. That smile looked unnatural and his gait wasn't as steady as usual, but how could he be sure? The figure lurched forward.
Bernard narrowed his eyes. This creature was not his friend, the face carried an evil presence, a darkness about the eyes and tautness to the skin that sent shivers through Bernard's body. "George, grab him!"
Bernard's warning brought George to life. The giant wrapped arms around the body and lifted. The possessed screamed a warning in a voice that screeched like hell's pipe organ pumped through the abbot's chest. "Do not try and stop me! I will have the boy!" George struggled to maintain his grip on the squirming figure. He gasped as the body stomped down on his ankle. A snap preceded the giant's fall.
"Damnit! This was a horrible plan!" Bernard stood and hobbled around the table. The possessed advanced on the boy, who watched the figure with wide eyes. Bernard threw himself forward and barreled into the advancing threat. They both fell to the floor. Bernard found himself pressed down, his back flaring into a wave of pain that threatened his consciousness.
George pushed himself up onto one foot and lunged. His hands gripped the figure around the torso, pressing arms to their sides. "Now!"
George's shout rattled Bernard to awareness and he grabbed at the figure's legs, pinning them.
The boy walked to the figure as the possessed rained spittle coated fury out on its attackers. It sputtered and shouted curses, damning them for eternity, then fell quiet as two little hands pressed against its skull.
For a moment there was silence. George and Bernard kept their iron grips on the intruder, who began to convulse. The boy's eyes widened, shedding a green light onto the deranged features before him. A wail broke from the abbot's shuddering lips, increasing in intensity, then the voice broke into a low moan. The green light faded and the boy dropped his hands. Bernard nodded at George, and the pair gingerly lowered their comatose friend to the floor.
Cornelius fluttered in the dark. The images and suffering were gone. Now he was alone, lost in a labyrinth of unknown dimensions. A light flared, a warm emerald glow, and he approached it. As the glow intensified the abbot raised a hand to shade his eyes. Something was beyond the glow. Something familiar. I remember...
"I remember," Cornelius mumbled. His eyes fluttered, dispelling the darkness that had enveloped him. He looked at his friends, who laughed and clapped him on the shoulders.
"We did it!" Bernard announced.
"We did it." The abbot smiled. He felt as if a horse cart had dragged him for miles down a dirt path, and the visions of torment sent by the demons would forever haunt his dreams. But they had succeeded. Cornelius looked at the small figure in front of him and saw two green eyes watching, set above an angelic smile. "You are a remarkable young boy, Christopher." The child, satisfied that all was right again, found his seat on the bench near the fire.
"Now Adam can rest in peace," George added, his laughter fading.
Cornelius nodded and rested a hand on George's arm. "Now we all can."
