Child’s Play

Child’s Play

Father Montgomery walked down the back stairs, gripping the candle in his left hand while holding his right elbow uncomfortably across his chest. The doctor said three weeks roughly, until it would completely heal. Minor strain, no fuss indeed, the doctor added, you acted quite impressively this morning, Father. A little sacrifice this is, when practicing the Lord’s will.

Father Montgomery had always found the doctor talking too much, but being this age the Father couldn’t, say, stay away from such displeasure in life anymore. He squeezed out an unwilling grin, waved his right hand in the air to suggest no more of these compliments, yet as a result accidentally pulled his muscle once again. He gritted his teeth to not make a noise, in case the doctor commented on it more.

He never fancied those who spoke out on anything and everything. Especially those who remarked on the Lord’s will arbitrarily.

For three entire days he had avoided people. Seeking solitude thus revelation in a time of disturbance, the helps would say. They had been quite used to the Father’s self-isolation routines — he knew how to silently require his private space when he needed from time to time, that’s how he kept learning His will, they said. So naturally Father Montgomery loathed such hearsay as well.

He unlocked the heavy wooden door of the cellar. After the old keeper passed away due to that unfortunate fall, the grieving Father never handed the keys to anyone else.

The old keeper was respected and trusted by Father Montgomery with this task because of a strict self-discipline on alcohol, namely not touching it at all, after the keeper’s young wife had died in a related incident. For decades after, the keeper had amended his loss by diligently securing the safety of this sanctuary, day in and day out, leaving its peace to God as every nighttime arrived. It was a pity he had left his tool in the cellar that night, which led to a trip over the staircase, said the town folks — but he now had gone somewhere he belonged.

Today before lunch, Father Montgomery visited the boy’s household, without previously notifying anybody. The parents were still mourning, naturally, but seemed relieved to see him. However when asked about any abnormality last night, they couldn’t name a thing. Father Montgomery was rather disappointed — surely, he thought, if he himself was disturbed, the parents should be too. But they said no, then asked the Father if he wanted some milk or eggs, that they had had for breakfast. He politely rejected, then left the house. The stains from that white liquid on their old table made him smell odd memories.

We’re about to put the stone up, the boy’s father said to him before he walked away. Upon hearing this, the boy’s mother visibly trembled for a second.

Father Montgomery carefully left the cellar door ajar behind him, making sure he wouldn’t stretch his injured elbow too much when doing so, then poking his head into the darkness underground. The air was brisk, his sight flipped back and forth from the descending steps under his feet to the space ahead of him lit by the candlelight. It was quiet; it shouldn’t be. He had heard the same thing from the night before.

Saying that he wouldn’t doubt the fact of having heard those noise was inaccurate — he more than just knew it, in a way he expected it. Coming down here however, he still didn’t see anything — neither had he last night. But this time, he smelt the delightful scent of their classic collection. Was something opened?

The specific type of wine hadn’t been publicly presented again since the town’s New Year’s celebration, where Father Montgomery noticed the boy for the first time. Any 12-year-old with big, curious eyes and active hands hanging around the alcohol section would undoubtedly be supervised, but the wise Father hadn’t expected that he would hear the noise and enter the cellar to see the very boy again right there at the same night.

Stealing is a sin, my son.

The rebellious looking boy didn’t deny this.

How did you even get in?

The boy paused, then as if accepting his fate, he looked up at the Father.

I sneaked in when your people were carrying the things back.

Father sighed in his heart and looked around, assessing the situation. The boy’s figure appeared rather tiny surrounded by the big barrels and shelves.

Please don’t tell my parents, the boy said. They’re ignorant prudes!

Lowering his candlelight closer to the floor, the Father bent down and put his finger onto the surface of one of the steps near the bottom. The blood stain of the old keeper was still visible.

I do wish you didn’t forget your tools that night, old friend. The things you shouldn’t have seen — you caused all these.

The weekly tutoring session on beverage knowledge had pleased the boy’s parents quite a lot. That way, he would actually turn his interest into a potential skill, instead of sniffing around all the time without any shame in his soul, the parents said, and surely our respected Father would be the best man for the job they could ever ask for. The kind man himself hadn’t tasted alcohol for years, but his knowledge was always there, and what gracious heart did he have to take the boy in.

The boy does need some manner put in him, Father Montgomery consoled the couple.

And simply with this routine, the theft wasn’t mentioned again.

The candlelight was blown off by a light wind coming through the gap of the door. Father Montgomery kept his calm. In the dim moonlight shining in, he reached his hands out to check the barrels. Everything was sealed perfectly. He could feel some scratches on the top of the wood here and there. He pulled his hands back, feeling strange in his throat.

The first time the boy got caught in bed with another kid slightly older, was the result of his parents following their son around for days. Afterwards the boy was locked in his small room for an entire month, meanwhile that other teen was later found beaten to death behind an empty lot, in-between the tall wild grass with his trousers missing.

Then sending the kid to the church more often, the parents wished the Father to not only teach the boy precious knowledge but also the way of God. Almost every day after school, the boy was asked to stay there until midnight.

Father Montgomery turned away slowly, trying to recognize the surroundings in the dark. He bumped his knees lightly into the tool cabinet. His eyebrows twitched a bit. The careless boy used to bump into it all the time, then would cuss uncontrollably which only ended up in more punishment. What else could the Father do anyways, for a rebellious boy like that?

Father Montgomery opened the cabinet and found the matchbox. He lit the candle back up.

Is he the only one? Father Montgomery asked when the boy had finally come back to church.

The boy kept quiet.

So he is not. Father Montgomery read the kid’s eyes.

The boy looked away.

No more of this. The Father sighs. You know the rules. Not anyone else, son. I’ve told you.

As the candle burnt again, he slowly rose up and noticed more violent scratches on top of the tool cabinet as well. A sudden dizziness hit him. Even bending down and rising up quickly gave him tiny faints now, getting older surely wasn’t a fun game. He grabbed the corner of the cabinet with his sore right arm to support himself up, but the wiggling cabinet didn’t do much help.

When did it start to wobble? He should’ve noticed, he really was getting old. Of course he should’ve, all those creaking sounds and violent shakes from every move, night after night.

The second time was worse — some other kid spotted the boy at an older married man’s house. This time the parents directly went to Father Montgomery in the church. After contemplating for a long moment underneath the giant statue of Jesus — the parents were ashamed to talk about it in the open area but the Father insisted that whatever it was it should be heard — Father Montgomery gave them an expression mixed with calmness, insight, and grief.

It was not unexpected, he said, holding both of their hands. Under the divine guidance, I have attempted with all efforts, but sometimes — sometimes they just cannot be saved.

The father looked away, the mother started to sob again. What should we do, Father? There are demons, or the devil himself…

There indeed are. Father Montgomery straightened his back. He showed infinite comprehension and satisfaction towards this conclusion. The kid, what did he know, calling his parents ignorant?

Father Montgomery balanced himself and his candle which had gotten shorter and shorter. He held the candle up, blocking it from the wind with his right hand. The dull pain near his elbow had suddenly increased, maybe from leaning on the cabinet.

The wind didn’t blow out the candle this time, but he heard the heavy wooden door suddenly shut. A light shiver crawled through his body. Yet Father Montgomery was not a man of anxious traits, he slowly turned around and pushed his candlelight closer to the wall.

He ran his fingers across a notch on the wall. When the cellar was inspected for the old keeper’s death, nobody noticed the notch, assuming it being a normal scuff. Father Montgomery considered that the best. The tool he thrown out which had hit the old keeper’s head then bounced to the wall wasn’t what killed the keeper anyways, the head banging on the staircase was.

No reason to complicated the situation — the only thing that bothered the Father was afterwards how often the boy paid attention to the spot underneath that notch, where the tool had fallen and dented the floor. The boy didn’t stop coming over after the old keeper’s death, while with nobody else being able to enter the cellar, the two could spend even more time working on the matters. That is, before the boy got caught again, of course.

The elderlies were summoned rather quickly that day, therefore the boy was taken hold of and brought out at their gate very early the next morning. The stubborn and rebellious son was consequently shown due to obeying the voice of his parents, before he was stoned to death. The people had purged the evil from their midst and all had learned to hear and fear, that morning.

Father Montgomery did the honor of contributing the first toss. He held a distressed tension on his face throughout the entire ceremony, somewhat having to do with the muscle strain from that brave, resolute toss.

That noble man bears the burden of sending his once trusted child to hell, people would say, what great sufferings!

I’m sorry to have to deliver the news, my son — after you had fled out of the cellar last night, the old keeper, our dear friend, tried to chase you out but tripped on the staircase… his head then hit the…

Father Montgomery slowly moved the candle farther to the side, to where he detected the scent had been coming from. The next second, he bathed the small sculpture of the Holy Son on the wall in this dim light. Father Montgomery frowned.

The church people had never set up anything Jesus-related in the cellar.

He raised his eyes and stared at the Father.

Sister Marian was woken up by a strange rustle. The middle-aged nun who looked older than her age crawled out of bed, stepped over to the window and flipped the curtain open. She let out a light shriek when seeing a dark, human-like figure dangling in the tall, thick oak tree behind her chamber.

She quickly searched for her outfit with trembling hands, put them on and trotted out into the first daylight. She arrived at the tree, only to take in the sight of the priest’s dark, long robe swinging in mid-air, hollow inside. Sister Marian, filled with overwhelming confusion, forgot to even go get help right away. She stood there with mouth open for a few long, long minutes.

In the left corner of the church cemetery, the graveyard keeper, who usually got up earlier than anyone else, gazed at a pile of newly dug dirt, wondering what kind of person would make such a disrespectful mess at night — those rebellious kids for sure. He threw his shovel onto the pile while spitting out some silent curses. The shovel rolled over to the other side and clanked when bumped into an elbow.