The Beginning
âThank you, Father,â said an elderly villager as she walked past. âThat was a wonderful service.â
âThank you,â the priest replied gratefully.
One by one, everyone filed out. A piercing silence pressed upon the church, broken only by the loud, echoing footsteps of a black robed priest as he marched up the aisle. Roconn Romano headed towards an intricately carved stone font, which was full of holy water. The priest stood over the bowl and watched the water ripple. He then took a minute to gaze around the church with its high arched ceiling and rows of benches. The flaming torches, placed in rusting metal sconces along the stone walls, created long shadows that flickered in the breeze; the large, wooden door had been left open at the other end of the building.
He walked towards a statue of Jesus which had been nailed to a large cross by the far window. Moonlight shone through the windows, casting beautiful shadows across the stone floor. He lifted his thick overcoat from a peg, which hung behind the cross, and draped it over his shoulders. Roconn turned on the spot and wandered towards the open door, extinguishing the torches as he went. The room grew steadily darker behind him. One last glance back as he stood in the church doorway ensured everything was taken care of for the night. He took a deep breath and strode out into the cold, closing the door behind him. Bowing his head, so as to stop the breeze from stinging his face, the priest wandered towards a small, black, metal gate. It creaked loudly as he opened it and walked out of the churchyard.
The moon shone brightly, illuminating the frozen path before him. Roconn lived in a small house with his wife and two well behaved children, on the outskirts of a small village called Greyton, close to the border of a vast, dense forest. The ground crunched under his feet as he trudged passed a cluster of thick bushes. In front of him, just off the path was a small house, dusted with snow. Roconn caught sight of his own reflection in the window. Edging closer, he scrutinized his aged face. It was tired and lined. A pair of dull blue eyes glared at him as his hair spun and danced in the wind.
Roconn was lost in thought. It seemed like only yesterday he was standing by the side of his own father and becoming a priest as his forefathers had done. After fifteen years, he had heard many say he looked just like him, and Roconn was pleased to hear some of his fatherâs traits had been passed down. Roconn ran a hand through his greying hair. White flakes started to fall from the night sky and settle on the ground as Roconn plodded home.
After a few minutes the ground was covered in a thick layer of snow. Houses were smothered in white as the priest neared the edge of the forest. He heard an owl hooting in the distance, its prey hidden underground. Somewhere through the dense branches, a strangled cry erupted, sending a large number of bats flying in every direction. Roconn stopped just before he reached the garden outside his cottage; it looked unfamiliar in the snow. Roconn composed his face. It was set in a mask of horror, the sound of the cry repeating over and over in his mind. The temperature dropped further, causing Roconnâs body to shiver violently.
He jogged the last few steps toward the wooden front door, grabbed the freezing metal handle, opened it, and crossed the threshold.
âS..s..sorry I took so long getting home Maria, it s..s..started to snow and held m..m..me up,â Roconn stuttered through numb lips as he walked in, stomping his shoes.
âOh you look freezing! Come over here and warm yourself by the fire dear,â said Maria.
She pulled her husband towards a fire, which was set in a stone mantelpiece, and removed his overcoat. She hung it up near the fire to dry out. Roconn started to feel better. A metal tripod was placed above the fire, with a pan of hot water simmering on the top.
Though the
âThank you, Father,â said an elderly villager as she walked past. âThat was a wonderful service.â
âThank you,â the priest replied gratefully.
One by one, everyone filed out. A piercing silence pressed upon the church, broken only by the loud, echoing footsteps of a black robed priest as he marched up the aisle. Roconn Romano headed towards an intricately carved stone font, which was full of holy water. The priest stood over the bowl and watched the water ripple. He then took a minute to gaze around the church with its high arched ceiling and rows of benches. The flaming torches, placed in rusting metal sconces along the stone walls, created long shadows that flickered in the breeze; the large, wooden door had been left open at the other end of the building.
He walked towards a statue of Jesus which had been nailed to a large cross by the far window. Moonlight shone through the windows, casting beautiful shadows across the stone floor. He lifted his thick overcoat from a peg, which hung behind the cross, and draped it over his shoulders. Roconn turned on the spot and wandered towards the open door, extinguishing the torches as he went. The room grew steadily darker behind him. One last glance back as he stood in the church doorway ensured everything was taken care of for the night. He took a deep breath and strode out into the cold, closing the door behind him. Bowing his head, so as to stop the breeze from stinging his face, the priest wandered towards a small, black, metal gate. It creaked loudly as he opened it and walked out of the churchyard.
The moon shone brightly, illuminating the frozen path before him. Roconn lived in a small house with his wife and two well behaved children, on the outskirts of a small village called Greyton, close to the border of a vast, dense forest. The ground crunched under his feet as he trudged passed a cluster of thick bushes. In front of him, just off the path was a small house, dusted with snow. Roconn caught sight of his own reflection in the window. Edging closer, he scrutinized his aged face. It was tired and lined. A pair of dull blue eyes glared at him as his hair spun and danced in the wind.
Roconn was lost in thought. It seemed like only yesterday he was standing by the side of his own father and becoming a priest as his forefathers had done. After fifteen years, he had heard many say he looked just like him, and Roconn was pleased to hear some of his fatherâs traits had been passed down. Roconn ran a hand through his greying hair. White flakes started to fall from the night sky and settle on the ground as Roconn plodded home.
After a few minutes the ground was covered in a thick layer of snow. Houses were smothered in white as the priest neared the edge of the forest. He heard an owl hooting in the distance, its prey hidden underground. Somewhere through the dense branches, a strangled cry erupted, sending a large number of bats flying in every direction. Roconn stopped just before he reached the garden outside his cottage; it looked unfamiliar in the snow. Roconn composed his face. It was set in a mask of horror, the sound of the cry repeating over and over in his mind. The temperature dropped further, causing Roconnâs body to shiver violently.
He jogged the last few steps toward the wooden front door, grabbed the freezing metal handle, opened it, and crossed the threshold.
âS..s..sorry I took so long getting home Maria, it s..s..started to snow and held m..m..me up,â Roconn stuttered through numb lips as he walked in, stomping his shoes.
âOh you look freezing! Come over here and warm yourself by the fire dear,â said Maria.
She pulled her husband towards a fire, which was set in a stone mantelpiece, and removed his overcoat. She hung it up near the fire to dry out. Roconn started to feel better. A metal tripod was placed above the fire, with a pan of hot water simmering on the top.
Though the
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