Francis

Ch. 1 The Dream

Could it have been the spindly, spider-like spires stretching skyward? Or possibly the tough, tarnished tapestries, thumping against the stone walls as the wind grew stronger? Was it the sinister song the wind played upon the broken glass of the lonely windows? Was it the way his footsteps reverberated within the hollow, hallowed halls? Or was it perhaps the loud screeching of his thoughts in his brain, amplified by the sheer silence that surrounded him, as the memories flashed in his eyes shouting It was you! It was you! It was all your fault!

She clung to his back carving into his heart, paranoia etching away the little remains of his sanity, and grief tore at his soul like a feral dog that hadn't eaten in days. He needed to erase her spectre from his mind, the guilt blackened his soul! His mind reeled as his vision descended into darkness once again.

As Francis awakened, he saw the familiar ceiling of his cell. The abbot was standing over him with a haggard look on his face.

"You were screaming in your sleep again, Brother Francis. You need to turn to GOD and repent. You cannot change your past, but that doesn't mean that you can wake everyone else. Say the rosary and return to bed." The stench of wine wafted off his breath.

"As you wish, Father Thomas," Francis tried to keep the spite out of his voice. He hated the abbot's "holier-than-thou" attitude, especially when it was amplified by wine which was only to be used in the blessed sacrament.

Francis watched as the abbot stumbled away. The young monk peeled his spider-like form from the small hard bed, unfolding his willowy arms and stretching his rotund body. As he slid on his ill-fitted, stiff black habit he heard the wind singing on his window; it was the same as in his dream. He knew Father Thomas would be upset with him if he left so late in the night, especially without notifying someone. The wind tugged at his hand and he ducked his towering head through of the door. Soon, he had retreated far beyond the safety of the St. Fleury Abbey.

Francis could not help but feel uneasy as he found himself enveloped in the inky blackness of the forest. However, he felt an overwhelming sense that he was not alone. He could sense Her. In his panicked state, his mind overtook him. The trees were pointing judging fingers towards him. He ran towards the distant cathedral. Somehow the decrepit flying buttresses still supported the ancient structure before him. He did not want to enter, but it forced him in; he had to escape Her. Panic, paranoia, and grief leapt on him. She raked her overgrown nails across his back, returning to exact revenge upon him. Francis flailed around, he knew the abbot told him She was gone, but he could feel Her. He crashed into a pew, turning it to dust, and fell onto the heap of wood and glass.