The Grim Courting

There was so much hate in Annabel’s eyes as she watched the priest leading her family in prayer. His eyes were shut, his face a cherubic expression of worship and holiness, while his hands were raised to the sky. He was her nightmare, but she was still too afraid to narrate this particular nightmare to her parents. Her parents and two brothers had their eyes shut too and were singing with their deep-throated. She hated the song and the singer.

It was the expression in her mother’s face that she hated the most. It was that of trust and total surrender. She would never believe anything that she would say about this man, the priest, not when the cross was hung all over their houses at intervals. It was terrible, but her own family was afraid of her, of what she could do. 

Annabel shut her eyes and joined in the song; this was torture, but who would believe her if she told them their emblem of holiness was, in fact, the devil himself? She could imagine her mother telling her to shut up and not speak evil about a man of God. The only respite she had was herself and her mind. That was why she loved reading, it helped her to escape realities that stared her in the face and mocked her with the bars of a prison cell. Every so often, they whispered you cannot escape. She believed them; this was the third month running after all, and the Priest, Eli, could still not take his eyes and hands off her. Whenever she was alone with him, and that happened too many times, he would do things to her that she could not imagine speaking about. It did not help that the locals here so much believed in evil spirits and exorcism. She was just fourteen, but she bore a heavy guilt that made her moody. Most days, every week, she was sent to the Priest so he could pray for her. In return, he was rewarded with her services. Her family believed something was wrong with her right from when she was born. One blue eye and a light brown eye convinced them that something or somebody was in possession of her, and that the closer she was to the priest, the less whatever was in possession of her would be in charge. 

The last amen came with relief for Annabel’s suffering. She watched the priest leave and prayed that something bad would happen to him on the way. Her parents annoyed her further.

“Take these things to the priest’s car,” her father said.

She was the only one that followed the priest, two of her brothers stayed back enjoying the privilege that came with being born without heterochromia.

“Annabel, how are you?” the priest asked even though he knew that she was not fine.

Annabel did not say a word, her face was crunched up.

“Brighten your face, Annabel. You don’t know what the lord wants to use you for through me.” He said, smiling. Annabel suddenly envisioned the man being run over by a car, the tire crushing his head. She put the bag she had in his car and turned to leave.

“Be in my office tomorrow by ten, we have prayers to make and I reckon you have plenty confessions to make,” he said aloud to the hearing of her family.

She grunted as she marched off, resigned to yet another dirty morning session tomorrow with her tormentor.

“I will call your father to make sure you come. We have to be very careful. Evil spirits lurk in the dark waiting for a moment of weakness.” With that, he drove away.

The next morning, the sun mocked Annabel when it poured through the window of her room. She had slept late and woken up late while she thought of ways to avoid going to priest. She thought of telling her mother, but she was the biggest fanatic. Her father had too much respect for the priest. So she decided to tell Luke, her younger brother, knowing fully well that he would probably not understand. Darrell , her elder brother, short and obnoxious, had a round head filled with pretty much the same thing in her mother’s head. Telling him would only mean being reported to their mother, from their mother, the priest would find out that she was trying to expose him, and the punishment would become greater. She was not ready for that

“Annabel, have you done your chores?” her mum asked, walking past her room.

“She just likes sleeping,” Darrell  interjected. Annabel felt like slapping him. The fights they had gone into was part of the reasons she landed in the priest’s den. Their parents had been worried about why a girl should be as aggressive as she was towards her elder brother. “What has got into you? Don’t you that he’s your sibling?” her mum would scream each time she got into a fight with her short, annoying elder brother. For all the trouble it brought her, Darrell  had stopped crossing her part too often; perhaps that was the silver lining in her gloomy sky.

“Remember you are going to see the priest today,” the woman continued.

“Mom, does she have to go?” Luke asked. He was just eight, big and rotund like an over-pumped balloon. 

“Yes, my dear.”

“I don’t think the priest is a very good man,” the boy continued.

“What? Who told you that?” the mother asked, turning quickly to look him in the eyes.

“Annabel said he does bad things to her.”

From her room, Annabel died inside. Telling Luke was a mistake.

“That was the demon in her speaking. The priest will remove it from her.”

While she did the dishes in the kitchen, her movements as slow as she could possibly make them, she felt a presence in the kitchen with her. At first, she thought, perhaps, that the priest had found his way to the kitchen where she was alone to continue what he started. But when she turned, she felt gloom so deep, it was like a reflection of her soul. The figure standing at the other end was that of a girl whose face was hidden, and it cast no shadow.

“I know what you seek” the ascian said.

Annabel swallowed. That was the beginning.