The Shadow of a Priest
Category B: Third Place (2024) Monash Short Story Writing Competition
Author: Elaiza Fernandez
He stepped into the shadows cast by the church's imposing frame. The flame from the lighter had his patience growing thin, a sweet relief flowing through his veins when he took his first puff. However, it was not long before panic had settled in the relief's stead.
Steady footsteps made their way towards his newfound hiding place, followed by a squeaky voice.
"Ah, Father Alistair! You are precisely the gentlemen I sought for!"
Kill me now.
"Mrs. Thompson, to what could I possibly owe the pleasure?" he replied, dropping the cigarette behind him, and covertly crushing it beneath his heel.
It was clear that time had taken its toll on a few of Mrs. Thompson's abilities. Her sense of smell was not one of them. She then highlighted that there are very few in town that smoke. Of course, Alistair's first instinct was to deflect.
"I detect no scent of smoke," he said hastily.
"Yet, should one detect the aroma of smoke nearby a church, 'tis likely a youth, adhering to their customary habits."
That distracted the old bird as she completely brushed off the situation and welcomed the man to town. Rather flirtatiously.
The sun retired behind the mountains surrounding the town and the thick cloak of night draped itself across the sky, accompanied by an unforgiving storm.
Alistair found solace in finding new material for the next day's mass, his fifth glass of whiskey in hand. The candles adorned the walls with a comfortingly warm haze.
The hypnotic sound of a woman's hearty laughter can be heard from mere feet from him. Having read a passage on happiness and on the brink of finishing his glass of whiskey, Alistair brushes it off as an effect of the combination.
However, when the sound of heels far too high to belong to a woman of honor seemed to circle him and stop right in front of him, Alistair truly believed he'd lost his mind.
His thoughts are almost immediately disrupted when a violent blast of wind unlatches his study's windows, ridding his candles of their flames. Once he secured his windows, he began relighting the candles.
Alistair felt eyes burning into his every movement.
His mind went back to the laughter and clicking of heels.
As the flame of his desk's candle grew to cast light on the walls, the alluring shadow of a woman's figure grew with the light. Alistair's head whipped around the room searching for the intruder, only to find no one.
The surrounding candles and fireplace did absolutely nothing to warm the icy chill that ran through the clergyman’s veins. However, that icy chill had thawed when the shadow had proven herself to be rather playful. She motioned her hands in a way that reassured Alistair that she was no threat.
His heart calmed at the sight and warmed when she gave a curt bow as if introducing herself to him. When he approached the wall she had cast herself upon, she twirled, effectively moving the length of her dress as well as displaying her happiness. Once he was close enough, she blew a kiss towards him.
Only a step closer to her and the shadow on the wall had emerged from the wood. Her beauty glowed in the warm light. She all but walked past him as if they had known each other for a long time, pouring herself a glass of whiskey.
Alistair stood as still as a statue, in awe of the woman's presence.
"Why are you standing so still? 'Tis only I, Scarlett."
His jaw nearly dropped at the casualness of her tone.
"Pardon me," he breathed. "I don't believe you and I have ever met."
A smile grew on Scarlett’s lips at his formality.
"You are truly an odd man, Alistair. ‘Tis... amusing," she said with a slight chuckle.
As he approached his original seat behind the desk, the pious man was thoroughly searching his mind for memories with Scarlett. He found nothing. The search had been interrupted by her entrancing voice asking whyever he had brought them to such a dreadfully unremarkable town.
"You are well aware of our shared love for excitement and... risk," she all but purred, voice as alluring as a siren's call, impossibly irresistible.
She positions herself on Alistair’s desk.
Just as her hand reaches out to trace Alistair's hand, his eyes flash to the cross on the wall behind her. He is reminded of why he is in the study. An apologetic breath escapes his liquor-lined lips as he retracts his hands from her.
"Ms. Scarlett," he rasps, fingers adjusting his clerical collar. "I.."
Want you.
"…am a man of God. I shall not break my vows," he says hesitantly, avoiding her bewitching stare.
Scarlett lets out the same hearty laughter that made her presence known only minutes ago and then proceeds to pour both of them more whiskey.
"If you are a devout man of God, then I am an innocent lamb frolicking in the meadow," she chuckled, hand making its way to his shoulders.
To his collarbone.
To his neck.
Any and all thoughts of God or resistance had fled Alistair's mind the moment her delicate fingertips found purchase on his jaw.
He leaned in for a kiss only for his lips to meet with the cold, lonely air of his study.
His eyes opened and all traces of her were gone. The only evidence left was the glass of whiskey, stained with red lipstick.
The sun's rays brighten the town, gently waking the residents.
As Father Alistair greets the churchgoers at the door, he tries his best to forget about the events of last night. Thankfully, the churchgoers are friendly and the short conversations are enjoyable.
However, the enjoyment quickly dissipates in the middle of mass when Scarlett glides through the doors.