Chapter the 7th
“I wish I had a sense of direction in life,” Harvey Armstrong complained.
Father Clement leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. The more he listened to people who had no direction in life, the more he wondered if listening to people was worth while. Harvey was dressed in a business suit tailored to assure the world he knew his station in life, but he squirmed in his chair like an adolescent lost in an identity crisis.
“Do you feel that you are stumbling in the dark?” asked Father Clement.
“Yes, you could say that.”
“Do you feel disillusioned with your work as a lawyer?”
“Yes. For years I’ve pretended that my work made sense and I was helping people. If one firm put me in an ethical corner, I just found another. When I got an offer to come here to Milton as a full partner, I thought I had to opportunity to build up my practice the way I wanted to do it. But my partner turns out to be the most crooked lawyer I've ever met. It seems that the only clients who come our way are people who want us to help them cheat other people. You should have seen that couple who came in yesterday with their son! All they wanted was every penny they could get out of Mrs. Lear's estate!”
Father Clement shivered at the mention of the three vultures who had also darkened his life.
“I take it, your idealism has faded away,” said Father Clement.
“It sure has! Everything I intend for the good turns bad. Last Fall, I got a teen-age drug user a light sentence to give him the chance to reform his life, but yesterday I got news that he has just been arrested for assaulting and robbing two young women to pay for drugs. That makes me responsible for what happened to them. That's humanitarianism for you.”
“So you feel guilty about that?”
“Of course, I do. But worse, it’s getting to the point where I don’t feel anything at all; I’m kind of numb.”
“Is that because feelings have become painful for you?”
“You could say that. It's getting to the point where I don't even feel my usual affection for my wife and daughter when I come home.”
“Do you feel that you have done them a bad turn by moving out here?”
“Hmm. Come to think of it, I do. Especially with Sheila. I knew I would be hindering her development as a pianist in the short run by taking her away from her teacher in Philadelphia, but I thought I could make up for that by making enough money to send her to Julliard in a few years. Now that I think I’m going to have to quit this job too, I’m afraid I might not be able to do send her to the most rickety conservatory in the country.”
“So everything is feeling empty just now?” Father Clement prompted Harvey.
“You could say that again.”
“I don't know how encouraging it is for me to say this,” said Father Clement, “but the first step toward fullness is knowing how empty you are. If you know you are walking in darkness, there is the chance you are looking for the light. I know it's painful for you right now, but it's the only way. Your law practice may be empty of meaning right now, but if you wait, you may come to see what law is really about, just as St. Paul discovered a whole new meaning of the Law only after he reached an impasse with it. It might lead to a new vocation, or it might renew the one you have now.”
Harvey nodded obediently, but Father Clement doubted that he was getting through to him. Harvey repeated his complaints once more while Father Clement became increasingly bored. When Harvey had finally talked himself out and left the office, Father Clement was profoundly relieved.
Father Clement had no further appointments. It was past time for him to say Evening Prayer, but he was so drained he could not face it just then. He needed to relax in the rectory with a martini. After that, he could say the office with Mary or with Mark, or both. Father Clement closed the door to his office after one last look at the crucifix. Counseling sessions often made him feel stretched out the way Jesus was. He wondered if he might have to take his own advice someday about living with emptiness.
No sooner had Father Clement stepped outside the church, then he heard loud voices down the street. He looked longingly at the rectory, just a few steps away, then looked to see what was happening. His heart sank when he saw the three relatives of Mrs. Lear talking with Barry Landsford, a real estate agent and faithful member of the parish. Before Father Clement could duck into the rectory, Barry spotted him and waved him over. The priest prepared himself for yet another dose of martyrdom and walked towards them.
“Father Clement, maybe you can help us,” said Barry in his usual suave voice. Father Clement, however, could detect an added element of tension in Barry's voice. “Something very strange has happened. Mrs. Lear's house seems to have disappeared.”
“What?”
Father Clement had not noticed that the house was missing, but he was so used to the house being next door to the rectory he took its existence for granted. At a glance, everything looked normal but, with a second look, he could see that something was lacking. He looked a third time and realized that Mrs. Lear’s house was indeed missing.
“So I see,” muttered the priest.
“Strangest thing I ever ran into,” said Barry Landsford, his agitation growing. “You'd think if someone moved the house last night, there'd be a gaping whole in the block.”
“You would think so,” murmured Father Clement.
For look as he might, Father Clement saw no sign that the house had ever been where it had always been. Mrs. Lear's house appeared to have been blotted out of existence. It was enough to make Father Clement wonder if he had ever known her, or if he had really conducted her funeral service. His memories of that event felt more like a dream than reality.
“It would help us if you could tell us which house has been put in place of Mrs. Lear's house in the dead of night,” said the older man.
Father Clement looked closely at the houses, starting with the Rosskills. He knew each one down the line. No house had intruded on the street that he could see.
“Nothing has taken its place,” Father Clement replied. “It just that Mrs. Lear's house isn't here.”
“Do you know who took it?” asked the woman in a threatening voice.
“I'm afraid not,” Father Clement answered. “I would think that the operation of moving a house in the middle of the night would have woken me up.”
The younger man narrowed his eyes on the priest.
“You wouldn't have the house in your hip pocket for safe keeping, would you?”
“I don't know what you are talking about.”
The three relatives looked at each other as if they were having a silent consultation.
“That will be all, Mr. Landsford,” said the older man. “Keep the title for the property handy. We may be able to use it yet.”
Mr. Landsford did not need a second invitation to dive into his car and drive off. Father Clement started to turn away from the three relatives and escape himself.
“Father Clement,” said the woman. “I think we can still use your help.”
“In what way?” Father Clement asked reluctantly.
The two men each grabbed an arm while the woman stood in front of the priest, her nose almost touching his. Father Clement felt his wildly beating heart dissolve.
“We are going to ask you to do something very simple,” said the older man. “Just walk towards the rectory with us.”
“I'm afraid I can hardly offer to entertain you tonight.”
“Don't worry, we shall entertain you tonight in Mrs. Lear's house,” said the woman.
“What do you mean?”
“We mean for you to lead us back to Mrs. Lear's house,” said the younger man.
“It’s very simple,” said the older man. “You need only picture the house in your mind. Picture it as clearly as you can.”
Father Clement tried to say that he did not wish to picture Evelyn Lear’s house in his mind for their benefit, but he couldn’t get those words out.
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Mark Clement was finding it harder than ever to see the call numbers on the books he was shelving. Each day the library seemed to be darker even though there wasn’t anything wrong with the lights as far as he could tell. Was this only power of suggested because, after the funeral, those strange children said they thought the light was disappearing? Mark asked himself. The tapping of a solitary hammer in the new wing accompanied Mark’s thoughts. No doubt Mr. Bullinger was working overtime. With a son like Michael, who wouldn't work overtime just to stay away from home? Mark mused to himself.
When Mark found the right place for the book he was shelving, he looked again at Scott Simpson, who was reading a tattered paperback at what Mark had come to think of as Kevin’s table. Mark could not get over the conviction that Scott had not come to read, but to keep an eye out for unusual events such as the ones he and Michael talked about in the undertaker’s limousine. Seeing that the next book on the trolley belonged two shelves further down, Mark rolled it along and looked out the window. Just as his ears had told him, Mr. Bullinger was at work on the frame of the new addition that Kevin's strange reward from Carelin had made possible. Mark also felt that the clouds outside were darker than they were when Mark came to work. Then Mark saw something that made him freeze. A silver wolf was squatting on top of the roof of the new wing. Before Mark could wonder how the animal could have gotten there, the wolf opened wide its jaws. Its throat pumped so vigorously, Mark thought it was howling at the sun. Then Mark remembered Michael saying that he had seen a wolf that looked like it was drinking sunlight. “No wonder it’s getting so dark if wolves are drinking all the light,” Mark thought to himself. Then he shook his head over the absurdity of his thinking.
“Mark, what did you see?” Scott asked him.
Mark wanted to shrug off the question, but the intense look in Scott’s eyes told him he wouldn’t get off the hook easily. At least Scott would believe him and then believe his eyes.
“I see a silvery wolf squatting on top of the frame of the new wing,” asked Mark.
“Hmm.
Scott looked out the window for himself , and nodded.
“That wolf couldn’t be Fenrir, could it?” Mark asked, his voice shaking.
“Who’s that?”
“Fenrir’s the wolf in Norse mythology that swallows the sun at the end of time.”
“Hmm. Sounds about right. I’d better go tell Michael about this.”
“What’s Michael going to do about it?”
“I don’t know.”
As Scott shuffled toward the stairs, Mark kept his eye glued on the wolf and started to ask himself why Mr. Bullinger wasn’t screaming and frantically climbing down from his scaffold. It gradually dawned on Mark that Mr. Bullinger was no longer out there. What really gave Mark a creepy feeling, however, was his realization that Fenrir was not squatting on top of the frame of the new library wing outside; he was squatting on the roof of an old building with pointed gables sticking up at each corner. Pink and white blossoms sprouted on the surrounding trees under a strangely dark sky so that they lit up the street like Christmas lights. Mark walked over to the window to take a closer look. Instead of the houses and stores of Milton, Mark saw antique houses and shops he had never seen before. In the middle of the street was a large fountain. Several people strolled among the shops and the fountain, looking very much at home. It made Scott wonder where he was and where the Public Library of Milton was.
“Scott!” Mark cried out.
“What is it?” Scott answered back.
“Outside—I don’t know what—I don’t get it! Where are we”
The sound of Scott’s shuffle hurrying back reassured Mark a little. At least he wouldn’t be alone in a strange world. Better yet, Scott might know where they were. As soon as Scott looked out the window again, he face lit up.
“It’s Carelin!” Scott cried.
“Do you mean—the place where we buried Mrs. Lear?” Mark asked him.
“Yes!” said Scott. “Michael will envy us when I send him a postcard! Serves him right after the way he's left me behind twice. Let's go!”
“What do you mean we?” asked Mark.
“I mean you and me,” said Scott. “We might have a quest here to help get the light back.”
“Who decides that we have a quest?” asked Mark.
Scott shrugged.
“I don’t know. Come on.”
Mark turned away from the window and looked about the library to see if he really was still in the Milton Public Library. It seemed that he was.
“What’s happened?” Mark asked Scott. “Has the library just moved to Carelin, or has Carelin moved in around the library?”
“I don’t know,” said Scott. “Maybe both and neither. Things don’t seem to be working the way they should, even by Carelin standards.
“What’s going to happen when we step out of the library?” asked Mark.
“There’s only one way to find out, and I’m going to find out whether you do or not,” said Scott.
Mark wasn’t sure he wanted to go outside, but he wasn’t sure that staying inside the library was better if this kingdom of Carelin persisted in surrounding the library. Being older than Scott, Mark felt responsible for him and he didn’t want to let him go off on his own when he could have a companion in case of need. So Mark walked down the steps with Scott limping after him. Downstairs, a high school girl at the desk was checking out books for a couple of children. Mark wondered if he should warn them that they might not be where they thought they were. But since he did not know where he was himself, Mark decided not to say anything. When he pushed open the heavy door, the blossoming trees Mark had seen from the window exploded in his eyes. He held the door open for Scott, then let it close. As soon as he was at the bottom of the steps. Mark looked back, afraid of what he might see. He cried out when he saw, in place of the Milton Public Library, an old building, marked “City Hall.” Up above, the silver wolf was still squatting on the roof, drinking the sun. Down the street, people were walking in and out of shops and the large fountain was flowing.
“Now we know what happens when you walk out of the library,” said Scott.
“Yea,” said Mark, although he wished a knew a lot more than he did.
------------------
Father Clement prayed very hard, but his prayers could not prevent the three dark relatives from forming an impenetrable web around him.
“Don't confuse your image of the house with your prayers,” counseled the older man.
“Prayer won't help you as long as we are here,” added the woman.
“Prayer only makes you think there's an answer when you know in your heart that there is now answer,” said the younger man.
Never had prayer felt as absurd to the priest as it did at that moment. He was almost certain that there was no chance he would escape from the darkness surrounding him but still, he refused to give up.
“I renounce you and all your works,” Father Clement spluttered, amazed that this time he could say what he wanted to say.
“Are you sure?” asked the older man.
“If you renounce all our works, what does that leave you with?” asked the woman.
“It leaves you with nothing,” said the younger man.
“I’d rather have nothing than have any of your works,” said Father Clement, no matter how hollow his words sounded.
“Then nothing is what you shall have.”
“I renounce all your works.”
“Imagine as clearly as you can the house that used to be next to the rectory,” commanded the older man.
Again, Father Clement could not say that he refused to do as they asked. Worse, he realized, to the point of despair, that it was impossible for him not to imagine Mrs. Lear’s house. The more he tried not to imagine the house, the more the house’s image came into his mind.
“You are helping us very nicely,” said the woman.
“The house will be in our hands in no time,” said the younger man.
Just in time, Father Clement remembered what he told his parishioners when they complained about being distractions in prayer. “Don’t try not to think about what is distracting you. Think about God.” This time, Father Clement knew he needed to think of something more concrete to foil them, so he started to picture the rectory.
“I am afraid that is not the house we want you to picture,” said the older man.
Father Clement quickly realized that he might be putting Mary and Mark in danger from these people by imagining the rectory, so he started to make up in his head a house he had never seen; an outlandish with a topsy-turvy shape, with turrets that only a crazy architect would design.
“This house will not do, either,” said the woman.
“Good!” Father Clement spat out.
“I suggest that you imagine—OW!
A spot of blood appeared on the younger man’s face, right where Father Clement had seen something small and bright hit him.
“What was that?” asked the older man.
“Look to your feet,” said woman.
The younger man bent over picked up the object.
“A diamond!” he cried. “We’re rich—Ow!”
The younger man dropped the diamond just as both the older man and the woman cried out and spots of blood appeared on their faces.
“There they are!” cried the younger man as he pointed to the house Father Clement had been imagining.
To the priest’s astonishment, he saw three children were throwing diamonds at the three of them from the front porch of a house that was disquietingly similar to the very house he had just been trying to imagine. More disturbing still: Father Clement recognized Amarilla, the girl who had played the organ at Evelyn Lear’s funeral, and Roger and Samantha.
“Get them!” yelled the older man.
Fearing that he had endangered the three children through his attempt to save Evelyn Lear’s house and then his wife and son, Father Clement put himself in front of the steps to bar the way to the children.
“How nice it will be to have those three along with the priest,” said the younger man with an evil smile.
“The more you try not to help us, the more you help us,” said the woman.
“So, please try your best to thwart us again,” added the older man.
The three of them crowded in on Father Clement until his mind went blank. Then all three of them cried out and Father Clement could see again. The younger man was juggling a large diamond as if it were a hot potato. The woman was struggling against a necklace that was attacking her. The older man fought off a shower of diamond rings.
“Quick! To the car!” yelled the older man. “We'll get that house and that priest and those children later!”!
The younger man grabbed Father's Clement's arm and pulled him toward the car. The priest wanted to struggle, but he had no strength against him. The woman opened the door, but just as Father Clement was being pushed in, more diamonds rained down on them, one breaking a car window, another hitting the younger man in the back. Father Clement’s strength returned and he broke loose The three of them dove into their car and took off as more diamonds bounced off the vehicle.
“That showed them,” said Samantha.
Still dizzy from his ordeal, Father Clement’s legs started to give out.
“Quick! Catch him!” cried Amarilla.
And so Father Clement did not fall. He tottered over in one direction until Roger pushed him back, and then he tottered in the other direction until Amarilla pushed him back, by which time Samantha was helping Roger hold Father Clement up until he became steady on his feet once more.
“Are you okay, now?” Samantha asked the priest.
“I think so,” Father clement replied. “At least I hope so.”
The three children let go of him but stayed close for a moment to make sure he didn’t fall.
“Uh—I think I owe you a word of thanks,” said Father Clement.
“Most glad to be of help, Father Clement,” said Amarilla.
“Especially when they come along,” said Roger darkly.
“Time to pick up all the diamonds,” Amarilla announced to her siblings as if she were a substitute mother.
Amarilla stooped down to pick up the diamonds closest to her and the other children followed suit.
“I wonder what mom’s going to say when she finds out what we've done with her jewelry,” said Roger.
“She'll probably be pleased that we threw them around in a good cause,” said Samantha.
“Got them all?” Amarilla asked.
Roger collected the diamonds and counted them all.
“I count twenty-three. Is that right?”
“I think it will have to be,” said Amarilla.
“Then let’s take these back in the . . .”
“Where’s our house?” asked Samantha.
Father Clement and the children looked where he Evelyn Lear’s house had been and where he thought he had seen the strange house the children had come out of, but he saw not a sign that either house had ever been on his street.
“Did they get it after all?” Roger asked, his voice wavering.
“No, I don’t think so,” said Amarilla. “I’m pretty sure that our house went back home.”
“But we didn’t,” said Samantha.
“Uh—would you like to come into the rectory? Father Clement offered, not knowing what else he could do for the stranded children.
“What’s that?” asked Roger.
“A rectory is the house where the rector of a parish lives,” Father Clement explained. “I am the rector of this church and so I live in the church’s rectory.”
“Makes sense,” said Roger.
“Just come with me,” said Father Clement.
The priest led the children to the rectory and had just about reached the door when Mary Clement opened it and stepped out.
“John!” she called out, too distraught to notice the children who were with her husband, “I just phoned the library to ask Mark to do an errand for me and Marvella Anderson says she can’t find him anywhere!”
“Surely Mark can take care of himself,” said Father Clement, a bit peeved.
“But he never leaves like that when he’s on the job,” Mary insisted.
“Well, that would be a first if he did,” said Father Clement.
“Do you mean Mark, as in your son, Mark Clement?” Amarilla asked the priest.
Mary gave a startled look when she did notice the children and realized that she didn’t recognize any of them.
“Yes,” said Father Clement
“Then I think we had better look for him right away,” said Amarilla, looking very solemn.
“If you say so,” said Father Clement, not liking the tone of Amarilla’s voice. “Okay, Mary, we’ll go look for him.”
“Who are these children?” asked Mary.
“Friends of Mrs. Lear,” father Clement replied. “They came to her funeral.”
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After pacing up and down Main Street for several hours, Michael was beside himself. He had been on patrol since finishing his paper route, keeping his eyes peeled for signs that the kingdom of Carelin was encroaching on Milton, or that the darkness increasing. So far, he had seen no signs of Carelin, but the growing darkness was obvious enough. Walking in and out of stores accomplished nothing except earning Michael some dirty looks from store clerks who all distrusted him..
Michael’s greatest frustration was that Scott had reported seeing Karen Rosskill and Shawn Harrison disappear between two stores, but he himself could not find an entry into Carelin at that spot. Scott had also reported seeing Kevin Rosskill and Sheila Armstrong walk down the street and then suddenly disappear. But after combing the area, Michael found not a sign that anything from Carelin was intruding on Milton. He went in and out of Donna’s Donuts several times, but after five or six donuts, Michael gave up on finding anything there, either. The space warp that brought to three choristers into Donna’s seemed to have gone as quickly as it came. Michael cursed the newspaper job that made him miss the things Scott saw. At least Michael had this territory now, having dispatched Scott to the library. Even if the action should shift to there, it wasn't worth the risk of moving into his father’s line of vision.
The more that Michael looked in the blank, uncomprehending faces of the people shopping on Main Street, the obvious in became that the people of Milton had no idea how dark it was in town, even in broad daylight. Something was drawing the light away, but nobody would admit it. Most likely, everybody thought it was impossible for anybody to steal the light. Or, maybe everybody in Milton was walking in such deep darkness they wouldn't know what light was if it shone in their faces. Michael eyed the passers-by with increasing scorn. The sun had not set, but to his eyes, it was dark enough to be dusk. But nobody looked at the sky to see for themselves how dark it was getting. They didn't know what was happening. Perhaps they didn't want to know.
Frustrated with doing nothing, Michael yanked open the door to Carl’s Hardware Store once again, determined that this time it would be a shop in Carelin. It wasn't. He only saw the same old screw drivers and drill presses displayed on their neat racks. Michael paced up and down each aisle, feeling Carl’s eyes monitoring his every move. When he moved under the mirror positioned to catch shoplifters, Michael put his hands to his ears and stuck out his tongue. Then he continued his little odyssey, demanding at each turn that he find the shelves of the Dime Store in Carelin.
“Can I help you, young man?” Carl asked him, though not in a tone of voice that invited him to ask about anything.
“Got a light?” Michael asked the plump, balding man.
“What for, a cigarette? You’re too young to smoke.”
“If the surgeon general of this country is right,” said Michael, “then everybody is too young to smoke. I quit the habit myself a few months ago by a mistake. What I want is a light to see by, like a light that helps you see what your doing.”
Carl frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
“Can't you see that darkness is falling all around us and next thing we know, there won't be any light at all unless we do something to get the light back?”
“Look, I don't need kids preaching Bible Doom in my store.”
“If you want to see the light, you will!” Michael raved.
Carl grabbed Michael by the arm and pushed him out of the store. Michael did not resist him, but once he was on the sidewalk outside among the uncomprehending crowd, he could no longer contain himself.
“Can't you see that we're losing the light?” Michael cried at the people going by. “Can't you see we don't know where we're going? We've lost our warmth! We've lost everything that light can give us!”
“Tell us again, preacher!” cried a sarcastic adolescent.
Several curious people began to gather, among them the three relatives of Mrs. Lear who stood behind everybody else, clutching their black umbrellas as if they were magic wands. Michael's zeal reached the boiling point. He pointed right at them and cried out,
“And here before you is the source of the encroaching darkness. These are the people who are trying to steal the light from you!”
“Hear! Hear!”
“If you can hear, then listen to me!” Michael cried. “Just use your eyes and you’ll see for yourselves that this is a pretty dark day for a clear sunny day! If your heart weren’t so dark, you’d know how dark it—Caw! Caw! Caw!”
Michael saw all three of them raise their umbrellas surreptitiously. Michael waved his arms at them.
“Can’t you see what—Caw! Caw! Caw!”
Michael no longer knew what he was saying, as he waved his arms all the more vigorously and screeched out his warnings. More people shouted encouragement at him to egg him on. Michael yelled all the louder and waved his arms to hard that suddenly, he found himself flying. Now he really was looking down on the little ants below him who didn't know light from darkness. Now he could really belt out the word in such a way that they would have to listen. But as he Michael cried out again, he heard only a coarse cawing sound came out of his mouth. Michael flapped his large black wings in fury and flew over the streets of Milton crying out to the people who would not listen to him, but he no longer knew what his urgent message was.