What kinda pigeon is that!?

A dull day and Guy is out for a sauntering stroll, something he does regularly to keep in trim as he believes running to be far too high impact, which causes all sorts of problems on limbs and organs. He has been out for about half an hour when he spots an old, neglected church that he has wondered about a few times on his wanderings, and has promised himself that he would check out one day. Always fascinating old churches, to feel the vibes of aeons gone by and this particular decomposing building has been in a state of disrepair for quite some time. The roof and walls are still intact, the door is still in the proper place and there is a scattering of tombstones, scabbed with lichen, in the run down grave yard. In the clammy, moist mist of the grey day, it looks pretty eerie though. He moves towards the door with its flaking skin and upon reaching it finds that it swings easily open, on hinges that do not creak, unlike in the films. He takes a couple of steps in and notices a difference in the air immediately, the complete opposite to the dampness outside. In here it is really dusty, cloying almost, the type that makes you catch your breath. It is exceedingly gloomy in here too, as the windows are completely coated in years old filth and dirt, and the outside in windswept earth from countless rainstorms. A sudden flapping noise up near the altar end makes him flinch a little, but he cannot see much in the shadow and decides that it is probably just a pigeon. He takes another couple of steps into the gloom and then stops dead. There is a figure just ahead of him, what looks like a girl, possibly just a teenager. He moves carefully and quietly, not wanting to make her be startled in any way and as he draws level with her, she raises her right hand in the ‘stop’ position. Everything is as quiet as three o’clock in the morning would be. Ahead of where they are standing, Guy is able to see the silhouette of two rooms, one either side of the altar, or what seems to be the remains of the altar. There appears to be piles of old, scruffy, dirty clothes on the altar remains and he wonders if some homeless unfortunate has been bedding down in here at night. He glances around at the young female, wondering if she is going to speak at all. She looks completely on edge, but not in a scared way, more like the way a cat is when it is stalking its prey. Guy then decides to break the silence but only gets the words, “Did you hear…” out when he is shushed immediately into hush again. The girl gesticulates towards a point just behind the altar and whispers in an extremely subtle voice, “It’s behind there.” Guy looks somewhat puzzled, but finds that he replies in just as quiet a fashion, “I’m sure it’s just a pigeon, they’ll nest anywhere.”
“No. It’s a devil.” The girl spat, still in a whisper.
Guy then looks directly at this young woman with practically a half grin on his face. She’s not too bad looking either, definitely young as he had first ascertained, probably about eighteen. Slim, athletic build, bordering on skinny with mousey hair, but she is absolutely soiled. There are mud streaks, or something like it, all over her; her clothes, hands, face, the lot, it looks as if she has just camouflaged up like a soldier. So he decides right there, that she must be the homeless unfortunate that has been staying here, and perhaps he will be able to help her.
“There’s no such thing, unless you read those ghastly horror novels. P’raps you ought to lay of the juice…” but that is as far as he gets, soon to realise how you should never judge a book by its cover.
The girl suddenly moves two steps towards the altar pile, in response to a weird scuffling, clicking sound. Just like claws on a stone floor. Guy thinks perhaps it’s a big owl maybe, when the lass suddenly throws up an arm with a cross held rigidly in the end appendage, whilst simultaneously chanting some very strange words, as if she is reciting them. She is in fact, but Guy doesn’t recognize them, as it is ancient Latin from the Archived Old Testament, for exorcising demons.
“h-hey, what the hell is that?!” Guy shouts out suddenly. “That’s a funny looking pigeon!”
“I been chasing this bastard now for two weeks and I finally managed to drive it in here. Now the Bastard is going to DIE!”
Guy is completely taken aback. He stares at the girl, then at the altar. Just at that moment something scaly, winged and gargoyle looking springs up towards them, which makes Guy just freeze, like a bunny caught in headlights. At this the girl quite calmly and methodically lifts her other arm and flicks the sign of the cross with the phial she is holding towards the demon, chanting more of the strange sounding verse straight at the devil. Guy still completely unbelieving of what his eyes can clearly see shouts, “What sort of fucking bird is that!”
At exactly the same time he utters this, the holy water hits the demon. Steam is instantly everywhere and the building is completely filled with the worst high pitched wailing scream that Guy has ever heard in his life. The glass is rattling in its frames and he could swear that the floor shook. Guy’s odd looking pigeon thing scurries off, into the shadows, followed rapidly by vaporous trails of steam. The girl then very matter-of-factly, half turns her head towards Guy and says,
“Over there. That room is where all the religious tools are. Grab yourself a couple of crosses. This one’s a right bitch, so get behind me and stay there, away from it.”

Published by: Carl (I,Scalius) Peters

Got my degree at University of Cumbria (Lancaster) in English Lit and Creative Writing and now find how difficult it really is to make yourself write everyday. Hardest job in the world! Now a few years on I realise just how hard. Wordsworth was right, movement is so important to creativity...So a few years on now and over 50 walking football is seemingly the movement needed!

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