Holy Ghost

Holy Ghost

A Short Story

By Laurie Boden

Jello swiped at the counter with the old dishrag more out of habit than necessity. No one had been inside the little deli since the storm started three days before. Snow plows weren't able to function and she was even surprised to see that Mikey made it in. Cops weren't patrolling, and he was the first human she'd seen out. As it was, the blizzard drove him through the door earlier and he'd set up shop at his usual place, paper spread before him, a dark coffee ring ruining the outdated copy of Times Express. TV had blown out when the kid hit the wires, and with the storm that was that.

The headlines were still relevant however, an article about the kid's amazing fall from who knew where into the high tension wires outside her store. Detective Mike jabbed at the print, leaving a memory of his usual cream cheese bagel smeared there.

“Not possible, Jel and no one's answering the pertinent questions. Where did he fall from? How is he alive, only two marks on his back where the juice jolt exited or entered, or,” a pause, “hell I don't know and neither do they. High tension wires, he should've been fried.”

“Well, he's alive and that's the miracle. Christmas you know. Maybe God smiled on him.”

“Yeah. God is smiling. A Christmas miracle. That,” he managed a weak smile, one that reminded her of their old times together, “that would be something in this day and age where people are such shits.” He leaned back on his stood and she prayed he wouldn't fall. “That aside, I've personally seen enough to know there's little of human kindness or understanding left.”

The look he gave her. Accusing, hurt, bitter, sad. He was still hurt that she'd broken off with him after her son died. Both were lonely, both cared about one another, but she wasn't up to making something with the man who refused to continue the search for Jamie's murderer. Sure he'd kept up long after the department had closed the case. No leads, nothing after a year and not enough manpower to continue following leads that lead nowhere.

She still couldn't make it right, had to end it, tie up at least those loose ends.

The sound of the jingling bell startled them both.

The hissing snow seemed to sizzle against the priest's cassock, sending up puffs of smoke as it evaporated in the warmth. A thick necklace of black beads hung about his neck, a bible clutched firmly in his hand. His beaked nose and sharp eyes gave him the look of a predator rather than a gentle man of god.

Mikey and Jello exchanged glances. The man wore no coat, only the thin raiment of the church. To that point, it had been ages since Jello had seen a priest in such an old version of a cassock, and this one was threadbare, shining in places and actually ragged at the hem. It was ancient, out of style.

“Have a seat father.” She pointed to one of the two booths, “I'll get you something hot. Tea? Coffee?”

“Yes, tea then..” He tried a smile, but it failed, withered, died. “I'm waiting for someone.”

Mikey chuckled and spun on his stool. “Father, its a wonder you made it here. It's not a day for keeping appointments.”

“Ah, this one will be kept.”

Mikey turned back to his paper and Jello set the tea on the table.

The wind screamed as the it drove the snow harder against the windows, rattling them and sending anything that was light enough into the panes. The door hadn't closed properly and banged against the wall. Jello hurried to close it.

As she did, she glanced outside and saw that there were no footprints in the snow. In fact, there should have been deep furrows in the drifts through which the priest had to traverse. But nothing.

Mikey had noticed too but went back to reading, grousing about the kid in the wires.

“This is a night of devils and angels.” The priest's voice droned. “Fallen angels you know.”

As if summoned, the door blew open again, but before Jello could get to it, another customer strolled in as if it were a warm summers day and not a full out blizzard.

Mikey covered his mouth to stifle a gasp and tapped the paper before him. It was the same kid who had fallen into the wires.

The priest stood and fumbled inside his robe for a vial of what appeared to be holy water.

The boy smiled at it and slid down into the booth beside the priest.

“We have business father.”

The priest had gone pale, his hands shaking, the water inside the bottle sloshing. His teeth began to chatter hard against one another. He took a deep breath while the boy looked on.

“Devil.”

Jello didn't know who said it, the boy or the priest. She didn't think the priest could talk through the teeth that alternately ground and clattered.

“Depends on your point of view.” the boy said.

Jello noticed that, like the priest, he wore no jacket or coat, only jeans and a short sleeved tee that had seen better days. Scruffy, as though he'd been on the street for a very long time.

“Pray for me father,” he rasped, the smile spreading all over his face like warm, melting sunshine. “Or should I pray for you? I would have prayed for you, had you fallen from grace. Instead, you paid them, paid them not only to look the other way, but to elevate you to something more.” No smiling now. “Me? I've been in limbo, waiting, waiting for this day.”

“It was one mistake.”

“There is no praying away that kind of mistake. There is no honor in deceit.”

“I came to banish you once and all.” Suddenly the priest had gathered enough spit to counter. “You will haunt me no more, not this side of the grave or on the other.”

“I paid my debt, a small one compared to yours. My sin was forbidden love.” He tapped a fingernail against his forehead. “Now I forget. Remind me what was yours?”

“I, I do not owe you an explanation or otherwise. You were consigned to hell and there you will remain.”

“Ah, but that judgment was made by men, was it not?” He looked away and then square at the priest. “I remember that beneath the earth at of St. Margaret's cathedral lie the remains of a woman. It was you who murdered her, framed her lover. He paid your debt,” he said. "Recompense for that debt has come due, with interest."

The priest looked to Mikey and Jello, suddenly frantic, his eyes crawling from one to the other and back..

“Don't listen. Dont listen to him. He's a demon, a spirit who needs to be sent back, back now.”

“In her hand the crucifix, the one missing from the belt at your waist,” the boy crooned. “You wondered where it went? She clutches it in her hand, after so many years in the grave, she holds it still.” He looked toward Mikey. “Damning, don't you agree?”

The priest's wild eyes went from Mikey to Jello, back and forth a few times more and his fingers tightened on the small bottle.

Standing up, proffering the vial before him, he began to speak in Latin as the liquid hissed, boiled.

“I have been heard and judged by a higher power than yours,” the boy said softly. “Your turn is now, and afterwards your precious sainthood will be soiled. My innocence earned a reprieve long ago, but you will only just begin your penance."

He looked toward Jello. Though his lips didn't move, she heard him clearly.

“St. Margaret's.”

The priest began to scream as loud as the storm that wailed against the windows and rattled the panes. Jello put her hands to her ears as the vial hit the boy, splattering around him, setting him aflame. The last thing she saw were the two black holes in his back as they closed and healed.

“Fallen …..”

The priest faded, the boy faded, the flames faded and disappeared, leaving the booth as it was before the confrontation, nothing but the tepid cup of tea to hint that anyone had occupied it.

“St. Margaret's?” Mikey was the first to speak.

The bones were found in an unmarked grave in the corner of the churchyard. Mikey explained to the coroner that he'd once heard a story about a girl buried in he churchyard, some passing priest who'd wandered into Jello's Deli and spun a tale. She was exhumed later, the nineteen year old girl. Puzzled, they dug a little deeper and linked the engraved cross with the Cardinal who once administered the parish. Mikey never mentioned that he had known it would be there, still clutched in the remaining bones of her hand. Incriminating evidence that caused the Church to relieve him of Sainthood and relegate him to infamy.

It solved an old mystery, laid an ancient case to rest, exonerated a young priest who'd been accused and hanged, while taking the sainthood away from a cardinal who'd been elevated for reasons unclear. A little digging showed that lots of money had changed hands for that honor.

“Fallen angel.”

“Think that explains it?”

Jello ran the rag across the counter top, glad that the snow was a melted memory and that customers were coming back. She was even happy to see Mikey, thinking maybe after all the years they'd take up again where they'd left off after her son died and she gave up, bittered, and shut her self away.

“Justice anyway.” Mikey smiled. “That's a rare commodity these days, even in the after life I guess. It doesn't seem real and I wouldn't talk about it if I were you, Jel.”

“Oh. Reminds me.” She reached under the counter and laid it out on the chipped surface.

“A white feather?” He took it up and twirled it about between his fingers.

“In the booth, on the kid's side.”

He looked at it for a while, a long while, then laid it gently back down.

“I'd hide that if I were you Jel,” he said. “Besides, it's just a pigeon feather. Somehow one must've gotten in.”

She took it and deposited it in her apron pocket.

“Yeah, probably just a pigeon feather, from one the size of a man maybe.”

They smiled.

“Java and a bagel, the usual?”

“The usual, Jello and may I say you look fine today?”

She smiled back.

“You may, Mikey. Today I think you may.”

*