10 pages & Slim's excerpt from Darkness, Oklahoma

      I wrote 10 "keeper" pages on Murder at the Witch's Cottage tonight. As you can tell, the words just flowed. I'm replacing some scenes that were just filler with scenes that move the story along and add another layer of complexity. I'm pleased with how it's going. The story has pirates, treasure, ghosts, witches, secret passages, codes, storms, etc. It's all the fun stuff. I'm having a good time writing it.
      Oh, I added new scrollies and a new quote and update the progress bar on Murder at the Witch's Cottage.
      Slim requested page 13 from Darkness, Oklahoma, so here it is. I hope you enjoy it. (I added a few pages to complete the scene.)

       From Darkness, Oklahoma.

     Father Paul Henricks looked up from his prayer to gaze at the cross with its tortured body of Christ. He had never liked the graphic display of Christ's death. It seemed to put too much emphasis on Christ's suffering and cruel death. Christ stood for more than that. Paul recalled that the Mormons didn't have crosses in their temples and chapels. They believed that a cross was a torture device and didn't glorify it.
     Score one for the Mormons, he thought wryly. He waited a few moments before rising. Apparently the Holy Trinity had nothing to say to him today, or he was incapable of hearing it. Either way, the foyer needed to be swept, and since the Church of St. Hubert could only afford one elderly janitor, Father Paul helped Tobias as much as he could.
     Not that he minded much. It beat walking around in this forsaken town. He had been grateful to have this posting after the trouble in Ft. Smith. He had thought that he might not be allowed in the pulpit again. To receive a church seemed like a blessing from the bishop. Admittedly he knew the church was small, but he had been confident that he could build it up again. What he hadn't known a year ago was that the church was really dead and that no one in the town of Darkness cared if it died. They all had other faiths or no faiths or some New Age nonsense. Just a handful of elderly people attended the Church of St. Hubert, and they seemed more interested in filling small glass bottles with holy water than what he had to say.
     He sighed and went to get the broom and started to sweep. He enjoyed being alone in the small sanctuary. Built by German Catholic settlers in 1912, the church was a small polished jewel of a building with its polished wood pews, the black and white tile floor waxed and buffed for so many years that it held a soft glow, and the detailed representations of Saint Hubert painted on the walls. He paused to regard his favorite. It depicted Hubert in hunting gear confronting a huge stag. A glowing cross hung between the stag's antlers. The unknown painted had rendered the stag in vivid detail, proudly looking directly out at the viewer. By contrast, Saint Hubert seemed flat, only his bow and the arrow in his hand with the same detail as the stag.
     "Paul Henricks."
     Paul looked around the sanctuary. He could see no one.
     "Hello?" he called, feeling foolishly. "Is anyone here?"
     He walked toward the door.
     "Paul Henricks." The voice came from behind him.
     He whirled around. No one stood there. He backed up.
     "Who's there?" he asked. "Who's there?!"
     "Do not be afraid," the voice said. "The dark time is almost upon us. Be strong. Be wise. Remember always that you do not walk alone, and you will not fail no matter what assails you. You are called to a mighty Purpose."
     "Who is this?" Paul shouted.
     And suddenly he was surrounded by a roaring wind that whirled around him. He fell to his knees.
     "Father?"
     He scrambled to his feet to see the seamed face of Tobias.
     "Are you all right?" Tobias asked. "Did you fall?" The janitor looked concerned.
     "No. I … Did you see anyone else here?" Paul asked, looking for a rational explanation. But how could he explain the wind?
     "No, Father. Just me."
     Paul nodded, gripping a pew to keep from shaking.
     "I was just going to tell you that I was going to go and get some gas for the lawnmower," Tobias said. "I thought I'd get a doughnut from Maxine's. Did you want one?"
     "No, thank you." Paul answered.
     "Well, if you're all right, I'll be going," Tobias said.
     Paul nodded and managed a smile at the elderly man. With another close look at the young priest's face, Tobias left.
     Paul stood there in the sanctuary for a long time. Something caught his eye. He looked at the painting of Saint Hubert. Surely it was just his imagination. That's all it could be, he told himself. He had stared at the stag so much that he hadn't really paid much attention to the saint. So the saint hadn't really moved. It just looked that way.
     But try as he might, Paul couldn't convince himself.

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