David Towsey
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An extract from Ghosts-In-Waiting
1:1
For by Me Thy Days Shall be Multiplied, and the Years of Thy Life Shall be Increased
Pastor Gray scorched the church and its congregation. From the plain cloth that covered the altar to the whitewashed walls and pews, he was the noonday sun burning down on pale and ready skin. His hair was an unruly and seething mass of red knots; as a married man, it was left to grow. The Pastor's marital beard was equally as striking, covering the sides of his face, his chin, and his upper lip in a swathe of curls.
Samuel McDermott itched his own bristly head. It was the third Sunday of the moon, which meant rising early before church and cutting his hair. He and his brother Peter had taken turns with the notched and bent scissors. Filling a clay bowl with water from the well, he shaved his face. A layer of shiny black hairs covered the surface, wriggling like croaker spawn. He noticed the threads of red in the water, before he felt any cuts. Peter's water looked untouched, good enough to drink; his hair was blonde.
“We will begin today with a reading from Proverbs – Wisdom and the Foolish,” Pastor Gray said, his voice shaking the eaves.
Samuel's family were arrayed on the bench, with his mother sat next to him. Beyond her he could see the two thick yellow braids of his sister Hannah, Peter, and finally his heavyset father- like a bookend for the McDermotts.
“Tuck your shirt in, Samuel,” Ma hissed.
He fumbled at his shirt, his ungainly fingers eventually crumpling the already creased shirt into his trousers. The white cotton itched across his shoulders.
“Forsake the foolish, and live; and go in the way of understanding. Give instruction to the wise man, and he will be yet wiser,” the Pastor paused, adjusting his black cassock. Samuel imagined it would be a very hot and uncomfortable thing to wear. “Teach just a man, and he will increase in learning. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the Holy is understanding.
“But he knoweth not that the dead are there; and are in the depths of hell:
“Murderers. Deceivers. Those who act in defiance of the Good Lord. Hell is their home; a fiery and torturous embrace.
“Damnation awaits the bearer of any arm. So we ask forgiveness. Forgiveness for those of our fair town we sent to war.”
Everyone else stared down at their laps, but ma had her eyes closed and was mouthing a silent prayer.
“For those we sacrificed for our own safety: Jared Peekman,” the Pastor said. “For those we lost from our own flock, to satisfy the wolf: Daniel Harris. For those we shall remember forever: Thomas McDermott.”
Ma raised a hand to her mouth.
“For by me thy days shall be multiplied, and the years of your life increased. Amen.”
The congregation called an ‘Amen’. The Good Book closed like a peal of thunder.
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