New Year’s Eve

NEW YEAR’S EVE

Part 1; A Town Called Hannebery.

Up above the plains, cast in the hill’s wintry sea, beneath the tallest of mountains there was once a town called Hannebery.

A mill-town of soot and snow, father’s with blackened faces of toil, mother’s with worn hands but children with warm homes.

Days for work and nights for levity, the sun rose late and set early, the world was a small one for those simple people of Hannebery.

For them, there could be no pain without joy, no sorrow without glory. With as much wisdom in their eldest as in all the tome’s stories.

Though, even those good people of Hannebery, humble and true, could not dispel the feeling in the air, which comes only once the year has grown old and promises to return again, anew.

Never has there been a year of only joy nor one of complete despair. But this year, for which this eve struck the death, had reigned over the people a tyrannical heir.

A year where Pestilence, Famine, and War had each taken their share, and many others still were claimed in Death’s snare.

A lesser evil than they, but as cunning and greedy as any, now swooped into the land. A Demon of coiled smoke and shroud, with purpose most foul and reputation most proud.

Its voice was silk, and its promises were spiderwebs, traps for the unsuspecting and desperate. And while there was little food here, the Demon would need no more than the pleasure of mortal fear.

Yes, in the shadow of the tallest mountain the town of Hannebery lies, but that was not what rested in the Demon’s eyes.

There were no tired mills-men returning home, no young lover’s resting in the moonlight, nothing living in the gaze of the beast. He saw only his victims, the many houses lined before him, a feast.

Part 2; Three Deals.

Alone he sat in his home, alone say for the lifeless child resting by the hearth. A Grieving Father remained hand-in-hand with his son’s newly cold body, a body he raised since birth.

He knew, yes he knew, that soon that familiar face would be buried beneath the earth. But he would not be denied this time to feel his son, what little it might be worth.

Pen on parchment, parchment stained in the tears of grief, the lowly Father tried to write of his son’s passing, his boy’s life cut brief.

The words would not come forth, impenetrable was the icy wall of sorrow. Might he try again at first light? When this wretched year had passed. Perhaps tomorrow.

What would a grieving Father give to have his son return if not for one more tomorrow? While the boy’s hand was pale and cold, the home was alight with the hearth’s orange glow.

A malevolent wind swept through the cracks of the house, meeting at its center, until a figure took shape. A tall cloaked being, translucent as morning mist but daunting in figure had now entered.

The Grieving Father felt it’s chill, but did not dare take his eyes from the sallow face of his fallen son. He had no desire to leave his boy and was never one to run.

“A tragedy it is, to see a Father’s will, yet young but heart made still. Traveling the proper path, knowing the way, returning home from war only to die the next day.”

Wearied and grieving the words hung like hymns in the Father’s ears but he was no fool. “What is this ill-wind which speaks to me? Sharing words both kind and cruel.”

Twisting like a serpent, the Demon placed itself beside the Father with false compassion.       “No Father, no cruelty do I offer, only hope. I will not jest. I come to you on this eve a fellow griever and guest.”

“Lie not to me you twisted thing! You forked tongue serpent!” The Father’s rage bellowed, but his hand trembled, and his eyes wept in lament.

“Nay Father, I deceive you not. May all thieves burn and deceivers rot. I stand here before you Father with not a single dishonest thought.”

Trembling still, the father looked on the Demon, not falling for it’s disguised will. It’s misty form and blazing eyes were known to him even still.

“You’re a spirit, one which takes. You will take of me? Take then. Take, take and take all you see. I have nothing left, nothing I value or that will be of any value to thee.”

“Yes Father, I take, but only so others may receive. I have come from afar to this town of Hannebery. Following where the Westwind blew; I have come here tonight for three, Father, and one of them is you.”

“Well, as I say, go on then and take, Spirit. I will not stop thee, take me if you want. All my wrongs have been righted and the soil of my future is in ruin, blighted.”

“But it need not be so, Father. Things could be different. Only one wish, that’s all you need to pay and then I could grant you just one more day.”

“One more day?” The Father’s downcast stare fell upon the ever-paling face of his son. He had taught him to be strong, to be honest, but horror had still won.

“Yes, Father, I can offer just the one, as I am merely a humble spirit. As for hopes that come his second passing your grieving will be lessened, you will have my blessing.”

With another squeeze of his boy’s lifeless hand, cold to feel, a single tear fell from his cheek to his son’s, he spoke. “Very well spirit. We have a deal.”

He extended his hand to the Demon, it’s blazing eyes looking hungrily upon it. “Good Father! Good! Let us both win the night! You with your son’s precious moments and me with a unique delight!”

At the touch of the Demon’s ghostly hand, the Father felt scolding heat and swirling wind, the fire in the Hearth flickered. The Demon now stood by the door, filling the air with a joyful snicker.

“Enjoy your prize dear Father, enjoy it well. For I must be going now, there is still a great deal to do. I came to this town with three wishes and am left now with two.”

And so, the Demon traveled amidst the shade of night. Until his blazing eyes fell upon a most welcomed sight.

Two young lovers, coiled betwixt each other, laying out beneath a tree under the light of the moon. It would be to them that the Demon would propose his next boon.

The lovers held each other close for warmth as the night air only thinned where they lay. Rather to be together and cold than warm and alone, as they would be, come break of day.

On the hill slope they said their goodbyes, words and gestures but the pain did not subside. It was love, she was certain, it wasn’t some fleeting fancy they were not merely friends. What would they give to never let this day end?

But it would end, she knew it to be so. And then he would leave her and off to war he would go. In life or death, he would never return. Lest his disapproving parents be spurned.

Then a voice, a quiet whisper which danced and swayed on the wind. “Oh sorrow! Oh why?! A miserable shame to let something so beautiful die!”

The young Lover turned to her other, but he had fallen into a peaceful sleep. “Who is out there in the dark who both sings and weeps?”

Like thread from cloth, the Demon peeled from the shadows unmasking itself. The Lover clung to her other in fear at this sight. Near as tall as the trees it towered over her with graceful might.

“Don’t be scared child. I’m merely the winter’s wind, nothing more. I’m afraid it’s your love that I have come to adore.”

“You know of our Love?” The Lover spoke. “Yes, I’ve seen it all before.” The Demon covered its face forlorn, as prudent as a rose masking its venomous thorns.

The cloaked being swayed and sobbed with utter dismay. “Oh, how it pains me that they all must end this way!”

“End? End! So, it is to end then. But why? Why should others be allowed to have their loves? All except for mine.”

The looming monster knelt before The Lover; his long weightless finger perched under her chin.  She was sobbing now fully but saw only great care in the creature’s eyes, no sin.

Their eyes having met, the demon placed its hand on its smoky chest. “My dear, I assure you, I’m a master of the heart. But there is no greater woe than when you take two who are one and tear them apart.”

His shrouded hands came together and then fell away, the Lover watched only saddened further by the Demon’s moving display.

“But there must be another way! Something more I can do, something more I can say! This is Love! I say love! How could something so strong, so fierce be as fragile as the dove?”

The Demon watched the Lover with a careful stare, all the while letting her wallow in despair. “I’m sorry my dear.”

She wept heavily, and then wept some more as her other lay sleeping, not a stir nor snore. “If this is to be the final moments together we spend, then I only wish that this day would not end.”

The Demon rose, as high as the trees, a smile of fire lined its face with glee. It had won again and was nearly there, now only needing to finish the deal with the Lover most fair.

An excitable roar shook the lover to ask, “What is it? Was it something I said?” the Demon looked down from on high, “A most wonderful idea just entered my head!”

It’s twisting shapeless body fell to all fours locking eyes with The Lover who dared not ignore. “A day without end! Of course! A day forever for you and yours, or until your heart has begun to mend.”

The Lover’s eyes opened wide in hopeful surprise. “Can you do it? Is it possible? Are you one who is so wise?”

“My dear, I can do anything for a price!” The Demon shrunk down to the height of the first branches extending a hand still nearly the size of her. “One wish, one deal, that’s all that need be mine. Then your love is freed from the treachery of time.”

A grateful smile beamed forth from her face, staring up at the Demon as if somewhere inside its blackened shroud lay some hidden grace.

Eagerly their hands met, and before the Lover could give her thanks the spiteful burn of hot coals rushed through her, the snow kicked up in mounds and the trees themselves did splinter.

She fled back to her other, his eyes still a daze as the Demon roared with triumphant laughter loud as a cannon’s blaze.

“Thank you, my dear! I’m happy to help! May your love be as boundless as the sky! For your endless love’s triumph is also mine!”

“I really must be going now young Lover, there is still much to be done. I came to this town with three wishes and now have only one.”

Again, the Demon took flight, so large was it now that he blackened the starry night. With him came a boundless dark, his laugh echoing through the town a menacing bark.

No searching did he need, he came to this garden of man knowing from the start where to plant his final seed.

The Chapel of Hannebery rested alone in solemn candlelight. Alone within it’s cold stone walls lay the Old Man, a former mayor, his breath short and eyes heavy, facing his final fight.

He had never been a man, even when young, for the right or wrong. He was a man of pleasure of leisure and for leading the throng.

As a father he was a failure, no more than an errant messenger, a drowning sailor. Riding the ship with a merry band, only to crash in sight of land.

A rosary in hands tightly clasped, he would pray the night away until his final breath had been gasped.

Holding tight to beads which for him held no meaning, in a stony throne which in his eyes had long ago ceased its gleaming.

He had governed an honest people as a liar and cast the hungry into the cold rather than granting them a seat by his fire or passage through his threshold.

Even now, the Old Man lay on his death bed with no feelings of remorse. No regard for those he left behind or let down, only content that he kept his course.

Still, the fear gripped him, held him and stayed him, wishing more than anything if granted one final whim. He would prolong his demise and keep the night, let never again the sun to rise.

In answer to his prayer, his final wish of death, the chapel doors burst forth in a wintry breath. The candles which lit the chapel with light so thin were blown to smoke as a shadow entered, and with it a dreadful din.

A creature, gaseous in form, entered the church. Wading through the center of the pews, beside the tired Old Man it took its perch.

Tall and lean in its cloak, it hummed a tune as soft as angels but gifted from the devil came its smile. The Old Mayor observed the creature for which he had been praying all the while.

 “Oh Mercy! Oh, Mercy be! Please Sire, cast not this one into the pyre. Oh Mercy! Oh Mercy, please! Cast not your light but save the night, save now this dying man I see!”

The Old Man’s face, withered and worn, looked upon the ghastly form. Seeing eyes which had been blind a lifetime whole, he saw the creature for what it was but greeted it as a friend not foe.

“Please spirit no need for such trickery here, I’ve been praying all night for you to appear. Tell me, to what bits of my fate am I privy? Will I be cast into the void or be locked away in the burning city?”

“Yes, Old Man, I heard you from far away and traveled with the greatest of haste. You have my thanks, for it is only your call which allowed me entry into this hall of the chaste.”

“I was afraid, I do admit, that you would not be granted entry.” The Demon smiled in reply, “A home is only as sacred as those inside it, only as well guarded as its final sentry.”

“Good!” Praised the Old Man, “You of course know spirit, I require no sway. I desire your dark magic, a deal, a wish, anything to stop the coming of day.”

“Indeed, Old Man, you will be dead come first light unless saved by my merciful might. But make your wish and make it true and I’ll keep the sun pressed beneath your purview.”

“One shake of hand and you’ll find Death to be quite compromising. Make with me this deal and the sun will never dawn that horizon.”

The Demon was roaring now, gesticulations which seemed almost giddy. His words were sweet, the tone triumphant and the voice most nearly pretty.

“Very well, Spirit, I ask but for one condition.” The Demon leaned in with blazing eyes. “Name it! But be quick and keep in mind your position lest I take you now to perdition.”

“It is no more than simple curiosity which rests in my mind, but before we conclude and you send away, tell me who are you that stands at my bedside.”

The Demon laughed, as if hearing a joke with satisfaction most pure. “An odd request indeed, but certainly, then your mortal problem I will cure.”

“My brothers and sisters would lie all alike. They would claim it was they who pierced the prophet with the pike. As sure as with the Spring comes rain, they would swear it was they who corrupted Cain.”

 “But nay, Old Man, not I. In my heart I hold no lies. I wield not the weapons of my kin, not the fires of hell nor corruption of sin.”

“I am the sleepless night and the restless day. I am the words you wish you had said and the words you fear you must say.”

“I am the bell’s first and final chime. I am the passing of time. I am everything that could be and nothing that can’t. The need for the simple and desire for the opulent.”

“I am every mother’s fret, the monster under every child’s bed, the battle from which the brave soldier fled. I am even the dashed dreams rotting inside your head.”

“I am in earnest Fear, Regret and Grief. Breaking the locks and seeping through cracks, I do not take but leave behind my scar, a generous thief.”

“I have and will visit any and all who dwell from the highest of Heaven to the deepest of Hell. All that live in this kingdom of man will do so under my spell!”

The Demon stood by the chapel window as thunder cracked. In the lightning it was revealed, the horns atop its head and the wings which pierced its back.

The Demon slithered its vaporous form over the bed, its voice no longer loving but morose. “Now, Old man, all that remains is for you to take my hand and this deal endorse!”

The Old Man looked back in amazed horror, “Aye, Spirit, your end of the deal you did satisfy, now allow me to shake your hand and this deal ratify.”

His frail hand came forth, shaking its way from out his covers. The Demon had claimed his third; A dying Old Man, Grieving Father and a pair of Young Lovers.

A flash of heat struck the Old Man’s cold heart in surprise. The wind swept the chapel into frenzy but the Old Man only cared that his end had been denied.

The Demon pointed to the window as he bellowed with smoke and fire. “You have your wish Old Man, never again will the sun rise and bring with it Death’s mournful lyre.”

“So long as you do as promised and cling to your life, night will rule this town of Hannebery and I will stay for you the Scythe.”

With a manic laugh the Demon grew to the rafters of the church, tall and daunting. The Old Man feared briefly he would be trapped there beneath the Demon’s haunting.

“No need to fear Old man, you have completed the seal and now darkness has won! I came to this town with three wishes and will rule it with none!”

The Demon erupted from the Chapel a cloud of darkness in the sky, the people gathered to stand and witness. Landing, an odious mountain, the Demon loomed over the center of town an illness.

“Listen one and listen all, good people of Hannebery! I am no stranger to your town, no aimless wanderer and thank you for your hospitality!”

“For it is now that we finally meet, under a fate sealed by your own self-deceit! You believe the day of renewal to be drawing near, but it has been locked behind a shroud sewn in your fear!”

“For your fear of loss, of love and of death, you are charged the greatest fee! By my power there will be no tomorrow! No New Year for this town of Hannebery!”

Part 3; A Mission comes to Hannebery.

Through the snow and over the hills a traveler ventures horseless, wandering off the beaten path away from the roads but not course-less.

In warm bursts his breath doth break the night air. Walking with sagacious purpose, though not even he is sure of when or where.

As he marched ahead, he knew only that it was the most hopeful and dreadful of days. New Year’s Eve would soon succumb to New Years’ Day, awaiting only the sun’s golden rays.

But, checking his watch, he deduced that the night had grown curiously long. There was no yield on the horizon as the night hung overhead opaque and strong.

The Mission trekked to the top of the final hill, looking over top for what he might see. In the near distance lay a town, the town of Hannebery.

Even at a distance, the town appeared in disarray. The folk were about with a bustle and a bellow and a dark cloud perched over in a most sinister way.

Cloaked in a brown winter jacket, his trunk strapped to his back with all that he might bring. His possessions were few; the pipe he smoked, a book he would not open and psalms he would never again sing.

At the edge of Hannebery he did wait. Observing the scene and understanding the town’s tragic fate. The Demon at the center towered terrible and tall. Praising its victory and gloating their fall.

Not one of the people noticed the Mission as he watched deliberately. None except for a young woman who approached him as Commissary.  

“You there, sir! My neighbor, my friend! I must warn you to turn back from this place before you meet your end.”

Greeting the woman with a bow and nod, he saw no need for any tricks or façade. “Nay madame I think not, this appears to be exactly the place I’ve sought.”

The trunk, the book and the psalms all were now seen by the Commissary. “You’re a man of the Church, of the cloth, a Missionary?”

“I am merely a traveler of both the Eastern and Western shore, nothing more. I believe I can, perhaps, solve this problem of yours.”

“Tell me, with whom in the town has the Demon shared their hearth. For only through dark wishes could such power be birthed.”

The Commissary led the Mission to a house in town center where a mob of torchlight raged and bellowed but dared not enter.

She cried out at the crowd that they could remain but should go no farther, for inside of this home was a cursed and Grieving Father.

Angered and afraid, the mob of hate and torch would not disperse instead looking prepared to set fire to the porch.

“Please listen! I bring an outsider, a Mission! He promises to try all that he can to remove this ghastly vision!”

At first the mob did not move, but the Demon descended so suddenly he scattered them like wind through straw. The titanic beast roosted over the home regarding the Mission with its fiery maw.

“This is what you bring?! Whose praises you sing?! This be he? The final hope of Hannebery?!” The Demon scoffed, “Just some faithless missionary!”

The Mission did not stumble or stir, “Hello, fiend, would you mind stepping aside so I may see this kindly sir? This man whose home you did invade and with whom you conducted your first wicked trade.”

 “Oh, Mission! You come here as a hero but have you any heart? You wish to enter this home of a grieving father and ask him to let his son depart?”

The Demon accused with a sneer but in the Mission beat a heart without fear. “I will do no harm but will do what I must. I will ask the Father to accept that his son passed in Winter’s gust.”

“Very well, to me it matters not if you wish to cast your life in with this lot. For now, that Commissary stands beside you a believer but only until you fail to sway the griever.”

The Demon lifted itself from atop the estate and would watch with pleasure as the Mission grappled with fate.

The Commissary and The Mission entered through the door and what they saw harkened back to the resurrections of yore.

In the room, still bright from the hearth and firelight, were two figures speaking softly but of what they could not say. One was a father with his countenance restored and the other a boy with eyes glassy and skin grey.

The floorboards creaked beneath The Mission’s feet, The Father turned, his eyes puffy but his smile homey and sweet.

“Hello there stranger and hello there, friend. I apologize for not welcoming you myself but to my son I first needed to tend.”

The Mission stood without words, silently reflecting. The Commissary spoke, “It’s quite alright Father, I’m sure no company were you expecting.”

“No, but I was still hoping! I began to think my friends had left me here alone. But its quite alright, I would gladly trade them all to have my son returned home.”

The Father placed his hand on the boy’s greying shoulder. “My boy has been brought back to me! Though his voice is much quieter and his skin a bit colder.”

“Though I had been afraid, I’m now happy I made the deal with that ghostly knave.” The Commissary watched as the boy’s chest rose and fell, he was alive but quiet as the grave.

The Father gestured to the Mission. “Who is this man you’ve brought with you, you haven’t yet said? I’d like very much to introduce him to my son.” Mission, “Your son is dead.”

The Mission’s words were blunt and sober, smoking his pipe without looking the boy’s way. The Commissary was struck silent, surprised that this would be the first thing the Mission should say.

The Father clutched his son as he spoke, “No good sir! You are mistaken!” The Mission shook his head. “You haven’t saved your son father only dragged him from rest when he should have remained forsaken.”

The Father spat venom in his words, “I know what you are Mission, you speak for your God! Well I’ll hear it not, if that God would take my son, then he is nothing to me but a fraud!”

“It is not God that I speak for, I am here now not by the church but as a solemn arbiter. To anger you is not my will, father, I am a man of reason and such a thing does not yield with the passing of seasons.”

“For as one well knows with sound mind and with logic in its stead, the living world is for the living and the next is for the dead.”

“Enough liar I will not hear it!” The Father’s voice was seething. “How can you say such things when my boy sits before you alive and breathing?”

“You may call me a liar Father, but it is you who is deceiving. You did not bring the boy back to save his life but only to stop your heart from grieving.”

“You dare question the love I hold for my son?! I who would endure hell and welcome it not for a thousand days with him but just this one!”

“I would never question if your love for him was pure. In life you loved him and would have done anything for him, I’m sure.”

“However, if you loved him Father, loved him as you said, with your every breath. Then you mustn’t cease your love now, but learn to love him as you had in life, in death.”

“But why Mission, why should I to the next world my love send? When the others have told me the Demon has granted me a day without end.”

“The Demon has given you nothing, from you has only taken. Used your misery and grief so that he could his dark powers awaken. I know, believe me, I know. Your heart is filled with sorrow, but you must lift the wish and bring about tomorrow.”

“You will not look at him. Will not see my boy. Look! Look on him Mission I do employ! Look at the child I do compel then tell his father to damn him to hell.”

“I will not look Father, though I wish I had seen him at his best. I will not look on him now as he is, but I will sit and grieve beside you when you put him to rest.”

“While I cannot speak of Gods or any deity, I bring with me the truth of reality. Your son was more than just blood and bone, he will always be with you and you will never be alone.”

“If you’ll permit me Father I have only one more thing to say, then you can make your decision either way.”

“While I will not look, I implore you to see that which you believe to be Heaven sent. If you look closely you will see that it is not your son, but something else, broken and bent.”

The Father took his son’s familiar face in both hands with a sorrowful tremble. Looking deep into his eyes he saw there was barely any of the boy the body so greatly resembled.

“My boy! My boy is gone!” The Father began to weep. “I took my son away, took him from his peaceful sleep.”

“Tell me, Mission. Tell me please, how am I to let go? Everyday without him will be misery, no time will be enough to forget that my boy is buried in the snow.”

“It’s true father you will never forget, and the pain will hardly lessen but therein lies the greatest lesson. You don’t live on to forget this December, you live on to keep him in your heart and always remember.”

The Father hugged his son in one final embrace. The Mission sat beside him, but would not look the boy in his pale face.

“I’m so sorry my son. To have you back I would’ve taken all and spared none, but while I must leave you in this world, one day I will see you in the next one.”

The Mission puffed his pipe as the boy finally spoke. “I’m tired. Can I rest now dad?” The Father kissed his forehead tenderly, “Yes, it’s time to rest. Until I see you again, my lad.”

The Father lay his son down and closed the eyes of his heir. The boy’s breaths came slower and slower. When they finally ceased a strange calm returned to the air.

Lifted was the curse and bested was the wish. Now just two wishes were left to fight. But first the Mission and Commissary sat with The Father for hours in the endless night.

The boy was brought out to the snow to be buried. Off to the next world, whatever it may be, his spirit was ferried.

The Mission dragged the pipe and puffed up smoke as one by one the mob returned but without their torches, they gathered round the grave a remorseful folk.

“Let this not trouble you Father, you’ve done the impossible and bested sorrow. Thanks to you and your sacrifice we might soon see tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Mission.” The Father replied with a grateful grin. Above them lurked the Demon who witnessed the scene, much to his chagrin.

Watching with great hate, the Demon had only two more seals having lost the battle for grief. “It matters little, whatever victory they believe they’ve won will be hollow and brief.”

The Commissary spoke, “On behalf of the town, Mission, we must thank you.” The Mission waved it off. “To the Father all credit is due, we’ve only vanquished one wish there still remain two.”

“Tell me Commissary, this beast thrives on the fearful and the tragic. With whom else may he have used his dark magic.”

Thinking hard, the Commissary knew her people better than the ocean does the tide. With great certainty she led the Mission to the hillside.

With purpose they marched on, until the Demon descended threatened by the formidable duo. Its smoky shroud stood between them and The Lovers, playing the role of a twisted Juno.

“You’ve bested my first wish, you must feel clever, but you’ll not be so lucky with the others. You could talk sense into a reasonable man, but can you reason with a pair of young Lovers?”

“Impressive as you were in handling the first one, separating a father from his son. Here you will have not the aid of truth, not when confronted with the ignorance of youth.”

The Mission smiled, “Right you are Demon, this ought to be quite the challenge. But if you are as confident as you say, let us fail and grant us passage.”

With a hiss the Demon spoke, “Hear me now you faithless swine! You cannot save these people whose fate I’ve sealed, Hannebery and all inside it are mine!”

On his pipe The Mission took a puff and a drag. Wordless the Commissary watched the bearded man walk past the Demon without one word or brag.

On the hillside remained the two young Lovers. They hadn’t moved but remained in the arms of one another.

The Young Lover clung to her other, watching over the endless night. Though, happy as she was, since her wish had been granted her other had not held her as closely or as tight.

Something was wrong, but she dared not believe it, dared not say. She was in love and everything was right, so long as tomorrow was kept at bay.

“A long night it has been, this last of December. Though a more beautiful view I could not have picked, beneath such starry splendor.”

The Mission spoke as he did calmly approach. He knew with someone so young he would need to ease his way into words of reproach.

The Lover observed them both cautiously, “Hello there friend and hello there stranger. We have decided to stay out here as we heard the town is a stir with danger.”

“I am certain if you were to venture to town you would be given quite the fright. Yes, you are quite better off here basking in such a lovely sight.”

The Lover prodded, “Well then sir what brings you out this way? Shouldn’t you be in town dealing with that monster which has stolen the coming of day?”

The Mission smirked, “The young do lie with such grace and ease. They care little for the world around them and only their own needs do they desire to appease.”

Offended spoke the Lover, “Why would you say such a thing sir? I know you not and am certain that such disrespect I did not incur.”

“Nay, my dear, no disrespect merely an observation. The young are not yet concerned with what is real but only governed by potent sensation.”

“It was of course you who made the second deal, of this you have lied. But if we must endure endless night, I suppose for true love I could abide.”

The Lover spoke hopefully, “Do you speak to me now in honesty? If so, I will beg your pardon for my lie with great modesty.”

“I do. For I would never approach a pair in true love with intent to steal it. However, I must ask a young Lover when it is, she most readily feels it.”

“If you can spare me the time madame I would surely love to hear. When is your love most potent, when to you is your other most dear?”

The Lover smiled, delighted by the question. “I love him most when I feel us pulled along the same course.” The Mission nodded, “Yes, love and fate seem to be birthed from the same source.”

The Lover continues, “I love him most when we speak of our future in tones quite serious.” The Mission affirms, “Love’s sway over our future is a matter most mysterious.”

“I love him most when we hold each other at dusk and with our whispers we share.” Mission, “…Between true Lovers there can be no secrets, everything must be left bare.”

“Thank you Mission I knew you’d understand, such feelings cannot be denied when sent from above.” The Mission shook his head. “No, my dear I would never impede true love.”

“Excellent!” The Lover sang. “Then with your blessing off we will go. We wish you the best kind Mission in finding another way to slay that phantom foe.”

The Mission halted, “If you could please grant me one more moment of your attention. I have but one more story I should like to mention.”

“Please sway me no further Mission, I will fall for no stories from psalms or tome.” The Mission assured, “Fear not my lady, this story is my own.”

“There was a time when I was in love you see. Long before I had ever heard of such a place as Hannebery.”

“My love was everything, she was strong and smart and beautiful. For her I would do anything, I was steadfast, loyal and dutiful.”

“At that time, I had yet to lose faith. With her beside me I remained a believer. Life was a dream those days. Until, one day, came the fever.”

“I sat by her bedside as her strength waned and her life began to slip. ‘twas not until she died, when home no longer felt so, that I began my fateful trip.”

The Lover gasped, “Dear Mission, say it’s not so that your travels come at such a cost? How could one lurch on when their love they have lost?”

 “While she is gone, my love is not, it grows stronger with each passing of day. Without any faith left in my heart it is to her now that I pray.”

“It is a shame; I know my love is real only through this horrid trick. But you cannot know love at its purest ‘till you hold them while their sick.”

“You know not love, not in its most subtle way, until you’ve heard their voice crack and watched their hairs turn grey.”

“For love is tomorrow, and still everyday yet to come. It is not a few mere moments or a pair of cherished days, it is all of them, the sum.”

The Lover began to cry, “But what if your love is doomed to pass?” The Mission replied, “True love, my dear, will always last.”

“It is not love which brought you to imprison your other in a day without end, it is fear that compels you but through love this deed you can amend.”

The Lover pleaded, “But in this endless day together we can thrive! If tomorrow were to come, I can’t be certain that our love would survive.”

The Mission sighed, “Love is not love until it has sweat the summer and survived the fall, Love that has gone untested, my dear, is no love at all.”

“If you believe your fate to be sewn as tightly as the suture, then release this day and tomorrow build together a future.”

The Lover turned to her other with a look of remorse, “Please my love, what would you have me do?” The other spoke. “I would have you trust in me, that I will do my best to find my way back to you.”

With that the Lover wept but nodded her consent. “Very well Mission, let the spell be broken. I only hope our love lasts even when he ventures across the ocean.”

“I thank you greatly if my gratitude you’ll allow. Through your selflessness we’ve almost brought daylight back to this frightened town.”

The Mission turned to the Commissary, “The second spell has been undone. I entered this town faced with three wishes and long have I suspected where to find the last one.”

The Commissary watched as the Mission’s gaze fell upon the distant chapel. The sorrow in her eyes spoke to a truth which she dared not tell.

Passing through town, they were greeted with murmurs and whispers of a hopeful village. They now knew, could sense, this man was here to set them free from the demon by whom they’d been pillaged.

Reaching the chapel doors, they each stopped, feet away the two stood. “I wish you luck Mission, but this you will do alone, my presence here will do you no good.”

“I think not. I need you now more than ever Commissary. Without you this next wish cannot be lifted, beyond this door rests your destiny.”

She looked on the Mission with a set of knowing eyes. “Beyond these doors my father rests. In self pity and sickness, he slowly dies.”

The Mission nodded, his gaze caring but no pity or hesitation could she find. She had decided she would follow him as a voice slithered from behind.

 “Of the both of you I have had quite enough! No more tricks, no more words, this time I will call your bluff!”

“You’ve bested grief with kindness and love with reason. But each had hearts quite pure. How are you to convince a dying man whose heart knows only treason?”

The Demon spoke with ire. “In order to protect my final spell, I will not leave such a thing to chance. I will accompany you both into the chapel.”

The Mission smiled, “Very well, Demon. I only believe it be fair. You can witness as I break your final seal and cast you back to your lair.”

Into the church entered the trio, greeted as they were by faint candlelight. In the corner, alone, by the window, the Commissary saw her father, a woeful sight.

An Old Man with breath shallow and bone frail. Withered and warn, a well-traveled wanderer at the end of his trail.

“Visitors? Ah, well it has been a while. Far longer still since I’ve seen the eyes of my own child.” The Old Man spoke from the comfort of his bed but did not so much as turn his head.

The Demon spoke, “It is I Old man, your most trusting gift giver. I warn thee, listen not to your daughter nor this silver tongued grifter.”

“Fear not spirit, you remain my only friend. Neither of these two, one blood and one stranger, could convince me to meet my end.”

The Demon wore a rueful smile as he stood in the corner content. The Mission walked to the bed and sat beside it, placing in the Old Man’s hand a copper cent.

The Old Man laughed, “Bribery, stranger, is this your best plan.” The Mission looked out the window. “No Old Man, I hear you may need it for the ferryman.”

The Old man looked on it. “You’re a persistent one but spare me your pretty words. Nothing you can say will bring me to the beaks of carrion birds.”

The Mission nodded, “Why fret the birds? When you die, you’ll have no need of flesh or bone.” The Old man, “You have no play. Appeal to my compassion and reason if you like but of such things I’ve never known.”

The Commissary, “Please you must listen to him, he is right father!” The Old Man, “You bring her here to convince me! She means nothing, in blood alone she is my daughter.”

“I tried to tell you Mission; against him I can do nothing.” Spoke the Commissary. The Demon laughed, “Not even his daughter can sway him! Your plan has failed Mission! Oh, sweet misery!”

The Mission sat quietly smoking seemingly dejected. His plan had all but failed him and his appeal to reason had been rejected.

He had entered the church with a long-plotted plan only to watch as the Old Man made up his mind well before his speech had ever began.

The Mission spoke at last. “I came to this town same as the Demon, hearing your call, for you I must appeal. He has granted you endless life, its true, but what if I were to offer you a better deal?”

With a vulpine grin the Old Man spoke, “Please stranger do tell! What more than endless life could you offer? A ticket to Heaven and away from Hell?”

The Mission shrugged, “I am no usher to the gates of fire or light, to such things I could scarcely attest. I only know that for you to die, Old Man, t’would be best.”

“Alive you are, as was your wish, but rotting in bed does not match a man of your stature. Are you to simply lay here, old and weak until the end of time or until rapture?”

“What I will offer you Old Man, is true immortality. To be remembered a king, a hero, where your reputation will always be one of honor and quality.”

The Old Man regarded The Mission skeptically, “What do you propose? How could you grant me something so great that the spirit’s wish I would dispose?”

The Demon warned, “Listen not Old Man he is a liar! As wicked and the Pardoner and as thieving as the Friar!”

“Quiet Spirit! From you I have heard all that I will! Alive though I may be, I am still trapped here, staring out this windowsill!”

The Mission continued, “Inside this chapel stands only us three. An Old Man, a Mission, and a Commissary. What would the town think if they were to hear that of us all it was you who set them free?”

“Why then, on the entire town you would have had a positive effect. And while for this you would care little, the town would care greatly and in your honor a statue they would erect.”

“Think of the songs they would sing! To all that they would tell your story! A once proud mayor, an Old Man, the greatest hero of Hannebery!”

The Old Man laughed. “You are a devious one, aye? A hero you say. That would truly be the day! But such a thing you cannot give to me, thus I can’t move forward with any certainty.”

The Mission replied, “What you say is true Old Man, such a thing I cannot deliver. But it is not my word you need; it is your daughter who holds your hopes in her quiver.”

The Old Man locked eyes with The Commissary, who looked on in surprise. She could not believe what she was hearing, The Mission selling snake oil and lies.

The Mission kept on, “Over the town your daughter holds great influence. For the story to spread it would take her little effort, barely a pittance.”

In his hand The Old Man turned the copper coin. “Will you do it daughter? We are not close and never have been, but you are my only child and I your only father.”

“You have always cared so deeply for this useless town. Promise me this or I will live, and this town will, in darkness, drown.”

The Commissary was not sure how to proceed, not until she saw the serious look in the Mission’s eyes did she concede.

“Very well father, I will allow this deal to be done. We will paint you a hero and celebrate if you give us back the sun.”

The Old Man shook his head, “We are not yet done. Songs! I want there to be songs that are sung! And… and Holidays! A single date! Once a year my sacrifice the town must celebrate!”

The Commissary agreed. “Deal, you terrible monster and horrible father.” The Old Man snickered “A terrible father I may be, but I make for an excellent martyr.”

The Old Man laughed and laughed as the Demon spoke, “Old Man I do Implore only once more, heed my warning before I exit the Chapel door!”

Through laughter the Old Man yelled, “Away Spirit! What do I need you for? These two have come to me with a deal, and to me they have offered more!”

The Demon stood quietly its blazing eyes downcast. Lamenting only that it had come to this town with three wishes and had now lost its last.

The Mission dragged his pipe. “So, Old Man do we have an accord? In life you would be a sick old man, but in death you will be remembered as a lord.”

“Yes stranger, yes! We have ourselves a deal indeed! In life I ruled them and fooled them and in death I will still own Hannebery!”

The Mission extended his hand as all through the chapel the Old Man’s laughter spread. Until at last their hands came apart and the Old Man lay quiet and dead.

There were no final confessions no sorrowful goodbyes, but as he passed, through the chapel window came the light of sunrise.

As the Mission stood, he took the coin and placed it back in his coat. It seemed the Old Man would be empty handed when he met Charon by the boat.

With a heavy sigh spoke The Commissary. “I suppose, to honor the deal, I ought to tell the people of the hero of Hannebery.”

The Mission spoke kindly, “I believe you should. For the people to hear of the great woman who saved them I can think of no greater good.”

The Commissary looked on him with confusion. “I don’t understand. Was all that you said to him lies? Some grand illusion?”

“Your father’s mind was sick, and his heart was rotten. A soul so bitter is best left here in the chapel, forever forgotten.”

The Demon roared indignantly, “You cheated! You simply played on his insanity! Now you say you won’t even honor the promises you made to appease his vanity!”

“I deny your victory, and this result I protest! You failed my final test only winning by breaking the rules of the contest!”

The Demon swooped forward and from the Mission’s face he stood merely an inch. But the Mission stared back, not a falter nor a flinch.

“I am here to save the living not those who should have rightly died. I never claimed any ethics, I will win with both the ugliest of truths and prettiest of lies.”

“You think of me as no more than a lowly Mission, but it was I who trumped your ambition. I am the dawn which pierces the veil of night, the Spring warmth which banishes Winter’s plight.

“When there are those who are trapped in the depths of despair, I am the rope. When fear cripples’ hearts and crushes spirits, I am that faint glimmer of hope.”

“Anywhere you go Demon know that I will follow. For try as you might to stop me, I will always be there to bring about a better tomorrow.”

The Demon backed away, “Very well, you’ve won the day Mission. But I am eternal and one day when there are none left to carry your torch, I will no longer have competition.”

“On that day the winter will grow long, your rope thin and that glimmer of hope will become dim.” The Mission smirked, “And on that day perhaps you’ll win.”

The Demon soared out into the sky, dispersing into mist until invisible to the eye. With one final gust of wind The Demon did leave, and free now was the town of Hannebery.

Part 4; a quiet goodbye.

The Commissary looked on the Mission, his true nature at last having been shown. She spoke, “If ever you need a place to rest Mission, know that Hannebery is your home.”

“Thank you, truly. Not an ounce of respect for you do I lack. But I’m afraid my path takes me onward and it is unlikely that I will ever be back.”

“Then stay. Just for a while. Enjoy New Year’s Day with us and celebrate. You have done us all a great service and we will never forget. Surely, for a day your journey can wait.”

“I wish that I could. But I’ll rest easy knowing you all will enjoy this day. There are others yet in the distance who need me, and I must go now without delay.”

“In that case, know that yours is the story that to everyone I will tell. It was you who set us free, and you will be remembered as the hero of Hannebery. Goodbye, Mission. Farewell.”

They went separate ways as they exited the church. The Commissary went back to her people and the Mission back to his search.

The commissary returned to listen to her people and their stories of horror and thrills. While off in the distance the Mission trekked toward the next town beyond the snowy hills.

END