From our upcoming August publication releases, this is Persephone Andromeda’s haunted fantasy novel, where demons lurk, destiny awaits and the characters lives are twisted with magic and mystery.
The synopsis to Persephone’s book reads:
In a world where shadows hold secrets and family ties bind in unexpected ways, Bill grapples with haunting visions, seeking solace in a decaying church. Ethenna, a powerful woman in the supernatural world, wrestles with her own demons, torn between duty and desire. As they navigate their separate realities, their paths converge, intertwining their fates in unexpected twists of fate.
Intrigued and ready to read? Here is the first chapter:
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I was seeing things again.
More flashes of glowing white hair, a cloak the color of blood with black embroidered swirls along the edges, a horrible snarl and a vision of the altar… Maybe I need to up my meds but at least there wasn’t the whispering voice saying my name again. Thinking of that sends a shudder through my body.
I scrub the floor harder until my wrists hurt too much to continue. I sit up on my haunches and wipe my brow with the back of my hand as I survey the church around me, desperate for some other distraction besides the shining floor.
No matter how old and run down this place is, it will always capture my attention. I find myself here in the creaky doors, the sometimes-dripping roof…but I always look to the windows for guidance.
The stained glass is shining from my very thorough dusting this morning and as the sun hits it, rainbows of color spread out across the floor of the heavenly frame of Jesus rising from the dead, reminding me that there is life after this one. There was purpose for him, and I hope some for me too.
The glass Jesus looks down at me from the place on the wall and it gives me a sense of hope, of purpose. My efforts here are not wasted because I will see Him at the end of the road. I will be in the rainbow paradise shown on the floor. That will become my new home. For now, I need to take care of this one. It’s the only one I have, the one that I have to work for. At least I’m not as alone.
But those thoughts will have to wait. I have a floor to scrub as well as my other duties to attend to. The light shifts across the windows and casts different shadows on the floor. It’s time for me to do my final checks of the grounds and then I can relax.
“Ah, Father,” croaks Mrs. Robinson.
I smile at her and help her rise from the pew.
“I am not a Father yet, Mrs. Robinson, but you’re kind to say so.”
She pinches my cheek.
“You’re a good man, Bill. I know God sees that.”
I escort her to the door, and she hangs onto my arm like a cane.
“I will see you soon, Mrs. Robinson.”
“Good day, Bill.”
I lock the door behind her and as soon as they shut, I lean up against the doors and take in a few measured breaths before I continue. I shift my shoulders and brace my weight on both feet.
I check the silver Virgin Mary statues that act as our wards to keep unwanted things out. The one by the left window needs to be replaced and I make a note of it, again, for Father Gregory to attend to.
It wasn’t covered in the training as to how they keep unwanted evils out. Then, and now, I wonder if it is protected against morally evils or the prejudice of all supernatural beings being “evil”.
The grounds are starting to decay from the last heat of summer, bringing autumn with it. Some of the grass crunches under my feet as I cast my gaze to the wooded area behind the church, where my lodgings are.
From the back-right part of the church, the small glass greenhouse takes up most of the space to the decayed fence ending the property line of the church. Some of the windows are murky from age but I know what is inside. The iron gate, slightly rusted, guards the front door of the greenhouse and announces anyone who enters with a screech.
My gaze travels from flora and fauna, but don’t linger. Instead, I am tracking the spots where the silverland stakes are hidden in the grass. Extra security I never understood. Perhaps it is the training that didn’t truly sink in when I was actively studying under Father Gregory, but keeping others out didn’t strike fear, not to me.
I check the ones around my cabin, and I pause outside the pink gingham curtained windows, but no movement shifts inside. I wonder if I truly am imagining things…
I decide to not put that in my report. I tell of the appearance of Mrs. Robinson, the statue by the door, and the overall quiet of the day. No demons, witches, or any other creature that we are taught to fight against made an appearance.
I hand it over to the guardian of the night and as soon as I’m out into the fading light, I sigh happily and turn my face up to the remnants of sun.
Freedom, finally. All I need is my book, a cup of tea, and my gathered sense of peace. But for now, all I want is to sink into my plush reading chair and sit for a while. If I don’t have to get up, that would be nice.
I cross the slowly dying land that’s mostly filled with weeds and unattended grass to my cabin. It’s a consequence of being the only active attendant of a dying church and not enough funding. If I had my way, I would expand the growth around here and plant beautiful flowers so that everyone would stop to admire them. They don’t have to come into the church at all but maybe I could meet more people outside of my usual church members. My mother worries about me not getting out as much as I used to.
Not that I have much of a life to attend to anyways… My cabin stands like an angel in the light with the soft autumn sunset casting a glow around it, beckoning me home. I smile as I step closer and closer to the entryway and as I unlock the door, I exhale a sigh of relief as the door opens. The smell of old books and used tea bags reaches my nose and I beam again as I shut the door. I really should clean those up…
I toss away the old tea bags and wash my cups in the sink as the pipes groan from the effort. I turn them upside down to dry on the mat and then I make my way into the sitting room, still immaculate, but with less dust. Everything is in its place, and it makes me happy.
I sit down in the chair and hear the exhale of air, but I don’t mind. It is an old chair that has been much loved with the leather cracked from use. My mother gave this to me when I moved in to be a transitional deacon, on the road to becoming a priest, and I was so happy to be here that I overlooked all of the duties in the promise of the freedom of independence.
No, don’t do that to yourself. You love your post.
You love your post…
I take a few calming breaths and repeat the mantra in my mind until those negative thoughts go away. I have no use for them anyways and if Father Gregory could read my mind, he would make me dust the tombs by hand until I was reminded of that.
“Everything in its place and every place has its proper things,” he likes to tell me when I am cleaning. I know he also reminds me to put me back in my place when I forget. I remember when I first started, he made me watch as he cleaned and emphasized that everything must be put back. I haven’t forgotten it.
I jump for a moment as the floor creaks on its own, but I remind myself that this cabin is old, and the wards keep out ghosts and other creatures. I take a moment to make sure my shoulders are relaxed, and my jaw is unclenched. I am supposed to be calm.
I snort and lean back in the chair.
For me, it is not as easy as it seems. I think about what has to be done, what hasn’t been done, and so on and so forth. Every small sound sets off slight alarm bells in my mind and I cannot help but glance to the closet where the sacred weapons are.
What are the odds that a ghost or something else creeps up on you?
Despite the unlikeliness, I know that listening to the sounds of what is and what could be, makes me more attentive to what could be. Maybe some of the creatures will see me as weak and an easy target.
I shake that thought away as the clock by the door chimes six. I rise up from my place to go back into the kitchen to myself some dinner. After dinner means garden time…
I make myself some canned soup and the spices I add fill the air around me. With the light having faded, I turn on the overhead light of the stove to make sure I don’t overcook the soup. Burning soup is not a pleasant smell. I’ll have to remember to bring my flashlight when I go out.
One of the good parts of living near a wood is light pollution isn’t as prominent out here and I can sometimes see the sky so clearly it looks like a picture from a telescope. I look for shooting stars to wish upon and sometimes I feel like someone out there is listening to me. I don’t know if God can be contacted through shooting stars, but I hope He can be.
I watch the stars begin to come out as I eat my soup and try my best to not jump at the settling of the house. My giddiness returns as I leave the bowl to soak in the sink and grab my flashlight as I head out.
Walking to the old gate at the side of the church welcomes me with a creak and I take care to latch it behind me. I turn on the overhead lights to illuminate the courtyard where my garden is. I don’t know if it is just me, but every time I enter, I feel as if the garden is whispering to me in greeting, hello old friend.
I remember when I first saw the dead garden, I could feel a buzz of energy and a need to fix it so it would all bloom again. My mother said I was always drawn to the garden at home and had a desire to always have dirt under my fingernails. She says that’s probably why I took this position as another way to help people. The garden was an added bonus.
I water all of the plants and check on the temperature of the heater before I check soil levels, fertilizer and the bulbs. Sometimes I speak to the plants when no one is around because I feel like they listen to me when no one else will and sometimes, I think they grow for me when I am sad. The colors are more vibrant when I am feeling down. But maybe that’s just coincidence. God works in mysterious ways.
I go back to the cabin once I am satisfied with the state of the garden. I wash my hands in the sink and cannot help but linger on the small specks of dirt that wash down the drain.
Despite my doubts on being here, there are others who are far less fortunate than me. I have a roof over my head, food, water, health, a living parent… But no one I consider a friend.
If these dreams of mine are God’s way of pointing me in the direction of someone significant, I hope it will work out. But maybe that is something I have to work for, just like everything else.