Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore 1)

“Mrs. Stepien,” the housekeeper introduced her before pouring tea into a bonus cup and pushing it in front of the newcomer as she sat down.

Adam smiled when he saw that the box was full of homemade butter cookies. “That is very kind. I’m starting to understand that weight gain during my time here is inevitable.”

“Everyone is very friendly here in Dybukowo. You’ll see,” Mrs. Stepien said and helped herself to the tea.

Adam smiled, and Emil’s face emerged from the back of his mind and into the spotlight. He swallowed. “I noticed. So far I’ve only met a couple of the parishioners, but they’ve all been very kind,” with the exception of the grumpy shop owner, “One man even gave me a ride here on his horse, even though it was pouring down last night.”

Mrs. Stepien’s face froze. “A black horse? That had to be Emil Slowik, Father. That man is no good. He’s Old Slowikowa’s grandson, may God rest her soul. She’d be turning in her grave if she saw what he’s grown into.”

Mrs. Janina nodded. “True, true. Rotten boy. Didn’t accept a pastoral visit last Christmas.”

Adam exhaled with relief. So he didn’t have to worry about Emil watching him with that insistent gaze during mass. That was something.

“That’s not the worst of it,” Mrs. Stepien said. “My son’s friend said he saw him with a man. You know what I mean,” she said, lowering her voice.

Adam was going to be sick. So it hadn’t just been his own thoughts tainting an innocent invitation from a stranger. Emil had really meant what Adam had suspected. And the worst thing was that deep down it annoyed him. Emil likely propositioned many people, casting his net wide to see what got caught in it.

Mrs. Janina nodded. “Nowak should make sure he keeps an eye on his son. Emil and Radek seem far too close, if you ask me. Mrs. Golonko told me Emil gave him a lift to the bus stop this morning.”

Adam’s head spun from all the names of people involved in the gossip, but since he had no idea who the women were talking about, he chose to stay quiet and stuff his face.

Mrs. Stepien cleared her throat. “We better not speak of such depravity in front of Father Adam.”

The worst of phrases pushed at Adam’s lips. Hate the sin, love the sinner was terrible, but We all sin might be even worse, because it might make people suspicious of him. So he got up with a smile. “I think I need to familiarize myself with my new church. Please, carry on. Thank you again for the cookies, Mrs. Stepien.”

Adam needed to clear his mind of filth, but since he wasn’t dressed for jogging, he walked into the hallway and picked up a besom tucked into the corner, intent on sweeping the dust and fallen leaves from the church yard. He was at the door when he noticed a small bowl, which had previously been hidden behind the natural broom. Filled with carefully sliced radishes and pickles, it had no place on the floor, but he decided not to point it out to Mrs. Janina while she was chatting to a friend.

His mouth watered as if he were staring at a juicy steak served on a silver platter.

He shook his head at the dusty vegetables and stepped into the sunshine. Bits of mud between the cobbles were the only trace left of last night’s storm, and as he looked up at the tall poplar trees surrounding the church, their silent whisper made him close his eyes and relax.

He had nothing to fear here, other than nosy villagers and an awful lot of crows. What he needed to do was take the pastor’s advice to heart and relax. He’d considered paying for Internet access, if no one else at the parsonage had need for it, but maybe a digital detox would be beneficial. He was already low-key addicted to Facebook and gossip sites, which he relentlessly read while on public transport, hoping strangers assumed he was reading the lives of saints. He just needed to stay positive and let the countryside atmosphere take over.

The Church would take care even of a black sheep like him. All would be well.

Since the single mass that day wasn’t until evening, there was no one around, and he enjoyed the silence as he made his way to the front of the church and eyed the mess of leaves and broken branchlets scattered all over the yard.

There was that smell again. Wood thrown into a fire, cedar, addictive like nicotine supposedly was. Adam had never tried smoking, too afraid he’d get hooked in an instant.

A sharp grunt tore through the silence, followed by a whinny that expressed such excitement Adam’s mind pushed him back in time, to that moment on the muddy road when the huge stallion emerged from the night and dashed straight at him.