The Last Gleaming, A Short Story
A tale of paranormal suspense.
Surprise! I’ve got an all new short story for you to devour. It’s quick, but I think you’ll like it.
When I originally wrote this short story, The Last Gleaming, it was a response to a flash fiction contest put on by Silence & Starsong Magazine. They had previously published my short story, Dead of Night, as a runner-up in their previous flash fiction contest, and so I was thrilled to put this one together.
The prompt: an inanimate object has a secret.
A drop of glistening, hot wax slid down the stubby base of the burning candle that sat flickering wildly on the altar. Its descent was slow at first, followed by a hastened drop that carried it down to the elaborately crafted golden cruciform shaft that held the dwarfed pillar of wax in place. The flame jerked and throttled as if trying to escape the wick that anchored it there, and, as the surrounding mold melted, reached higher toward the flying buttresses overhead.
As the latest drip merged with the dried bits of wax that had previously escaped the pressing heat, sudden footsteps clapped through the narthex. They soon found their way through the vestibule and into the nave, echoing throughout the hallowed hall.
If the fire could speak, it would have warned the parishioner not to come any closer. It would have begged the young woman, who now sat in a nearby pew, to return another time. Nothing would stop the hot wax from melting, and nothing would prevent what would soon occur.
Unaware of the candle, the woman knelt between the aisles and prayed fervently. Her faithful tears fell right to the floor as she whispered secret petitions that the flame would never tell. She communed with heaven for quite some time before sitting plainly on the wooden pew. When she finally exhaled, it was as if a weight had been far removed from her.
The small glow atop the cruciform candlestick barely flickered now. The flame was old and tired. Whatever weariness the woman had surrendered, the flame felt tenfold.
It was nearly time.
A glimmer of hope arose when the woman retired from whence she came. It seemed that no horrors would be witnessed this night; the task would not be done.
Then, as if stopped by some curious tug, the woman turned back and glanced directly at the altar. She saw the faintest light from the lone candlestick overseeing the grounds. She felt almost sorry for it as it gleamed its last, not correlating its light with her own.
“I’m too late.”
The woman nearly jumped as she turned to see the vicar standing behind her, a petrified cadence plastered across his clean-shaven face.
“Oh, reverend, it’s you. What’s the matter?”
“My child, did you not see the rope that I had tied on the door?”
“I assumed it was there by mistake. The house of God is never closed.”
“It was today.”
Before the vicar could usher her out, a vortex appeared above the candlestick on the other end of the sanctuary. A torrential wind escaped through the hall and promptly carried the young woman off the ground, straight toward the ominous rift.
“Help!”
The vicar lunged after her, clasping his hands over hers with firm conviction. Through sheer determination, he fastened his waste behind one of the pews and pulled so that she could climb up his arms and likewise secure herself behind the bench. It took a momentous effort, but at last he was victorious.
When she was safely behind the wooden frame, the vicar knelt beside her.
“I must find whatever is left of the candle and expel it. Stay here and hold on tightly.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“You can pray.”
Before she had a chance to nod, the vicar crawled out from behind the pew and dashed from aisle to aisle toward the altar. Despite the devilish winds ravaging through the sanctum, the altar itself was left untouched. The cruciform candlestick stood as still and tall as a gargoyle, betraying no double mindedness.
By the time the vicar arrived at the altar rail, he reached for the wooden guard but was caught by surprise when his legs were soon carried over his head. Instantly, he was elevated straight toward the abyss. Reaching desperately, his left hand finally secured a grip on the rail, and he held to it tighter than anything, save Calvary.
The vicar used up his remaining strength to hold himself against the invisible current. Only feet away from his goal, he resolved that, if he couldn’t retrieve the candle’s remains, sacrificing his life for another would be an honorable way to defend his sheep. After all, it’s what his own Good Shepherd had done.
Collecting his courage, the vicar thrust himself from the rail toward the altar. As he sprung forward, he noticed an immediate upward gust as the otherworldly void courted him. Yet, by nothing short of divine grace (for it was the only thing that made sense to him), the vicar just barely managed to snatch the candlestick mid-air as the tumultuous winds carried him up.
Wasting no time, he threw the candlestick directly at the rift. As it coursed toward the portal, the cruciform echoed the vicar’s sentiments and expelled the remaining candlewax from its shaft, sending the unholy object straight into the chasm.
The moment the wax hit the vortex, the gateway vanished. As the winds ceased, the vicar plummeted to the ground, as did the cruciform beside him.
The young woman ran to the minister’s aid. Once she was sure he was okay, he offered an uneasy explanation. He revealed to her that a dozen candles had been donated anonymously by a local coven of witches who hoped to banish the congregation to another realm. Sort of a reversal of the whole witch trial thing.
“Unfortunately, I learned this only after I had already lit the candle. I hoped that, by closing off the grounds, whatever spell I’d unleashed would be done in isolation.”
“I’m sorry, reverend. I had no idea.”
“There is no need, my child.” He put a firm hand on her shoulder. “I’m simply glad that you, and everyone else, is safe. Praise God, indeed.”
The vicar returned the cruciform candlestick to its rightful place on the altar and led the young woman out. That evening, he was sure to send the remaining candles back to the coven, their spells rendered useless by a liturgical blessing.
Very vivid scene! I enjoyed it. Thanks for sharing, Michael