He Was Called The Red Priest Novels & Stories

I thought I could even sense a hint of bitterness, but hopefully, I would soon be forgiven. "Seeking your advice, Padre," I said in Latin, proving I knew the holy language. "What crimes have these men committed?" "They’re Scots, my child," the priest answered in the same language, looking down on me like he literally thought I was a child. Oh God, I hate men, I thought bitterly to myself, and had to fight the urge to literally want to scratch his eyes out. But I remained in character and played on my innocent appearance. "They’ve committed crimes against the Crown by inciting scurries and talk about---"

“I’m going to ask you this one time. If you don't, I’m going to gut you like the fat pig you are. Spill everything you know.” The doctor trembled. Of course, he knew Carlos wasn't joking. Everyone in the Serpent territory knew about the mysterious devil named RED and the terror he brought. They had witnessed an example from the recent fight, and he had seen Carlos, all bloody like a man who had emerged from hell itself.

I trailed after him, and on a dark mountain road, I saw the lights of the Crystal Temple burning in the distance. By dusk, there were only a handful of priests left in the temple. The lantern-keeper was shocked to see Jonathan drenched in bloody clothes. "Mr. Jonathan? What… What happened to you?" Jonathan had once studied theology at Crystal Temple, so the priest recognized him right away. "Let me in!" "No… No, you can't! In your state, you'll offend the Crystal Emperor! Please, you'd better go to the hospital!" They argued, but Jonathan had gone mad. He rushed inside, and it was impossible for the priest to stop him. When the priest wanted to try to shout for help, I hid in the shadows and

A man who should be in his mid-forties gestured for us to come forward. I imagined he would be the priest who Damien had assigned to do the ritual. Just as I had imagined, he was the one. When we got close enough to the altar, he gestured for us to stop and then, he went barefoot. The supposed priest threw away the white garment on him, leaving him with an all-red material from head to toe. He carried a scepter in his hand and then went ahead to place his candles. He also arranged some herbs and sipped them in a liquid, probably a spiritual oil.

“The town is a conservative one, the most open minded person from here should be Danny, and I think that is only because she is gay. You on the other hand, you are open minded, even as a priest.” He clears his throat nosily, “That is only because I believe everyone should do what they want with their lives, but I am originally from Chicago, but I have lived in so many places.” I spare him a quick glance, I understood the emotion in his voice, it was one of kindred spirit kind of thing. “You also came here to hide away.” He snorts, but I know I was right. “I was sent here, if you have heard, I am a student priest, they can send me wherever they want, and they sent me here themselves.”

His cassock was splattered with crimson, but he stood perfectly still, his posture unbothered, as if he were simply admiring the architecture of the bloodbath. Krystal's breath caught in her throat. She has never seen him before. She do come to this church dozens of times over the past few weeks, confessing her sins to the faceless voice behind the screen, never once laying eyes on the priest who had heard her darkest secrets. But now, seeing him standing amidst the chaos, something stirred in the back of her mind. He is familiar. Why does he look familiar? she thought, her brow furrowing. I've never seen his face.

Harry didn’t answer so I continued, “He kept calming the little girl down but at first I didn’t understand why she was half naked in front of him. The little girl was even stuttering, maybe because she was too scared when she told the priest that he was going to hurt her again.” Harry was once again silent. “What was weird is that the priest had the same name as you. He called himself Father Harry.” I added to which Harry replied a dry chuckle. “He kept telling the little girl not to tell anyone their secret and the look on the little girl's face was almost too pitiful.” Harry clears his throat, “What happened next?”

in far off Carcosa . . . a former resident of the Boys Home who “ran away” six years ago after being shadowed by Hammon Bale, which also was a derivative of the child-consuming god Baal-Hammon. Martin Spencer, who’d written him several letters seven years ago as part of a school-sponsored Letters to Soldiers campaign. Martin Spencer, who’d expressed dreams of becoming a policeman someday, to whom Father Ward sent a rosary with a medal of St. Raphael, patron saint of policemen, a rosary Father found in the confessional the night a voice (his imagination? his paranoia?) whispered to him: He takes us. A voice which lead him to the desecration at the foot of Mary in the rectory’s garden.

But the world had other plans. The first time he had stepped into the Cali estate, he had been a young priest, barely twenty-six years old, fresh out of seminary, still adjusting to the weight of his robes. He had still believed, still carried the naïve hope that even the worst of men could be saved if they truly sought redemption. He had come to the estate with a couple of other Priest friends who knew one or two people in the Cali family. That was the day he had met Don Cali.

The Priest scoffed as he shook his head again. “ What's the commotion here? ” a tall man with a huge body build, he had long pitch-black hair and sharp hazel eyes, said with a raucous voice that echoed as everyone went silent. The priest had a smug look on his face as he watched the man walk in his direction. “ Alpha King Theon! These miscreants called the temple a lie” the priest said. “And they even travel with a daemon” someone from the crowd said. “ Despicable! ”