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Description
Chapter 4: The church house-

As I stepped out of the black portal and into what appeared to me as a certain kind of courtyard, I felt as if I came back into reality. The strange and fixating sensation of the inter-realm was replaced by the feeling of wet grass at my bare feet; and small raindrops on my face and shoulders. The air was clearly humid, and the lush sound of soft rain took the space of silence the inter-realm held.

I gazed about me, and was mused at my surroundings. The grass below me was finely cut, and was placed in fine patches aside the concrete paved paths. In the center of this terrace was a flag pole surrounded by garden benches. The flag of American pride lay limp in the tips of this beam, due to the fact it was drenched.

I looked down in the direction where the largest of these paths took you, and spotted a church house. This building was of a decently large size, but besides this looked decently simple. If it wasn't for the large cross that hung above the entrance, I would have not known that this was a catholic church.

"You take me to church?" I asked Wilson, who stood proudly as he gazed at this building from behind me. He moved his sapphire blue eyes down to me, and cocked that smile of his.

"No, you're at home…" he remarked in a cryptic manner. As he had done nearly each time thoughts burned my mind, the man walked away before I could interrogate him. Without much option, I decided to follow him down this larger path.

His pace was ever elegant, and he remained in complete silence. I found it very interesting to see the man walk with so much 'etiquette', despite the fact that he still appeared to me a madman. This caused me to pay attention to my own footing. Compared to Wilson, I managed to look clumsy, and perhaps even crude or barbaric; well, maybe not barbaric.

Before long we had entered the building through the polished glass doors that stood in front. As we came in, the surroundings drastically changed once again. The floor was felted in rough maroon carpeting, and the air held a scent of recently used incense. The chapel was finely adorned with great images of the Passion aside of the old-wood benches, and the altar gave a rustic look to the decently small place. It was made mostly of wood, carved with images of biblical figures, but the edges were finely trimmed with gold. A large table stood in front of this altar, covered over with a gracious table cloth.

As we began to walk towards the altar ahead, I gave attention to those few that kneeled from the benches onto the floor. There were about four people here; not too much. As a catholic myself, I now came to assume we were in the midst of week; this, of course assuming the church was as well visited as ours back home. Fewer people came to church on weekdays, with the busy life everyone must live now. A quick life everyone had to live nowadays indeed, with all that society has implied on us… but please, do not allow me to get political at the moment. Right now I promised myself I would continue with my story.

So we came to the foot of the leveling that slightly raised the altar, along with the ritual table; but we did not step upwards. Rather, Wilson sidestepped, and routed himself about this. I followed, until we came to the right flank of the altar. I noticed the wooden alter was not fully leaned against the wall behind, but left an open space. A door was placed in this aperture; this also made of a fine and strong wood, well carved with religious figures. Atop the door, I could see words written in a bizarre language that I could not decipher. My curiosity peeked again, and I decided to break the dead silence.

"Wilson?" I spoke out.

"Yes?" He permitted me to speak as he spoke in a soft whisper. The man opened the door, and gestured for me to come in.

"Tell me, what do those words mean? And in what language are they written?" I conceded to his request of entering that path he had opened. As I entered the room, I noticed it was completely covered in darkness –aside the small candle that hanged on the wall-. As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I mused at the stone walls covered in some strange sort of slimy mold. It gave the place a sensation of great age, and defiantly revealed itself to have been made in times before the main structure of the church. My eyes finally accustomed themselves to the darkness fully as Wilson closed the door behind. It was evident to me now that the room was no bigger then five feet in depth and four in width. To my right side was an archway fairly hidden from view by the shadows cast upon it. As if to make this small entrance even more hidden, small boxes and crates were stacked in front of it. In fact, if I had been mindful about the things that were about, I would have never bumped into those creates; which in return revealed to me the passage. Wilson, as if accustomed to this entrance, simply walked by me, pushing aside those crates that had caused my foot slight pain now.

"Mind your step," he chuckled, as if teasing me. I scowled at him, and did my best at avoiding yet another of my internal rampages against him. If I kept that up, I would die of rigor before we came to the destination Wilson guided me towards.

"So what did those words mean anyways?" I asked once more to try to avoid another of his sarcastic remarks. He moved to the side of the archway, and once again gestured me to walk into deep darkness. Perhaps it was to his amusement to have me walk into shadowed paths where with a misstep I would meet the floor; morbid thinking this was indeed. I held no resistance, though, and walked into the path with caution. Good thinking it was to take precaution, alright; with the first step I took I quickly discovered that this pitch black path was indeed a flight of stairs. I nearly stumbled as I felt the absence of floor below, but managed to hold onto the walls. I heard another chuckle from Wilson.

"Did I not tell you we were going below ground level?"

…

… That bastard…

"Are you not going to answer my question?" I brought the thought up once again, as held my wick which was near the end of the line. My hostility did not seem to affect him.

"Oh yes, your question," Wilson spoke as if reminding himself of something he had forgotten ages ago. Once again I swallowed my pride, and awaited his answer. "Tara dopre qua bucra ada: Requien qu nok totoras lu shiretzia agra atarus marefius." Wilson recited the words as if learnt by heart. "'To those who seek aid: Remember that not all shadows are bound to evil.' These are words written in our ancient language." A spark suddenly lit me from inside, and made me feel some fulfilling and exciting warmth. I had not known that Demon Leeches were here before our times.

I had originally thought I was something like an odd mutation. Many times I came near to asking my mother from what space capsule she had found me, or from which radioactive field. I retained my excitement of the new information though; just for the sakes of keeping Wilson from another of his personal victories. I knew that if I had allowed myself the slightest of grins, he would have follow up with another of his riddling and mind-wearing thoughts. His intentions, of course, would be to make me lose my joy and leave me pondering. I thought for a moment, and concluded that I had not found the slightest sign of a benevolent man in Wilson; or did I?

Lord, why did I even follow him?

Description
Chapter 4: The church house-

As I stepped out of the black portal and into what appeared to me as a certain kind of courtyard, I felt as if I came back into reality. The strange and fixating sensation of the inter-realm was replaced by the feeling of wet grass at my bare feet; and small raindrops on my face and shoulders. The air was clearly humid, and the lush sound of soft rain took the space of silence the inter-realm held.

I gazed about me, and was mused at my surroundings. The grass below me was finely cut, and was placed in fine patches aside the concrete paved paths. In the center of this terrace was a flag pole surrounded by garden benches. The flag of American pride lay limp in the tips of this beam, due to the fact it was drenched.

I looked down in the direction where the largest of these paths took you, and spotted a church house. This building was of a decently large size, but besides this looked decently simple. If it wasn't for the large cross that hung above the entrance, I would have not known that this was a catholic church.

"You take me to church?" I asked Wilson, who stood proudly as he gazed at this building from behind me. He moved his sapphire blue eyes down to me, and cocked that smile of his.

"No, you're at home…" he remarked in a cryptic manner. As he had done nearly each time thoughts burned my mind, the man walked away before I could interrogate him. Without much option, I decided to follow him down this larger path.

His pace was ever elegant, and he remained in complete silence. I found it very interesting to see the man walk with so much 'etiquette', despite the fact that he still appeared to me a madman. This caused me to pay attention to my own footing. Compared to Wilson, I managed to look clumsy, and perhaps even crude or barbaric; well, maybe not barbaric.

Before long we had entered the building through the polished glass doors that stood in front. As we came in, the surroundings drastically changed once again. The floor was felted in rough maroon carpeting, and the air held a scent of recently used incense. The chapel was finely adorned with great images of the Passion aside of the old-wood benches, and the altar gave a rustic look to the decently small place. It was made mostly of wood, carved with images of biblical figures, but the edges were finely trimmed with gold. A large table stood in front of this altar, covered over with a gracious table cloth.

As we began to walk towards the altar ahead, I gave attention to those few that kneeled from the benches onto the floor. There were about four people here; not too much. As a catholic myself, I now came to assume we were in the midst of week; this, of course assuming the church was as well visited as ours back home. Fewer people came to church on weekdays, with the busy life everyone must live now. A quick life everyone had to live nowadays indeed, with all that society has implied on us… but please, do not allow me to get political at the moment. Right now I promised myself I would continue with my story.

So we came to the foot of the leveling that slightly raised the altar, along with the ritual table; but we did not step upwards. Rather, Wilson sidestepped, and routed himself about this. I followed, until we came to the right flank of the altar. I noticed the wooden alter was not fully leaned against the wall behind, but left an open space. A door was placed in this aperture; this also made of a fine and strong wood, well carved with religious figures. Atop the door, I could see words written in a bizarre language that I could not decipher. My curiosity peeked again, and I decided to break the dead silence.

"Wilson?" I spoke out.

"Yes?" He permitted me to speak as he spoke in a soft whisper. The man opened the door, and gestured for me to come in.

"Tell me, what do those words mean? And in what language are they written?" I conceded to his request of entering that path he had opened. As I entered the room, I noticed it was completely covered in darkness –aside the small candle that hanged on the wall-. As my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I mused at the stone walls covered in some strange sort of slimy mold. It gave the place a sensation of great age, and defiantly revealed itself to have been made in times before the main structure of the church. My eyes finally accustomed themselves to the darkness fully as Wilson closed the door behind. It was evident to me now that the room was no bigger then five feet in depth and four in width. To my right side was an archway fairly hidden from view by the shadows cast upon it. As if to make this small entrance even more hidden, small boxes and crates were stacked in front of it. In fact, if I had been mindful about the things that were about, I would have never bumped into those creates; which in return revealed to me the passage. Wilson, as if accustomed to this entrance, simply walked by me, pushing aside those crates that had caused my foot slight pain now.

"Mind your step," he chuckled, as if teasing me. I scowled at him, and did my best at avoiding yet another of my internal rampages against him. If I kept that up, I would die of rigor before we came to the destination Wilson guided me towards.

"So what did those words mean anyways?" I asked once more to try to avoid another of his sarcastic remarks. He moved to the side of the archway, and once again gestured me to walk into deep darkness. Perhaps it was to his amusement to have me walk into shadowed paths where with a misstep I would meet the floor; morbid thinking this was indeed. I held no resistance, though, and walked into the path with caution. Good thinking it was to take precaution, alright; with the first step I took I quickly discovered that this pitch black path was indeed a flight of stairs. I nearly stumbled as I felt the absence of floor below, but managed to hold onto the walls. I heard another chuckle from Wilson.

"Did I not tell you we were going below ground level?"

…

… That bastard…

"Are you not going to answer my question?" I brought the thought up once again, as held my wick which was near the end of the line. My hostility did not seem to affect him.

"Oh yes, your question," Wilson spoke as if reminding himself of something he had forgotten ages ago. Once again I swallowed my pride, and awaited his answer. "Tara dopre qua bucra ada: Requien qu nok totoras lu shiretzia agra atarus marefius." Wilson recited the words as if learnt by heart. "'To those who seek aid: Remember that not all shadows are bound to evil.' These are words written in our ancient language." A spark suddenly lit me from inside, and made me feel some fulfilling and exciting warmth. I had not known that Demon Leeches were here before our times.

I had originally thought I was something like an odd mutation. Many times I came near to asking my mother from what space capsule she had found me, or from which radioactive field. I retained my excitement of the new information though; just for the sakes of keeping Wilson from another of his personal victories. I knew that if I had allowed myself the slightest of grins, he would have follow up with another of his riddling and mind-wearing thoughts. His intentions, of course, would be to make me lose my joy and leave me pondering. I thought for a moment, and concluded that I had not found the slightest sign of a benevolent man in Wilson; or did I?

Lord, why did I even follow him?