Click here for nice stories main menu

main menu   |   standard categories   |   authors   |   new stories   |   search   |   links   |   settings   |   author tools


The Essence (Part three of three) (standard:mystery, 1408 words) [3/3] show all parts
Author: Brian CrossAdded: Jan 03 2009Views/Reads: 2424/1666Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Conclusion of my three part story which sees a cyclist seeking refuge from a snowstorm, finding himself in a village inhabited by strange people and an even stranger potion.
 



The Essence - The Conclusion 

In the morning I awoke to find someone had switched off the light and
taken the bottle I'd been drinking from. There was a bowl of muesli and 
a jug of milk on the bedside cabinet. I felt a little hungry so I ate 
it readily, and to my surprise the dizziness had gone. I didn't feel 
ill but it seemed as though the rooms in my head were all empty, that 
somebody had been in and cleaned everything out. My brain was tired, I 
knew where I was – in this strange village with strange people and a 
strange liquid, but there was no real will to be free of it, almost as 
if matters outside had lost their significance. Even the shabby little 
room seemed acceptable enough. 

After I'd finished the muesli I made for the door, to my surprise it was
unlocked. Walking into the main house I saw the parson standing in the 
hall with three others. He stretched out a hand, a finger pointing 
upstairs, ‘Use the bathroom man, and when you are clean you may join 
us, in the sermon of the converted. 

I felt robotic, at any rate my actions felt mechanical as without
question I did as instructed, before returning downstairs, taking my 
coat from the rack and joining them. The parson opened the door onto a 
cold, white landscape, the snow must have been a couple of feet deep 
but it didn't seem to bother him as he led us past the green to the 
high street. I couldn't help glancing at my fellow converts to be, I 
supposed that was what they were, they each had the same vacant 
expression as the pub regulars and despite my own trance like state I 
retained just enough awareness to realise such. 

The parson led us across the street, in the direction of the pub; I
thought surely not, because the parson least of all looked like a 
person who fancied a tipple. In fact, neither did any of my strange 
lifeless companions. 

But that was where he was headed – with his little flock, through into
the bar area where a gathering awaited, jugs of cloudy green liquid at 
the ready. 

I noticed that four other jugs awaited on the bar, full to the brim –
the parson looked grimly at me and my three companions, ‘Gather a 
drink,' he motioned to us. 

As I went to take mine his sprawled hand touched my arm, ‘Not you, not
yet.' I hadn't noticed at first but the landlord, his back towards me, 
was pouring what looked suspiciously like dark ale into a glass. 
Turning to face me, eyes screwed and unblinking he said, ‘I managed to 
find some ale for you after all.' 

I didn't have to look at the parson as I took the glass, I could feel
his bird-like gaze upon me. As I raised it to my lips the familiar 
nutty brew which had been my favourite seemed to clog my throat before 
I'd even managed a sip, and after a few wavering seconds when I finally 
did manage to do so I promptly vomited it out, along with the muesli 
I'd eaten for breakfast. 

Unbelievable, I'd never wasted beer in my life and certainly not in that
fashion. ‘Don't worry about the mess,' the landlord seemed unconcerned, 
‘we'll clean it up – I take it you won't be needing this...' 

I placed the drink in his hand automatically, the first time I'd ever
given up on a beer – and yet I didn't feel ill, that was the odd part. 

For the first time the parson's face split open with a satisfied smile.
He lifted the remaining jug from the bar, ‘Drink – drink to the 
converted.' 

I felt an overwhelming desire to do just that – this strangely welcoming
substance was all consuming – engulfing my system, dividing my mind 
into many parts, and yet stripping it bare as it did so. 

Stripping it bare – 

‘Drink and be fully converted, the congregation awaits your conversion,'
the parson's voice, deep yet raised drifted through the empty cavities 
of my mind and I shuddered, running my eyes over the unseeing members 


Click here to read the rest of this story (86 more lines)




This is part 3 of a total of 3 parts.
previous part show all parts  


Authors appreciate feedback!
Please write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Brian Cross has 29 active stories on this site.
Profile for Brian Cross, incl. all stories
Email: briancroff@yahoo.co.uk

stories in "mystery"   |   all stories by "Brian Cross"  






Nice Stories @ nicestories.com, support email: nice at nicestories dot com
Powered by StoryEngine v1.00 © 2000-2020 - Artware Internet Consultancy