Diary Of A Sociopathic Vicar – Part 56

I suppose that some people might question their life choices if they found themselves in a car with a serial killer going to see a little old lady who plays with the fairies. At least, she thought she could play with the fairies, and it made her happy, so who am I to disagree? For comparison, the serial killer believed that she was the powerful guardian of a secret attractive to people such as him. Power beyond his wildest imaginings, wealth to make Bezos weep, more assorted debauchery than Sodom and Gomorrah combined, that kind of thing. Granted, I’m going out on a limb a little with that last one, but the pattern appears consistent. I must admit – and I say this from the perspective of a sociopath – that I thought him a little lacking in social awareness.

Yet I am not given to that kind of “life choice” introspection. It does not help me fulfil my destiny to become Archbishop of Canterbury, so I dismiss it. Instead, I addressed the Rev. Graham Walters who was driving.

“Take the next left.”

He indicated, made the turn, and then a hundred yards down the road, I said, “This one, here, with the trees in the front garden.”

He parked and we got out of the car. He took a church warden’s stave from the back seat.

“This lady is dangerous, you say?” he asked.

“More than you can imagine. She only appears as a frail old dear. In reality, I do not know the limits to her powers.”

“Yes, yes, of course. It is only fitting that the Final Testament of Jesus of Lemuria should be guarded by one of great puissance.”

Oh, and there you have the entire justification of his killing spree. He is the sole survivor of a secret society called the Sons of Jesus Lemurian. He had killed the only other survivor about half an hour earlier by throwing him from the tower of Musdon Minster. Something of a war of attrition between two rival factions, initiated by myself as I considered their objective of taking over the Church of England would interfere with my destiny. Do not think this was easy – at every stage I had to cope with their limitations. I even had to persuade them to use Google Translate when I discovered they were unable to read the simple Latin I had used to write “secret” texts. Admittedly, I had not anticipated the society killing each other. I had thought they would simply debate themselves out of existence. Unfortunately, they were far more heretical than I had thought.

We walked to the door of Violet Johnson’s house, and Graham rapped on it with his stave.

“What are you doing?” I hissed. “Look, you’ve chipped the paintwork! Haven’t you listened to what I was saying about the power Violet holds?”

“Ah – do you think she will notice?”

“You had better hope she doesn’t. Now remember, she will speak mostly in allegories. I will address her in similar terms.”

Graham looked confused, so I added, “What she says will contain hidden meaning beyond the mere words.”

Violet opened the door.

“Oh, David - How good to see you! And you’ve brought a friend – how nice.”

“This is Graham,” I said. “He’s very interested in seeing the fairies around your garden well.”

“Oh, how lovely! Would you like some cocoa?”

“Oh, yes please,” I said, and nudged Graham.

“Er, yes, I think I would like that,” he said.

We processed through to the garden, to where Violet had already arranged a bistro table and chairs. On the table was a thermos of cocoa, and some mugs.

“This is it,” he said to me in a stage whisper, pointing at Violet’s garden well, “The moment of destiny, when I shall receive the power promised!”

I was about to make an appropriate comment when Mordred of the family Williams, the parish’s Lay Reader, stumbled through the leylandii at the bottom of the garden. This was unexpected. I had asked him to arrange that Violet’s house be lit up at exactly 6:00pm, in such a way as it could be seen from Musdon Minster. He had done this with remarkable and unexpected competence, but he was then supposed to leave. I would have liked an explanation from him – not least why he hadn’t gone to the front door like any civilised person – but I didn’t have a chance.

Screaming incoherently, Graham raised his church warden’s stave above his head with both hands. He charged, and swept the stave straight down on top of Mordred’s head, crushing his skull.
Violet clapped her hands excitedly, like a little girl shown a magic trick.

Graham backed away from the corpse, breathing heavily. I turned to face him. I was aware of someone else breaking through the leylandii behind me. I ignored them. I had made an intuitive leap regarding the newcomer’s identity, and decided they would not harm me. The opposite, if anything.

Addressing Graham, I said, “That was unnecessary.”

“But he wrote that book – that evil book!”

“Which one? There have been several evil books written.”

“The Alien Abduction Survival Guide.”

I raised my eyebrows slightly. I recalled seeing the book on Mordred’s bookshelf, but I hadn’t bothered looking at the author’s name. Certainly, I had not appreciated that he had been the author,
“And how does that book cause you problems?”

“He claimed to have been abducted by aliens, and severely probed.”

“And?” I said, thinking that this did explain a few things about the late Mordred,
“Obviously it is the most evil heresy – all such abductions are performed by the Lemurians. Everyone knows that.”

I heard a growl from the person behind me, and anticipated they would attack Graham shortly.

I held up my hand and said, “Wait, Psycho.”

“What? How did you know it was me?” asked Psycho.

“Later,” I replied.

“And tell me,” said Graham, pointing his stave in Psycho’s direction, “Why I should not dispatch this interloper like the last?”

I didn’t give much for his chances if he did attack, but thought it best to play along. “He is under my protection,” I said. “If you attack him, then you would be attacking me as well – and I am the One Who Knows The Truth. Without me, you will never achieve your goal.”

“What makes you think that God cares about one such as him? That would take a miracle beyond even Jesus of Lemuria!”

“No,” I said, “That is not the miracle. God cares about him, and even about Mordred. The miracle is that he cares about one such as me. Both Mordred and Psycho are better people than me.”

“Wait, I know this chap,” said Graham, segueing completely. “Yes, I saw him with a couple of other rough fellows, in Sutley. It all comes back to Sutley, doesn’t it.”

“That’s why the fairies come here,” interjected Violet.

“Yes, he was talking about the Words of Death,” continued Graham, oblivious to Violet’s contribution.

“Indeed he was,” I said, “And you wanted me to teach them to you.”

“But you said I would have to learn by a process of Cosmic Osmosis.”

“Because Osmosis is the same in both Latin and Welsh.”
“Is it?” asked Psycho.

“Yes, of course it is,” replied Graham. “That’s where the rest of the Atlanteans went to.”

“And it is because your grandparents were Welsh that you are here today.”

“But where will I find that which I seek?”

“It’s all in the well,” said Violet. “That’s what I was told. All in the well.”

“How do I get down there? Is there a ladder, a rope?”
“By a process of Cosmic Osmosis,” I said.

“Yes, yes, I see!” said Graham, “I can feel the Osmosification upon me now! It is as it says in the Gospel of Jesus of Lemuria, “The righteous shall be light as a feather!”

“I don’t think it quite says that,” I said. As I was the one who wrote the Gospel of Jesus of Lemuria, I was pretty sure of this.

Too late I realised that Google Translate is not perfect. With an exultant expression on his face, he stepped out into the thin air above the well, and plummeted to his doom.

All three of us gathered around the top of the well and peered down.

“Is Osmosification a real word?” asked Psycho.

“No,” I replied. “He should have said that he felt Cosmically Osmosified.”

“That’s why he died,” said Violet.

“Grammar, eh?” replied Psycho, nodding.

“My husband fell down the well, too,” said Violet.

“Really?”

“Oh yes, Abigail had persuaded my husband Henry to dig me the well, so I could watch the fairies. When it was completed, we invited her and Arnold round for dinner.”
“What happened?”

“Abigail asked him to show her the well, and the next thing you know, he was gone. Abigail said he just stepped out into thin air.”

“I believe you with absolute certainty,” I said.

“Is he still down there?” asked Psycho.

“Don’t be silly,” said Violet. “The fairies ate him all up.”

“I take it you were here giving Mordred a hand with the illuminations?” I asked Psycho. It had been necessary to light up Violet’s house so that it could be seen from Musdon Minster.

“Yeah. He said it was all part of being a Reader-In-Training.”

“I thought the arrangements were a little too competent for Mordred alone.”

He nodded, and I continued, “It might be an idea if you were to leave. It will be complicated enough explaining this to the police. You might not want to be here when they arrive.”

“Will you be alright?”

“Of course – I am the One Who Knows The Truth.”
“What did you mean about Mordred and me being better people than you?”

I clapped him on the shoulder, smiled, and repeated, “I am the One Who Knows The Truth.”

After he left, Violet and I watched the fairies, and chatted about Henry, who she remembered had been Really Quite Naughty, although she couldn’t recall details. Soon, the police arrived, and I told them a simple tale, of how I had been visiting Violet with Mordred in his role as Reader, when we had been rudely interrupted by Graham Walters, who appeared quite disturbed.

“He was after the fairies’ gold at the bottom of the well,” confided Violet.

I smiled apologetically, and received sympathetic nods. After that, it was quite straight forward, and I was home in time for a mug of hot chocolate before bed.

Disclaimer: The Rev. David Wilson is incorrect with respect to the word “osmosification”, although it should be acknowledged that it is infrequently used, and seldom appears in dictionaries.

A map of Sutley may be found here:
https://kevinwoodauthor.com/SutleyMap.htm