The Stranger

Bernard stood rooted to the spot when he heard a noise behind him. The clack, clack, clack sounded as if high heels were stepping over the stone slabs of the forecourt. But that was impossible. Could it be?

Slowly, as if pulled by strings, he turned around. He could hardly believe his eyes when he actually spotted a figure in front of the entrance portal. As far as he could make out in the semi-darkness, a woman was standing there in an elegant costume, the kind of dress one would probably wear for a formal social occasion. At most for going to church in a large city, but certainly not when visiting a small village church in the mountains.

Bernard wondered how she had come to be here. The place was far from the tourist routes and there was no inn or other accommodation in the village where someone like her would stay. She certainly hadn't hiked in her high-heeled shoes either.

The stranger had stopped a foot away from the threshold of the prayer room. A smart wide-brimmed hat sitting on her long blonde hair shaded the upper half of her face, so he couldn't see her eyes clearly. But he had the unmistakable feeling that she was looking at him intently.

“Hello Bernard! May I come in?” Her voice sounded as soft and sweet as honey.

The priest ran towards her with open arms.

“But of course! Please, do come in! The house of the Lord is open to everyone.”

Her mouth twisted briefly in contempt at the last words. But this passed so quickly that you could have been mistaken. She immediately put on her brightest smile again.

Bernard was overjoyed and so relieved to finally be able to welcome someone to his church that he didn't even notice that his visitor had dispensed with the formal form of address “Father” and instead addressed him by his first name, although they had not yet introduced themselves.

She cautiously put one foot over the threshold and paused, as if expecting a reaction from wherever. When all remained silent and unchanged, she stepped out more boldly and walked towards the priest down the center aisle between the pews until the two were at arm's length from each other.

“I heard that you had invited the people to the service and I followed your call. I've been meaning to visit this church for a long time, so I didn't want to miss the opportunity. I'm very pleased that you invited me in,” she explained, anticipating his questions.

“I'm very pleased too! I'm glad you're here. Would you like to sit down? I just want to get dressed quickly and then the service can begin.”

“But there's no need to hide this wonderful body. It's just us, we don't have to be so ceremonious. I have to say, I already like what I see.”

She reached out a hand and stroked along the open button placket of his white shirt. The gentle touch sent an icy shiver through his chest. An unexpectedly sharp fingernail scratched his skin, taking a drop of blood with it. He winced slightly and drew in his breath, hissing more out of surprise than pain.

“Oh, I hope you can forgive me. It's only a tiny wound.”

Her tone expressed regret without making it clear what exactly she regretted. She put her finger to her lips and licked off the red lifeblood. Bernard watched her as if hypnotized. Beneath the cut on his chest, a dark red stain spread across his spotless shirt.

“Does it hurt much?”

Her question brought him out of his stupor again.

“No, no, everything's fine,” he reassured her and knew immediately that this was a lie. The scratch burned like hell. White lies were allowed, he told himself quietly, because he was in dire need. Under no circumstances was he going to allow this first visitor to his inconspicuous church to leave him again. He had waited too long not to be alone anymore. He didn't want to preach in front of empty pews again. For that, enduring this little pain was a small price to pay.

“I'm glad,” she purred, looking at the growing stain on his linen shirt. “But we can't let this get any worse, you have to take it off,” she stated, reaching out to free him from his shirt.