The Midnight Man Read Online Free PDF

across the great void which separates us from them.’
    â€˜Like an enemy horde attacking a castle?’ Beauchamp asked.
    â€˜Precisely. The demon lords, the restless spirits, pound on our doors and clatter like the wind against the shutters of our souls. Some castles can be taken by direct assault, others by siege or attack from afar with catapults, mangonels and the siege towers of hell. Sometimes the attack is very violent; the soul can be devastated by fire and sword as deadly as any kingdom being put to the torch. For most of us, thank God,’ Anselm crossed himself, ‘it’s just a quiet, desperate struggle.’ He paused. ‘No one is safe; holy men and women suffer the most vicious assaults. Look at Saint Anthony of the Desert, Benedict or the great Francis of Assisi.’
    â€˜But why here? Why now?’ Almaric protested.
    â€˜I don’t know. I am trying to discover why. Isn’t that the reason you asked for me?’
    â€˜True, true.’ Parson Smollat’s fingers went to his mouth. He acted like a frightened child, staring down at Anselm. ‘I thought that tonight . . .’
    â€˜What did happen?’ Beauchamp had dropped his world-weary airs: he was harsh, accusatory. ‘Did you fail, exorcist?’
    Stephen glanced expectantly at Anselm. He, too, was deeply curious about what he had seen and heard. Why had old memories come floating back? Why had his master, the man he reverenced as the magister, appeared so lost? The rest of the company were also attentive, waiting for the exorcist’s reply.
    â€˜I did not fail,’ Anselm declared, ‘but neither did I succeed. However, I am not a cozener, a cheat. I do not draw pentangles and circles. True, I would like to meet the Midnight Man and discover his tricks but,’ Anselm drew himself up, his voice forceful and carrying as it was when he delivered a homily to a crowd in Cheapside, or harangued a group of fops in their brocaded fineries, their palfreys, saddled and harnessed, glittering with gold and silver, ‘what I do is not some sleight of hand. Let me assure you: we are not only dealing with ghosts and relics of the past, but something very evil.’ Anselm breathed in deeply. ‘Let me explain – what is a ghost? We have the Lord’s own words that ghosts do exist. When he walked on the water his disciples thought he was a ghost. After his resurrection Christ had to assure them that he could eat and drink and was no phantasm.’ Anselm paused, listening to the gathering sounds of the night. ‘No one,’ he continued softly, ‘knows what truly happens to a soul after death.’ He joined his hands together. ‘Perhaps it’s like a child being born. There is confusion, chaos. Perhaps the immediate aftermath of death can be like someone caught at a lonely crossroads not knowing why they are there, where they are going or even who they are. Awareness in the soul after death dawns, I am sure, slowly, according to the way we have lived. Most souls take their chosen path; some, God alone knows why, do not – they linger. They believe they have unfinished business so delay by possessing a house, a church – even another soul. They press for their business to be completed.’ He paused. Anslem now had their full attention. ‘I believe that is what’s happening here but,’ he held up a warning hand and his voice thrilled, ‘even more, these spirits are in the grip of some malignancy which has fastened tight about them. It blocks their path – why? I do not know. I suspect the practices of the Midnight Man did not help. He invoked something which now prowls your cemetery and church like a ravenous wolf.’
    â€˜Why don’t these souls tell you?’ Beauchamp asked.
    â€˜They cannot,’ Anselm retorted. ‘Only God’s grace conveys knowledge of what is truly beyond the veil. Think of us as looking