Daniel woke up to loud knocking on his front door. He groaned and buried his head in his pillow.
He could not fall asleep for hours, plagued by worry and deep down, by fear. Though in the morning with the sun shining and birds singing, he seemed to forget the things that haunted him at night.
He pushed the blankets off himself and rubbed his eyes. Slowly he stood up and stretched his stiff muscles. Whoever was at the door knocked again.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," he called and tried to pull his robes on while walking towards the door. The knocking stopped, but Daniel wondered who'd wake him up at such ungodly hour.
He finally fixed his clothes to look presentable then he pulled the door open.
"Morning, Father Daniel," the boy at the door smiled brightly, too brightly for the early hour.
"Good morning, Tommy," Daniel greeted the postman's son, all while trying to conceal a yawn. He knew the young boy from the church but more so as he brought him the few letters he received in his father's stead.
The village was small, but the church was half a mile away. So while his father brought the post to the villagers, Tommy ran up to Daniel's cottage. Usually, he was there right after the sun came up. That was quite early, Daniel thought.
"I have a letter for you. From Mrs Edwards," Tommy snickered and handed Daniel a neat envelope with the Edwards' seal. "I heard it's about something in the village just over the river. Something's happened there, but father wouldn't tell me what," the boy rambled.
He broke the seal and pulled the letter from the envelope. He skimmed through it, trying to figure out what it was Mrs Edwards wanted. She was inviting him to lunch, he read, to discuss the most urgent matters. She was the wife of the richest man in their village, who liked to think himself a mayor of some sort.
It was not rare that they invited him to their house to discuss the matters in the village. They both knew people prefered Daniel over them, and to some point, they did respect that.
"...anyways, I reckon it's bandits or something of that sort. But they wouldn't come here. We're too poor for them," Tommy was still talking by the time Daniel read the letter.
"It's nothing to worry about, I'm sure. Now run home, Tommy. You wouldn't want your father to wonder where you are," Daniel smiled, and the boy took off running back down the road.
Daniel envied the boy, how carefree and joyful he seemed, even running back home through the snow in his beat-up shoes. He didn't have the worries that seemed to plague Daniel more and more every day.
The letter did nothing to soothe his nerves. It was urgent, almost panicked. The lady's handwriting wasn't as neat and elegant as it always has been. The letter wasn't like the usual flirtatious invites she would send when she wanted to discuss whatever it was she wanted. This time she didn't choose her words as carefully and precisely.
Daniel almost prefered those, over the one he received that morning, regardless of how uncomfortable they made him.
The letter said he should be there for lunch at noon, meaning he had some hours to spare. He grabbed a coat and put on his worn shoes. He walked the short path, covered in snow, towards the church.
He got used to saying his morning prayers first thing after he woke up. He'd do it in his cottage, considering it was warmer than the church, but in winter both were unpleasantly cold.
He walked inside and shut the heavy door. It was better inside for it wasn't windy. He made a sign of the cross with his eyes raised to the crucifix above the altar. It was a simple wooden one, like everything else in the church.
He said his prayers, kneeling in the front row. Only then he realized he wasn't alone. A few rows away, by one of the side altars, sat a man. Daniel knew him.
He was a man from the village; he rarely came to the service, but he prayed in the church regularly. Daniel didn't know why, but God knows he wouldn't force anyone to visit the church.
He kept praying for a while, but his thoughts kept slipping back to the letter. He realized his mind to be preoccupied with worries. He stood up and walked to the door.
"Wait, Father Daniel!" the man called him just as he was about to walk out of the church. Daniel turned around and waited. The man limped. He slowly made his way to the door where Daniel stood.
"How can I help you, sir?" he pushed his other frustrations aside and smiled.
"I would like to confess. In the evening," the man said and pulled his worn scarf tighter around his neck. Daniel barely noticed the gesture; it was quite draughty at the door.
"Very well. I'll see you after the evening mass," Daniel smiled before the man bid him goodbye and hurried out of the church. Daniel followed a few minutes after. It was a much sunnier day than the day before, he realized upon stepping outside. The newly fallen snow was glistening, and he squinted his eyes in the harsh light.
He walked back to his hut, checking his pocket watch on the way. Time seemed to be passing too slowly, for it was barely nine in the morning. It was still hours till midday when he was to be at the Edwards residence.
He entered his house, scoffing as he compared it to the large, brick townhouse the Edwards' owned. He had a slice of bread for breakfast, saving the little butter he still had for some time he'd feel hungrier. He made a note to stop at the baker's on his way home as well while chewing the hard bread.
When he finished his meal, he did some quick fixes around the house to pass the time. He folded a piece of paper and stuffed it under the leg of his table. It's been wobbly since before he arrived there, he just never came around to fix it. Then he moved to the window that he couldn't get to close and blamed it for most of the cold in the hut. He shoved a dirty cloth into the frame and hoped for the best. He never claimed to be the handiest of men, but if the rag didn't work, he might as well freeze to death one night.
He observed his work for a moment, then looked at his watch again. He still had time to spare and nothing left to do. Perhaps he imagined it, but the hands of the clock seemed to move even slower than before. He ended up sitting down on his bed and grabbed the Bible from the floor. He has read it time and time again throughout his life and had it almost memorized. He would say he was tired of it already if it wasn't for his profession, but it was the only book he owned.
He laid there for a while, reading the Book of Revelation, and waited for the time to pass. At last, the time came to leave, and Daniel put the Bible away.
He put his boots on and a cloak around his shoulders. He made sure to lock his door, then laughed at himself. What did he even own that was worth stealing?
Daniel made his way down the snowed road. His battered boots were sinking into the deep snow, and he already felt the wetness seeping through the leather. Daniel knew his feet were going to get soaked even before reaching the Edwards' house. Somehow he knew the conversation that would follow the lunch was going to be even more uncomfortable than wet feet. It was not something he looked towards, but he was desperate for some answers.
To discuss the most urgent of matters, that's what Mrs Edwards said. Daniel felt it was the first time in her life that she wasn't exaggerating.
He tugged his coat closer to his chest as the wind picked up and stepped faster. He heard too many stories of people freezing where they stood when he was a child. He had no desire to become the next tale told to the children to keep them at home.
Shivering, he pushed the fence door that separated the cobbled street from the trail he walked down. The villagers must have cleaned the snow off the main road, but the stone was wet and slippery. He walked carefully, but luckily the manor was close; he reached it within minutes.
Daniel stood in front of those large wooden double door. He's been there many times, yet he never felt that cold dread seep into his bones, creep up, ominously and slowly.
He knocked on the door and waited.
Death twitches in my ear.
"Live," he says, "I am coming".
[Virgil]