Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore #1) - K.A. Merikan Page 0,32

moment humanity had been cleansed from evil was paired with wooden figures of the very people who, according to the Bible, unleashed sin on the world. Adam and Eve, clad in vine branches, faced Christ in relaxed poses, unaware of the danger lurking above.

A tree, meticulously carved into a twisted shape, emerged from behind the painting. Its branches, lacquered and heavy with fruit, overshadowed both the painting and the two sculptures. And high up, in its impressive crown, the snake awaited its victims.

Emil was an adult man, but he still remembered how this allegorical depiction of Satan used to frighten him in childhood. The wooden sculpture was stylized, but the way it remained hidden in plain sight between the wooden leaves and apples had been what really creeped Emil the fuck out. The devil should not be present during worship, yet this one watched the congregation with its red eyes every single day, as if it was choosing who to follow home.

The church was very old and had likely been funded by some rich dude who whored, killed, and sinned his entire life and thought such an act could buy him God’s favor, but what Emil didn’t like about religion didn’t affect his appreciation of sacral art.

The church was the relic of times long gone, though the modern tabernacle spoiled the beauty of the whole setup. The tiny cupboard was made of metal too new and shiny to fit in with its antique surroundings, which was made even more obvious by the proximity of the old-fashioned eternal flame right next to it. He wasn’t an expert, but the monstrance kept inside the container was not only antique but also made of precious metals, so maybe he shouldn’t wonder why the pastor had decided to replace the old, somewhat flimsy tabernacle with one that offered more security.

Emil startled in his seat when the door behind the altar screeched, but then Adam entered wearing the somber cassock that covered him like a medieval robe. A serene expression didn’t leave his face when he briefly captured Emil’s gaze, invading Emil’s solitary space like a being that existed just to taunt him. Despite Adam being an outsider from Warsaw, he’d already seemed to have made friends, and had woven himself into the fabric of the village as if he’d lived in Dybukowo his whole life.

Emil watched Adam walk toward the carved wooden confessional, unsure whether he wanted company or solitude, and, this endless dichotomy was driving him mad.

It appeared as if Adam were intent on ignoring Emil’s presence, but as he touched the heavy green curtain obscuring the middle of the wardrobe-sized box, he did look back at him. “Would you like to talk?”

“No.”

Adam licked his lips. “If you change your mind, I will be here. I doubt a line is about to form. Few parishioners come to confession at this time.”

Emil stared daggers into him, angered that the offer of a conversation was really an invitation to a religious rite. Was Adam suggesting Emil had something to confess after Zofia’s death?

“So… I’ll just— talk to you another time,” Adam mumbled and fled behind the curtain.

Emil groaned and rubbed his forehead. Had he been too harsh? The two of them had been playing a game of cat and mouse since the night of the young priest’s arrival, but ‘play’ didn’t mean actually hurting his prey. Adam was uptight, and rode a high horse, but he’d never been unkind to Emil.

Except for that one time when he’d lost his cool at Emil for touching his hand.

Emil would love to see that kind of flush on Adam’s face again.

They didn’t know each other, they barely spoke, but when Adam looked into his eyes, it felt like he saw Emil, not Old Słowikowa’s grandson, not a black sheep, or the resident metalhead Satanist, but the person he was. And in the brief moments they’d shared, Emil didn’t feel so alone.

Or maybe it just was his dick talking.

Either way, once Emil made sure they were alone in the church, he rose and walked loudly so that Adam could hear him coming.

The big box of wood had an intimidating effect on Emil. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t religious, or that he only planned to have a conversation. When he slid behind the curtain at the side, into the dark space that smelled of dust and wood polish, the sight of Adam’s face behind the wooden lattice made him briefly forget about all the pain beyond the confessional. He