The Demon and the Thief

Disclaimer: This chapter contains fictious scenes set in Eoropaidh, on the Isle of Lewis, north of the coast of Scotland. I have no knowledge of the people there, of locations or buildings. All characters in this chapter are fictious and have no relation what so ever to the real people of Eoropaidh. I've borrowed the name and the location because it fit perfectly into this story. if anyone in Eoropaidh, or someone related to anyone in Eoropaidh feels offended by the descriptions made in this and future chapters, please let me know and I'll remove it/them immediately. Sparrowbirdie.



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He stood on deck, watching in terror as the mighty galleon ploughed its way through water parallel with the ferry’s movements. Peter knew that he would most likely not live to see the evening, that this was the end. He’d seen her image in the library book in Midsomer Mallows. It was the Black Pearl, and the commander of the ship was none other than the demon who’d taken Malachi from him. It was John Sparrow, Captain of the Black Pearl. Peter jumped as a man came to lean on the railing next to him, and Peter was surprised to see that it was the first mate of the ferry.

“I reckon ye see her too, then, by the looks of yer face” the ruddy-faced, buxom first mate said, winking at Peter with one eye. “Not many get to see her, you see, but aye, I see her. Don’t see her tha’ often, so close to the main land, though. Must be somethin’ special goin’ on. On one of me days off I took me boat out sailin, and spotted her, but had no chance in hell of keepin up. Never seen a ship tha’ fast. I tell ye, she’s certainly not of this world!” the first mate laughed, and patted Peter on the back before he left for the brigg.

“Not of this world….!” Peter repeated to himself quietly. He directed his attention to the creature in his belly, and whispered: “I’m so sorry about this. I’m so sorry it’s now going to end. I have a feeling it’s all going to go so very bad soon, and I’m just so very sorry I have to part from you. How I wish I could get to know you. I’m sorry I’m not much of a father. I’m a bad person, and there’s no redemption to be had for my soul. I’m a whore, and this is now a very dirty body. For you I would have been pure. Had I known then what I know now, that I was to feel such incredible life grow inside me, I’d lived a totally different life from the start. Please don’t hate me for being so weak. If I only could hide you away, I would, I’d protect you and let no harm come to you. But time is running out. I think this might be my last chance to say goodbye to you, little one, whatever you are. How I long to cradle you in my arms…!” Peter sobbed quietly, wiping away tears as best he could without being noticed. Through the blur created by his tears, he could see people moving about the black ship. Peter made out one of them, who’d stopped to gaze over to the ferry. It was the demon from the corridor. John Sparrow. He was waiting now. Waiting for the opportune moment. Peter knew in his heart that that man was the one who was going to take his life. His and the baby’s. He just knew it.

In his desperation, Peter asked the first mate for directions to the nearest church in Stornway. The first mate looked Peter up and down, and then told him the way, adding: “The church’s just a building, ye know”. Peter told him goodbye, and drove his car ashore. He was at the church ten minutes later. Stornway wasn’t a very big place. He went inside, and crossed his chest before walking up to the first row. He looked to the altar image of Christ crucified, hoping there would some kind of sign, feeling like he’d come to the end of the road.

Please don’t let them take my baby. Please spare him, and allow me this one thing so I may have a reason to live. I don’t want to go to Hell. Please, dear Christ, save us!

Peter didn’t realize he’d folded his hands. He was getting awfully tired, and laid down on the bench. It was the child, draining him of his powers, as it attempted to grow, to fulfil its task of living despite the dire situation ahead. Peter dreamt of the lighthouse. Illustrious, shining white and pure against the stormy horizon, sparkling and serene as if it was blessed by God, untouchable to the clawing tendrils reaching, stretching, yearning to tear it asunder, reaching down from the stormy grey clouds above.

Peter awoke to see the living Christ on the cross. The blood ran from the thorns pricking his forehead, and his dying brown eyes met Peter’s.

The lighthouse.

Peter opened his eyes and gathered his things. He got up and turned walked around the edge of the row just to see the exit blocked by a man. He wore his hair neck-long, and he was clad in bronzed armour on top of a long flowing robe. He stared intently at Peter. He almost looked like a templar knight, but the cross was missing. The figure was resting his left hand on the top of the hilt of a longsword, and the blade balanced on the carpeted floor. The smell of sulphur filled Peter’s nostrils, overtaking the scent of burning candles. There was a smell of something else burning as well, and Peter soon noticed the faint smoke rising from underneath the feet of the foreign looking man. This was no man of God. No angel, for his wings were black as the darkest pits in the moonless nights, and his face bore a distinct resemblance to that of Malachi’s. He moved, coming towards Peter.

“I had to see you for myself” the winged man spoke angrily. “My brother’s slave. He suffers now, because of his love for you. You’ve ruined all, and reduced my beloved brother to a shadow of himself.” He stepped even closer to Peter, who begun to walk backwards, eyeing the exit to his right side. If he ran now, would he make it outside? Then what? Where would he go? On foot he wouldn’t get far. “Is it true you have Malachi’s child in your belly? Is it true what they say, that you’re a Turner?”

Peter didn’t know what to say. He was so terrified, for this was a far more menacing copy of his master.

“Tell me! Do you bear his child?!” the demon called out.

“Melchior” a dark voice thundered through the church. John Sparrow strode out from the shadow of Christ, his eyes glowing angrily red, his face a sculptured mask of restrained anger. He spoke again, glancing at Peter before he directed his attention to the winged demon: “A warning to you, my son. Touch him but once, and I’ll drag you away screaming as I did with your poor brother.”

Peter dared linger no more. He turned on his heel and bolted out through the door, through a narrow corridor and out the emergency exit. He had to get to his car! His gut told him to run like crazy, and the child kept nagging, wanting him to go north. There was one image in Peter’s mind, just one, and that was the sparkling white lighthouse. Some kind of salvation awaited for him there. He ran around the church, trying to get the car keys out of his pocket so he could just slip into the car and drive off. But his fingers wouldn’t quite work, and his heart pounded so hard and fast he saw stars. He was so nervous, he missed the keys in his pocket several times, and upon finally fishing them out of his pocket, he lost them on the pavement. Something in the air caught his attention, and as he craned his neck to stare to the church spire, he saw the winged demon perched on the top of the roof. The other demon was no where in sight. It occurred to Peter that he wouldn’t be able to drive. His hands were shaking and he was so utterly tired and frightened. This was it, he thought, this was the final chase which was the beginning of the end of his life on earth. Ahead lay only eternity of terror and pain in Hell. He began to walk down along the pavement, away from the church, keeping an eye on the black-winged demon as often as he could. But in less than a second, as Peter had looked down to watch where he was stepping, the demon had vanished. A bus came by and stopped next to where Peter was standing. Looking to his side, Peter realized he had stopped at a bus stop. The bus sign spelled ’4 Port Nis’, and underneath it, a list of minor places, among them the name ‘Eoropaidh’. Peter asked the driver: “I need to get to, uh, Eoropaidh.”

“It’s called Eoropie, lad, and aye I do pass it on me way. Hop on!”

What luck! What chance that he, a nobody, would be by the right bus at the right time, Peter thought. Perhaps Christ had heard his prayer after all. Peter dozed off again, and he woke up fifteen minutes later, and peered out at a desolate landscape with peat bogs. No man’s land. Houses were scarce, and it felt like the bus drove the passengers away from civilization and back through centuries. A heavy sea wind blew about everywhere, rocking the bus on its steady way on the straight roads, cutting through dunes of flat and green, uneventful landscape. Another fifteen minutes later, and the bus stopped at the station in Eoropaidh. Peter paid the driver, and got off, inhaling the fresh sea air full of tar and smoked fish. He looked across the street, quickly finding the location of the smokery. If he looked beyond the smokery, he could see the sea, and he nearly felt the waves crush brutally against the cliffs. The sea gulls above were trying to master the heavy wind, and Peter closed his jacket, shivering with cold. Allt he while he stood there wondering what to do next, a car pulled up. An old weathered looking man with ruddy cheeks and grey hair by his temples, greeted him with a grin. He nodded to some passers-by, before he looked to Peter again and said: “Ye be Peter Drinkwater, son?” Peter nodded, not sure what to believe. The man looked like no demon, and something about him told Peter he was a sailor.

“The name’s Gibbs. Hop in, I’ll give ye a lift to the lighthouse.”

Five minutes drive and they were there, and there it was, the tall, gleaming white lighthouse. There were no words to express his relief. The lighthouse was situated in one corner of a large, rectangular courtyard. The courtyard was fenced in by small white building, all made according to custom, in white, with black roofs.

“We better get inside, Mr. Drinkwater, weather’s not its finest today” Mr. Gibbs told him, and motioned for Peter to follow him across the large courtyard to the largest of all the white buildings. Peter could see a multitude of small pebbles beneath the ice and snow, and he braced himself for whatever would come next. He hoped it included a grand dinner, or a just a hot drink, that would do also. The white painted door creaked as it was opened, and Gibbs motioned politely for Peter to enter first. Gibbs led him through a small hall, and motioned for him to leave his jacket there to dry, but Peter politely declined as he did not know what would happen next. He might have to run for it, for all he knew. He was shown into the living room. It was fairly large, with a fireplace dominating the farthest wall, the wood crackling, filling the living room with a pleasant smell. The people gathered around the fireplace turned as he came in, and he heard the door being shut behind him. It took him less than a second to realize that he’d walked straight into a trap.