The rush of hooves kicking up dirt jarred the self-proclaimed holy man from his meal. The hastily arranged wooden-slated walls didn't block out the drafts, much less the sound of an approaching parishioner. And where else might the rider be heading if not the isolated church? Brody's Cross was four miles back the way they rode. Some towns sprung up around their place of worship. When it came to Brody's Cross, piety was an afterthought-- after the saloon, and the bank, and the sprawling Asper ranch. Many might have found the job of preacher lonesome and thankless. Instead, the figure who crossed to the rattling doors relished the solitude.

Most of the time.

Lifting the latch, he pushed aside the painted egress and stepped down the hewn stone steps as the rider closed the distance between them. The white horse was ragged with age and years of use but she could still run well enough. A cloud of dust enveloped her and dissipated as her young rider pulled on the reins before dismounting. The holy man hardly managed a, "My child, what brings you here?" before the distraught woman threw her arms around him and burst into tears.

"Oh, Father!" sobbed Lacey Tate. "I don't know what to do!*"

Lacey was a pretty little thing, easily the most eligible lass of marrying age in Brody's Cross. She wore her hair in a pair of black braids tied off by yellow ribbons that matched the shade of her paisley-print dress. The holy man glanced aside unnoticed. The woman had buried her face into his dark frock and whimpered. He awkwardly placed a hand upon her back, fighting the urge to do anything more. "There, there. It's all right."

"I don't know what to do," Lacey repeated, sniffling. "It's Herman."

"What about Herman, my child?"

Herman Tate was the elder of the two Tate children. At twenty-four, he had recently become the unexpected heir to his father's sheep ranch. The Tate ranch had nothing on the magnitude of the Asper Ranch, but old man Asper's cattle had practically built Brody's Cross. Where his sister was dainty and small, Herman stood tall and strong, with a chiseled jaw, flowing ebony locks, and stubble that never quite disappeared with a shave. Herman and Lacey had grown up close and their father's death had brought them closer. With such a tight familial bond, the people of Brody's Cross would wonder what could possibly be troubling Miss Lacey.

Lacey lifted her head. "Oh, Father!"

"Is he unwell?" It was a shot in the dark.

"No. I don't know. Maybe." The young woman released her hold and stepped back, wiping her big blue eyes. "I'm so worried about him, Father."

"Why, my child?"

"Ever since he came back from the east, he's been distant. I know Pa's passin' caught us both by surprise."

"As death is wont to do," observed the holy man with stern sobriety.

"You know how he is," said Lacey.

"Yes, I do," agreed the holy man. He did not elaborate or express any further opinion.

Lacey clutched the front of her skirt nervously in her hands and shifted on her feet. "As you recall, Herman was off studyin' out east before Pa...died. I thought with the funeral being done five months ago and all, he'd be ready to go back and finish up but he's...adamant to stay. He's been keepin' to the house. He hardly goes anywhere and he keeps the curtains drawn day and night. I'm lost at sea. I don't know what he's doing."

The holy man mimicked her stance, folding his hands before him. "Have you asked him?"

"How do I ask him, Father? What do I say?" She frowned. "Oh, Father! I don't want him worried about my worryin'! You know how he is! You know what Pa always used to say!"

"You are right," conceded the holy man. "I do know what was said."

"Besides," said Lacey. "Just recently, I came back after a trip into town and he was gone. I thought maybe one of the boys had come and got him, but everyone said they hadn't seen him leave. Then, these really shady looking fellers ride back with him. I asked who they were but he wouldn't tell me. He wouldn't tell anyone. He told us all to let it alone. Since then, he's been sneakin' off at night. I know he must be going to see 'em-- those fellers, I mean. I don't know why. I don't even know who they are, Father! They're not from Brody's Cross!"

"How troubling," remarked the holy man. He nodded in taciturn agreement.

"So I got to thinkin' and I remembered that Pa said you and him made a promise all them years ago that you'd always be there to help the Tate family to the best of your abilities. He said after he saved you from that bear, you said that ever a Tate needed you, you'd be there." Lacey folded her hands behind her back and gazed optimistically into the holy man's eyes. "Well, Father, this Tate could really use some guidance."

The holy man responded with a gentle smile. "Of course I will guide you."

"If I ask my brother to come speak to you, do you think you could find out what's been goin' on?" needled Lacey. She looked the picture of innocence.

"Have you mentioned this to anyone else?" queried the holy man. "That you've seen Herman with these men and how he runs off unexpectedly? Or that you were coming here today?"

Lacey bit her lip and cast her eyes downwards. "Well..."

"It's all right, my child. You may speak free of judgement."

"I know it's... not right to gossip. So I've only mentioned it to Mrs. Dawson and Miss Pearl. Oh, and maybe a little to Mrs. Burnham, but they're not the types to talk, Father, so I wouldn't call it gossipin'! Expressin' concern, more like."

"I understand," said the holy man. "A woman worries."

"Yes." Lacey nodded furiously. "And I do worry. I worry a whole lot. It was Martine who said I ought to stop by. She reminded me 'bout how close you were with Pa."

"I suppose she expects you back shortly?"

"Oh, yes. You know how she is, Father. If I'm late even five minutes late, she'll have half the town lookin' for me."

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"Send Herman to me," said the holy man after a moment of contemplation. "We will talk man to man. Perhaps I can get to the bottom of this."

Lacey's face lit up. "Thank you, Father! I will send him around this evenin'. Thank you very much!" She nodded once again then scampered to the old nag, Hoisting herself up, she gave the holy man one last wave. "Thank you! This evenin', okay?"

"Of course," beamed the holy man. He returned the wave and watched Lacey until she was little more than a spot on the horizon.

Then it was back to sucking the brains from the poor drunkard he'd left unfinished in the pews.

The holy man wasn't the holy man he presented. He bore all the characteristics of the original holy man, certainly. He was tall and lanky with a salt and peppered beard and widow's peak. His hands and feet were much larger, sure, but he was able to mask that well enough. How closely did one look at the palms or soles if attention wasn't called to them? He also dressed in the same frock and collar. But was he as holy as his predecessor? Absolutely not.

Before Lacey Tate had rudely interrupted, the holy man had been enjoying the fluids from between Mr. Frederick Murphy's ears. The hard drill at the end of the holy man's elongated tongue, hidden until necessary for use, made gouging holes through the top of the skull no more difficult than using a cracker on a nut. When he spread his lips wide, wider than any man could, and clamped down with hidden suckers, there wasn't a soul alive who could shake him off.

For the last month, the holy man had found himself in the church at Brody's Cross. He considered it a fortuitous turn of events. For years, he had lived in the darkness of the nearby caverns, sucking at the innards of the blind fish that swam within. If the original holy man hadn't stumbled in one night, disoriented by the darkness and naïve to his peril, the new holy man might never have seen the light of day. Fortuitous as well was the ability of the holy man's kind to take on the form of those they devoured. It was a timely task with the process taking several days. Too often, the deception was discovered before it was finished. The locals proclaimed there were monsters living underground and tried to make sense of the remains. The holy man had been lucky. No one came looking for the original holy man. When he emerged to wander the surface, dressed in his victim's clothing, it wasn't long before he was picked up by a passing wagon, recognizing him as "Father Spiegelman". The good Samaritan went so far as to transport him directly to the church steps.

And for the last month, the holy man had found himself with a cornucopia of sustenance. Those that lived on the fringe of society came regularly to the church for charity. The holy man welcomed them with open arms and an open mouth. The glut of brains filled him with joy and his stomach with a warm, satisfying feeling that no fish ever could. He passed himself as the man who he had replaced in the manner he found worked best-- agreement with whatever he was told, a polite smile, and always letting the other party control the conversation. Did he know who Lacey Tate was? No. Herman Tate? From context, the holy man assumed an untrustworthy husband. As far as whatever promise had been made to the woman's father, the holy man was uninterested. What he had taken from their conversation was self serving: she had a husband with a penchant for disappearing. The town might go looking after her, but her husband? Who was to say where he had gone if he were to vanish on his way back from the church? The holy man wasn't stupid and knew better than to take respectable folks that might be missed. But if someone were already expected to go missing, would anyone think to blame the pious preacher?

The holy man hissed with satisfaction as he drained what remained of Murphy's cerebrum. This was the height of luxury, to expect two meals in one day. Detaching from the dead man, he dragged the corpse to the well beside the outhouse and dropped it in. It was the same as he had done with the other men and women who had the misfortune to experience his true nature. A wave of flies rose up as the body settled on top of the growing pile, returning to their grim work. The holy man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and resumed a human visage.

"Hmmmmm," he mused. "Hmmmm. Hmmm."

There was evidence of his misdeeds on the pews and the floors. Sometimes he felt he ought to clean it up for appearance sake. The holy man had no qualms dispatching those who came alone but knew his limits. His strength lay in surprise, not physical prowess or endurance. He had to insist the church was awaiting new benches from out of town to dissuade those droves who were accustomed to Sunday sermons and open doors. Eventually, he would need to move on. At some point, it would come out that he hadn't been away during the days of his transition looking at the means to improve the congregation. He did not know the first thing about the Bible or even how to read the book that sat gathering dust on the pulpit. His deception would come out. But not yet. Not tonight.

Tonight, he would eat Herman Tate and grow stronger.

True to Lacey's word, the young man arrived as the sun was setting. The holy man sat lounging by the window, his arms folded across the sill as his chin rested atop. Herman's horse was young and brown. Idly, the holy man wondered if there was merit in eating the colt's brain. Three brains in a single day? Life beyond the cavern was truly wonderful.

"Good evening, my child," said the holy man when it came time to descend the steps and greet the elder Tate. "I've been expecting you."

"Yes," sighed Herman, practically jumping off. "Lacey told me. Father, I don't know what she said to you, but there's nothin' to worry about. You don't need to get involved."

"I'm pleased you came."

"I came to make her happy," said Herman. "And to make sure you understood that there's nothin' to a woman's jawin'." He tied the animal to a post beside the structure and stepped around the holy man to climb the stairs. "If we're going to talk, let's get out of the mosquitoes."

The holy man wasted no time. He grabbed Herman by the collar and bit into his skull so fiercely he didn't have the time to react. Slurping loudly, the holy man made quick work. It wasn't long before Mr. Tate found himself in the same well as Mr. Murphy and the others. Next was the sleek brown horse. The holy man was disappointed. The taste was less than he hoped. He decided he was most fond of human encephalons. Disposing of the larger creature was the more difficult than anticipated. The holy man found the horse impossible to lift. In the end, he opted to drag it some ways away and leave it for the scavengers. If it were discovered, the holy man reasoned, its state would be attributed to wolves or rational predation.

And so the holy man spent the next day reclining and digesting, comfortable in a state of satiation. As evening approached, the sound of hooves again seeped through the church walls. The holy man watched from the window as five men rode fast towards him. He considered slipping out the back and hiding. Maybe it was time to run away. Complacency stayed him and it was too late to flee when he rationalized it was the route he ought to have taken.

A large, ugly man with grizzled features and little hair was the first to arrive. The holy man met him at the church steps with a smile. "My child, what-"

"Where the hell's Herman Tate?" the grizzled man demanded. He didn't get down from his black horse. He glared at the holy man as the other men caught up. "I won't ask you twice, Father."

"I have not seen him," said the holy man.

"You tell him," said the grizzled man, "That if he thinks he can back out of our deal, he's got another thing comin'."

"I will certainly tell him if I am to see him," said the holy man amicably.

"He can hide out here all he likes," continued the grizzled man. "Of course, we'll just be takin' his pretty little sister in the meanwhile."

"That makes sense," replied the holy man.

"He has until this time tomorrow before we slit her throat." This was punctuated with a finger across the neck.

"Of course. Exactly as you say."

One of the other men looked from the holy man to the grizzled man. "Some preacher, huh?"

"You better tell him," stressed the grizzled man. "This ain't a joke."

The holy man confirmed. "I will tell him if I see him."

The grizzled man spat on the ground and whistled to the others. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

The holy man remained on the steps until they were out of sight. Then he returned to the confines of the church and carried on as if nothing had happened.