The holy man kept his mouth firmly upon the unfortunate animal's skull as its cries died out with its fading awareness. The cranial offerings did little to quell his desire or his anxiety. His true goal was the man who used the shelter of the church walls against him. It was frustrating that he had escaped. He wasn't supposed to escape. The holy man didn't like to show his true form to those he didn't suck dry.

Well, there was nowhere to go. Without his horse, he was a human and the holy man could run faster than him. He dared him to try. He would make quick work of the unknown man.

The door swung open and the stranger appeared at the top of the steps practically frothing at the mouth. "GOLDIE!" he screamed. "NOOO!"

The holy man thought it was a strange reaction. He was consistently confused by the reactions he received. Humanity was not as predictable as he had believed.

"You're a dead man!" the stranger continued, stomping forward. "I'll kill you! What did that poor horse ever do to you?"

The holy man released the palomino. It fell limp on the ground. At approximately the same moment, reason and logic returned to the stranger. He again appreciated the severity of the circumstances. He turned around, scrambling back to the safety of the building. The holy man crouched down and then leapt the distance between the hitching post and top step. He was quite the jumper. The stranger, he knew, didn't stand a chance. He shoved a large hand, grown larger and longer, between the door and frame as his victim tried to pull it shut.

"Oh shit," said the stranger. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!"

Things were in his favor now. The holy man recognized this and he relished it. He yanked at the wood and in a final crack, the door split down the middle. It would be difficult to keep others from entering going forward. Perhaps when he was done here, he would find something else to block the way, or perhaps he would clean up some of his indisgressions. Time would tell. The stranger released his hold and moved back to put distance between himself and the holy man. The holy man pushed what was left of the door aside and stalked inside with an audible hiss.

The stranger posted up beside the pulpit. He feebly chucked the book from in front of him. It didn't travel far enough and wouldn't have made a difference if it had. He barked, "No, I didn't bring my pistol. It's back at the office." And then, "Well, I didn't think Father Spiegelman would turn into a demon and eat my horse!"

The holy man did a sweep of the room. Who was it that the stranger spoke with? He couldn't see anyone else.

"Hey," called the stranger. The holy man thought it was meant for him. "Hey, look, I know I was angry but I'll forgive the horse eatin', all right? You were hungry and that's fine. I don't reckon there's much to eat out this way--"

The holy man flew at the pulpit. He had no reason to wait and listen to this man. He would eat and be done with it. The stranger cursed anew and kicked at him. The holy man latched onto the stranger's boot and wrapped his fingers, tugging hard. It wasn't ideal; he would have preferred a clean grab on the head. It was harder to catch his prey when they knew to expect it. The stranger kicked a second time with his other foot and wriggled out of the captured garment, breaking free as he did. This earned another hiss.

"I know you can speak," argued the stranger, calling back over his shoulder. He hightailed it for the battered doorway. "We were just talkin'. If you're willin' to bargain, I'm willin' to bargain!"

The holy man hissed and charged. "Don't you hiss at me--" the stranger began as the holy man caught him at what was left of the door. The two crashed through the debris, rolling down the stone steps. The holy man landed on his feet and was able to right himself easily. The stranger landed less gracefully, contorted in an almost obscence position. He moaned into a crumpled ball, collapsing on his side as he tried to uncurl from the blow. The holy man reached out and, taking the stranger by his hair, hauled his skull towards his salivating maw.

At the same time, the injured stranger flailed out and grabbed hold of a long splinter of wood. He shoved it in the style of a makeshift blade into the holy man's soft abdomen in a desperate act of self preservation. The monster jerked as the skewer ran him through. No, he was so close. A little further and the stranger would offer up his delicious brain. Without his brain, he couldn't hurt him any further and the holy man could clean up the mess which had gotten out of hand. Fighting against the sharp throbbing, he clamped over the scalp and pressed the drill of his tongue through the epidermis, delving deep to meet the bone.

The stranger waited until the last moment to rip the wooden stake up. It tore raggedly at the internal workings of the monster and caused damage unspeakable. The holy man could not ignore the pain any longer. He released the stranger in a scream and toppled backwards. The stranger slumped down, connecting with the earth in a cloud of dust. This time, however, he was the first to rise, forcing himself to his feet on pure adrenaline. He wrenched free the wood that had pierced through the holy man's winding intestines. The holy man whimpered, holding his hands over the wound for fear of what might fall out from the opening. The stranger sighed and pressed the stake to the holy man's throat. It was over.

"We done?" panted the stranger as if to confirm the finality of the situation.

"How did you know?" asked the holy man, forcing his human guise back despite the exertion. He was as good as dead and he knew it. Once the humans discovered his kind, they killed without hesitation. That was why it was essential not to attack unless they came alone and the holy man only ever attacked when they came alone. That was why he had grown complacent. No one ever turned around. No one ever saw him as he went after their cortex. Why, then, had this man looked back? "How did you know to look?"

"I cheated?" laughed the stranger. Despite everything, he seemed amused. "If I'd come alone, we wouldn't be havin' this chat."

The holy man stared, the warmth of his inner fluid seeping through his hands. The stranger glanced at the milky-yellow and made no comment. Glancing around, the holy man mumbled, "You came alone. I looked. I made certain."

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"I came with my deputy," clarified the stranger, nodding at the air. The holy man did not see anyone. "You can't see him on account of him bein' dead."

The statement confused the holy man. "I don't understand." Dead was dead. How could a human be dead and present at the same time?

"You're not the only one who can't see him," assured the stranger. "Ain't that right, Jeff?" Then, "But it's mighty lucky for me that he can see you." He pushed the stake into the perceived windpipe slightly to further assert dominance. "You know, I ought to kill you for what you did to Goldie. It's not murder if it ain't human. That goes double for you." He glanced aside. "Well, I don't know, Jeff. Maybe I'll let him off. I haven't decided."

The holy man was uncomfortable. It wasn't limited his injuries.

The stranger waved the air off. "This is why I don't talk to you 'round others." He chided, nodding towards the holu man. "Look, we're scarin' him." He turned to the holy man but not without a quick aside. "I'm aware. I'm the one he was tryin' to eat." Wholly unaffected by the blood in his eyes and the deep stains on his clothing, the stranger said, "Now, it looks like I get to decide what happens to you. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," said the holy man. The unfortunate truth. The end of the line.

"I got some questions for you, Father. I'd be mighty tickled if you'd answer them for me. They concern Herman Tate."

Herman Tate! It was always Herman Tate! Who was the man who bobbed in the well with an empty noggin? The holy man hissed with displeasure.

"Are you a snake?" taunted the stranger. "You keep hissin'. Somethin' about Herman Tate rub you the wrong way?"

"I am tired of hearing that name," said the holy man. "I am tired of Herman Tate. I do not wish to hear his name again."

The stranger arched an eyebrow. "You've been hearin' it a lot, have you? That's what it sounds like to me."

"Yes." A jab at the throat and the stranger nodded as though to urge elaboration. "Yes, I have heard. Everyone who comes by wants to know about Herman Tate. 'Where is Herman Tate'?"

The stranger frowned. "Can you be more specific?"

The holy man snarled. "I do not know who they are."

"Fair," allowed the stranger. "Has Herman Tate been here? We can start with that."

The holy man weighed his options. "I do not know who that is," he lied. "If I do not know who Herman Tate is, how can I know if he has been here? Many have been here."

"Big guy, black hair." There was a loud rumble from the sky. At once, the foreseen downpour began. Neither stranger nor holy man made for the church. They stayed where they were and the conversation persisted. "You remember anyone like that? He probably mistook you for someone else."

"No."

"You sure you didn't..." He followed with a gnashing sound as he chomped his teeth. "You know?"

The holy man shook his head. "I do not know who that is. I did not do anything to Herman Tate."

The stranger tried a different approach. "You said someone else asked about him? Who?"

"Yes," said the holy man. "There have been many. They have asked about Herman Tate."

"You any good at descriptions?" The stranger was unimpressed by the holy man and his words. He did not disguise his mistrust. "Give me somethin', Father."

"No. I cannot describe them."

The stranger looked to his invisible companion. "Have you tried this on anyone else?" He presented the abused state of his body, gesturing broadly with his free hand.

"No," said the holy man.

"I see," said the stranger dismissively. "Okay, look, he's goin' to continue to lie to us. This ain't gettin' us anywhere." Then, "If anythin', I'm less convinced the preacher knows about Herman that I was before we set out."

The holy man considered, frantically thinking of what he might do to save his skin. While his destruction seemed imminent, wasn't it the goal of any creature to survive? What might he do to prolong his existence? He blubbered, "If I saw the ones who were here again, I could tell you who has asked."

"Oh," said the stranger. "That's one solution, sure. What do you think, Jeff?"

The holy man waited trepidatiously. The invisible man was too quiet to hear. No amount of straining granted access to his words.

The stranger exasperated and lowered the stake, taking the holy man by the collar. The holy man hugged his injuries tighter and permitted the action. "Yeah, but I'm the sheriff as you so often remind me." Forcing his prisoner to his feet, the stranger declared, "Father Spiegelman, I'm arrestin' you."

"Arresting?" That wasn't a term the holy man had encountered yet. He couldn't determine its meaning from the present context.

"That way, if anyone wants to know what you're doin' in jail, we won't need to mention the "demon" aspect of things." The holy man wanted to know what a demon was and how that applied to him. The stranger quibbled with his partner and the holy man did not think it in his interests to interrupt. He would show passivity and perhaps save himself presently. "What do you mean, 'what am I up to'? I'm tryin' to figure out what happened to Herman Tate. That's what you want, isn't it?... Kill him? He's our best lead. I'll throw him in a far cell, we'll put folks away from him.... no, I'm not up to anything."

"I think I'm dying," said the holy man as he moved his hands to examine his wound.

"We'll look into that too," insisted the stranger. "Patch you up, get you good as new-- yes, I know what he is." The stranger blinked. "Actually, Father, what are you?"

"What do you mean?" A bolt of lightning flashed, followed by a clap of thunder.

"What are you? A demon?"

The holy man ruminated. "I do not know what it means to be a demon."

"Yeah? Can you fly, Father?"

"Fly?" If he could have flown, he would have flown far away. "No."

The stranger sighed, unhappy with the answer. "Whatever you are, Father, it's a four mile walk to town in the rain. Thanks again for eating my horse."