The Burning Time Read Free Page B

fell silent, awaiting the start of the new reverend’s first sermon.
    “Welcome, brethren.” The wireless microphone clipped to his collar amplified his already powerful voice so it carried easily to those in the very back rows.
    “I want to speak today of the Devil. Not the little red imp with the pitchfork who adorns the sides of your processed ham packages. No, I’m talking about the almighty, everlasting, perpetual Lord of Fire. Satan. Beelzebub. The Horned Goat.
    “The Devil, my friends, is everywhere. He is the politician who takes the bribe and the businessman who offers it. He’s the street thug who steals your wallet and the CEO who steals your pension. He could be a small boy or...”
    He paused, letting his gaze roam from one side of the church to the other, catching the eyes of the men, women, and children in the pews and making sure no one’s attention drifted away.
    “Or an old man walking down the road.”
    Christian threw his arms up and allowed his voice to rise in volume. “Beware the Stranger! Beware! The Devil could very well be...here...right...now!”
    He punctuated each word by pointing to a different pew, making people jump in their seats or gasp. His voice ascended to a roar, the syllables shaking the candles on the altar.
    “Fear the Stranger, people. He brings the fire that will burn your town to ashes!” He shook his fist in the air. “You are but sheep before him! Baa! Baa! Your lambs belong to him. The Wizened Goat will rut with your women and cast them away. Your men will tremble before him. His shadow will darken your doors.”
    As if on cue, the sunlight dimmed and sudden thunder detonated in rolling waves, sending vibrations through the floors and wooden benches. Lighting exploded outside, the brilliant white washing away the rainbow colors of the glass.
    Several women and children screamed and more than one man cried out as the church doors flew open with a tremendous bang. A man stood there, backlit by the lightning. His silver hair glowed with each unearthly display of energy.
    Heavy gusts of wind pulled missalettes and event calendars from benches and turned them into a gathering of confused paper birds. The sharp tang of ozone overpowered the comforting scents of incense and candle wax.
    The silver-haired man turned and closed the doors against the storm-laden currents. Papers and pamphlets fell to the floor, flightless once more.
    The silver-haired man’s black eyes and unsmiling face glanced around the church until they locked on an empty seat in the back row. He started forward, his footsteps echoing in the silence.
    A child’s voice spoke. “Mama, is that the old man?”
    Other voices joined in, the murmurs and whispers audible in the cavernous room.
    “An old man.”
    “A stranger.”
    The silver-haired man ignored the comments and sat down. As he did, the lightning and thunder came to an end and weak sunlight brightened the windows again.
    Reverend Christian eyed the man for a moment.
    Is it him? It could be. So many years had passed...
    Christian slapped one pale hand on the pulpit. “People, people. Quiet, please.” He glanced at his notes and wondered if he should try to recapture their attention. Several parishioners were stealing not-so-secretive looks back at the stranger.
    Momentary annoyance at having lost control of the crowd subsided as he realized the need for patience. I’ve planted the seed. Better to move on and save the rest for another day.
    “Before we begin the Offering, I would like to take a moment and ask a special favor of each and all of you. Our church, your church, is in need of repairs. This once-beautiful house of worship has fallen on hard times, which is why we will be organizing several fund-raising events throughout the summer. Next week’s bulletin will have a list. But in the meantime, please feel free to add something extra to the collection plate. Every dollar helps.”
    Opening the Bible to the passage marked for the