Free Embracing Darkness by Christopher D. Roe Page A

morning to see whatever was out there. He then thought of going out to the Benson place after breakfast to introduce himself. After all, they were neighbors.
    As he pulled his head in slowly, so as not to hit it against the paneling, the window descended. The priest jerked his head forward, striking his forehead hard against the sill. “God d… !” He stopped himself again, determined not to blaspheme like Sister Ignatius.
    Father Poole backed up to his bed, lay down holding his forehead, and then decided to go down into the kitchen for some ice. He didn’t think that the aspirin he had packed in his suitcase would do any good unless he developed a headache. For now he was more concerned with the bump he was starting to feel in the center of his forehead. He walked to his door, opened it slowly, and then stopped as soon as he heard it creak.
    He waited, peeking through the small crack. The bathroom light down the hall was on, and the door appeared to be open. Father Poole could tell that the door had to be fully ajar since the light emanating from the bathroom was substantial. Seeing no shadow there, he assumed that it had been left on simply as a night light. What a waste of electricity , the priest thought. I’ll have to talk to Sister Ignatius about this in the morning .
    He now swung the door open, unconcerned about waking anybody because he knew Argyle Hobbs lived downtown and, as for Mrs. Keats, if the Wright Brothers crashed their plane here, she wouldn’t even know . As soon as Father Poole thought this, he was ashamed. He truly liked Mrs. Keats and felt nothing but sympathy and compassion for her. He would add that cruel thought to the others he’d have to confess.
    As for Sister Ignatius, Father Poole wouldn’t mind waking her up. However, he did wonder about something, and he should have inquired earlier. It would be completely improper for a priest to sleep under the same roof as a nun, or any woman for that matter. And here he was with a staff of three people, two of whom were women. Where were they sleeping? Father Poole felt it necessary to find out and soon. Depending on the outcome of his investigation, he might have to leave St. Andrew’s rectory.
    Father Poole spent the next fifteen minutes knocking on every bedroom door in the rectory. When there was no response, he jiggled the doorknobs to see whether they were locked. Not one was. So he opened them all, turned on each light to make sure the bedroom was empty, and closed the doors. Around the seventh room Father Poole began to wonder again why they had built such an enormous rectory for so small a church. It almost seemed to him as though nothing made any sense. When he came to the last door, he held his breath as he jiggled the handle. It opened as easily as the others had, and like all the others, including his own, squeaked terribly. This room too was empty.
    By now it was 3:00 in the morning, and Father Poole was starting to feel the effects of sleeplessness. He found himself standing absentmindedly in the hallway on the first floor. With the stairs in back of him, the dining room to his right and the parlor to his left, the priest yawned deeply and put his arms up to stretch. As he did so, his raised hands collided with the low-hanging chandelier. He gave it such a knock that its diamond-shaped glass pendants clanked together, making a loud chorus of jingles that sounded like bottles violently clashing. Two years’ worth of dust simultaneously rained down upon the upturned face of the unlucky priest as he tried to steady the swaying chandelier in the dark.
    Some of the dust got into his eyes, some into his mouth, and some even up his nostrils. He brought his hands down quickly and brushed off whatever he could. Father Poole then went over to the front door, opened it, and walked out onto the porch. It felt cooler in the rectory’s hallway than it did outside. The air was still and humid. Walking carefully down the wooden steps that