Churchmouse

Hickston village was a bit lost in terms of map reference – it was so tiny, it might be mistaken for a speck of dust or a crumb from a piece of holy wafer. Yet the new vicar for Saint Peter’s church found the place easily, manoeuvring his bicycle adeptly through brambled paths, that paraded pretentiously as roads and then through to teensy, tiny streets where cobbles had their own cobbles.  All those tales of people disappearing here into some sort of land-equivalent of the Bermuda triangle, phased him not. He had been well briefed and was well prepared. In fact, his manbag contained numerous vials of holy water, a large silver cross and a few other secret items so secret in fact that he had forgotten what they were.

And then the church arose from nowhere, vainly, at first, trying to grab his attention through a thicket of green growth that was attached to it, possibly in some sort of symbiotic relationship. Whether this coupling was a welcomed one or not, Reverend Smith had his doubts but the plant's attempt to hide his destination was ultimately futile, and he headed closer to the church, whilst observing with interest the conditions around him.

There was no doubt that neglect was the order of the day in the village. Small dwellings appeared to hold the dust and debris of centuries upon their rooftops – or was it thatch? Short stranded at the front of the cottages and dropping down at the back like straw mullets. He had to laugh to himself at this thought. Whatever it was, it looked decidedly unkempt.

Undaunted however, by the deleterious surroundings seemingly trying to veer his bike off the road via bits stuck between the cobbles and wadges of waste-paper or tins caught in sudden gusts of wind, he found the entrance to the church. Predictably, the worn, unpainted door showed traces of graffiti, which someone had scrubbed at but failed to remove. One sentence read ‘Beware, the Devil comes to this church.’ A charming thought! Another piece of graffiti read ‘All are welcome here!’ The two writings conflicted somewhat.

Inside the church, it smelt musty and the floor was covered in mouse droppings, so he set to with a broom, whilst keeping his eyes peeled for any rodents. And then he spotted it – one tiny mouse cowering in the corner. He raised his broom to it, threateningly but it vanished in a flash. Thoughts that arose were less than holy! Blasted thing.

Over the next few days the mouse popped up everywhere. Once it even appeared in the toilet whilst the Rev was fully occupied with a major job of evacuation – and as much as he wanted to pee on the thing or worse, he just gritted his teeth and focused on expelling a vast and somewhat abnormal amount of waste matter. Chasing round the church with a broom became his prime exercise routine. How long would this continue? He could swear he even heard the thing laugh a few times. A little screechy sound like tiny nails scraping across the church floor. No doubt, the small creature delighted in seeing his futile efforts to kill and had enjoyed seeing his bare-bottomed humiliation that time in the toilet, as well.

On Sunday, the Reverend stood at the door of the church, trying to assume a welcoming but masculine stance. Never an easy task for a man in a surplice. He waited and waited and eventually the villagers trickled in. They looked at him apprehensively as he introduced himself but he made his smile as wide as possible and his handshake as firm as was polite. And when the dribs and drabs abated and the church was half full, he stood at his pulpit, where the bible was placed and introduced himself – then found himself besieged with questions. At first, these related to the whereabouts of the old vicar. Where was he now they wanted to know? He hadn’t been ill. He had never told them he was leaving. They also put forward their views that the village had been blighted with some form of evil. Some of the villagers had vanished without trace and the dirt everywhere did not adhere to the rules that most dirt did! They tried to keep it clean, they said, but filth manifested everywhere despite their most vigilant efforts.

However, Rev Smith assured them that the previous vicar had been called away unexpectedly. No, he could not reveal his whereabouts. It was a matter only known to the old vicar, himself, and God. And then he held aloft his manbag and revealed its contents, assuring them he had been sent to banish all evil. At these explanations the villagers quietened and as he embarked on his first sermon, all their questions faded, along with the sunlight that had been spiking through the plant overgrowth outside and filtering through the dusty windows. A storm cloud hung outside, rumbling as the vicar’s speech hypnotically captured them in some sort of fire and brimstone embrace, most unlike the previous vicar’s sermons. And his voice, well modulated at the beginning of his sermon, but loud towards the end, still rang in their ears even as they left the church, although if someone who had not attended church that day were to ask them what the sermon was about they would not have remembered.

It was then that he laughed and it wasn’t a pleasant laugh. It reverberated in sickening thuds against the walls and pillars of the church and the mouse he had spotted previously came out to listen, staring at him with small, sad eyes. Rev Smith was quicker this time, he found the broom in an instant and crushed the pest.

A very successful début – no more mouse droppings and at least a third of the villagers under his spell. Hah – he would soon convert them to a new ‘religion’.

The Rev thought of the graffiti again on the front door: ‘Beware, the Devil comes to this church.’ No doubt many of the villagers had laughed in disbelief at this proclamation. Oh so many misconceptions arose about the Devil entering holy places, and they were rather on a par with vampires having an aversion to garlic! Most of the vampires he knew cooked liberally with garlic and often their breath stunk with it! So, yes, his Master had indeed visited this previously clean, well-ordered village, banished some uncompromising villagers to a dimension between heaven and hell, and then entered this church where he turned the previous vicar into a mouse! The latter event was actually meant to be a sort of joke – surprisingly, the Devil did have a sense of humour. Of course he could have just killed the vicar outright, but he was such a good vicar, with a most benific smile and so full of holy spoutings, that he knew one of his darkest missionaries would delight in killing the creature himself. Of course, if the ‘Rev’ had not assumed human form, killing the mouse would have been easy but transfiguration involved sacrifice of most of his other powers.

At the end of the day the ‘Rev’ emptied his bag, packed for him by the Master, containing the holy water and the cross and laughed again, more softly than earlier. The holy water, was, of course tap water and the cross was made of chocolate painted with confectioner’s silver. And the secret items? Two large mousetraps loaded with cheese!

As to why the Great One chose to delegate rather than carry out the conversion job in Hickston village without help was open to speculation. ‘Reverend’ Smith had learnt it was prudent not to ask questions.