Luca and Philip had been very busy lately.
They were no longer like before, with one acting merely as the abbot's assistant and the other copying scriptures day after day. Now they had work that was far more sacred and far more important: visiting the Lord's lambs.
Giovanni said that caring for the spiritual well-being of every villager was the monastery's duty. So he sent out the two monks he trusted most, having them walk through the village each day, moving from house to house.
Today, they arrived at the home of Mario the blacksmith.
Mario was flattered by their visit. He hurriedly told his wife, Rosa, to bring out the best cheese and wine they had, wiping the stools again and again before offering them seats.
"Brother Philip, Brother Luca, please sit, please sit," he said eagerly.
Philip waved a hand, his expression solemn and compassionate. "Mario, we are not here as guests. We are here to pass on the abbot's concern."
Mario's heart skipped. The smile on his face froze. "The abbot's concern? W-what happened?"
Luca took over, imitating the abbot's manner as he let out a soft sigh. "Mario, have you been sleeping well lately?"
The question came out of nowhere.
"I… I guess so," Mario replied, scratching his head.
"Really?" Luca lowered his voice and leaned closer. "You haven't heard anything strange? Like… crying? Or the sound of chains dragging on the ground?"
Mario's face went pale at once. His wife Rosa let out a small cry and covered her mouth.
"How… how did you know?" she asked, trembling. "These past few nights, I keep hearing noises outside the window. I thought it was just the wind…"
Philip and Luca exchanged a glance. Then Philip spoke slowly, his voice distant, as if coming from heaven itself. "It is not the wind. It is an evil spirit."
"These past few nights, the abbot has been praying in the church for St. Lucia Village. Just last night, as he was about to finish his vigil, he heard a wail rising from the depths of hell. That cry was filled with resentment and hatred. With his holy power, the abbot barely managed to glimpse its source."
"It was Bartolo."
"That greedy soul, swallowed by the devil. After death, he did not find rest. His resentment still clings to this land."
Luca added quietly, "He cannot let go of his wealth. His soul is bound to those gold and silver coins. He cannot rise to heaven, nor fall into hell. He can only wander the village, searching for the possessions stained with his blood."
The words swept through the blacksmith's home like a cold wind.
Mario felt chills creep up the back of his neck. He remembered the night he smashed Bartolo's head open with his hammer. He remembered the heavy chest he carried out of the manor. The gold coins inside were now hidden in a clay jar under his bed.
"T-then what do we do?" Rosa was on the verge of tears. "Will the spirit… will it come for us?"
"It will," Philip answered without hesitation. "Anyone who took his property will be marked. Those coins are his anchor in the mortal world. He will follow their scent, find you, and then…"
He did not finish the sentence, but what he left unsaid was far more terrifying.
Mario and Rosa were seized by fear. The thought that an evil spirit might be crouched outside their window, staring at the jar beneath their bed, made their blood run cold.
"Did… did the abbot say… how to break it?" Mario asked urgently.
"The abbot is still searching for a way," Luca responded, shaking his head with worry. "He said Bartolo's resentment is too deep, too tightly bound to that ill-gotten wealth. To purify it may require… a terrible price."
With that, the two monks took their leave, leaving the couple staring at each other in frozen terror.
* * *
The same story spread through every corner of the village.
Philip and Luca, two diligent monks, carried the news of Bartolo's vengeful spirit to every villager who had taken a share of his wealth. Soon, all of St. Lucia Village was wrapped in a new layer of fear.
At night, families extinguished their lamps early, shut their windows tight, and hung crosses and garlic at their doors. It did not help. Once fear was planted, it took root deep in the heart.
The gold coins taken from Bartolo's home were no longer wealth. They were links to a curse.
* * *
Marco was a small landowner in the village.
That night, he had followed the crowd into Bartolo's manor. He did not dare grab the obvious chests of gold, but he was quick. He snatched a pure silver candlestick from the dining hall and found a small pouch of coins under a bed in one of the rooms.
That sudden fortune thrilled him for days.
He spent some silver coins on a new linen shirt. He used two gold coins to buy a few fat hens, planning to raise them for eggs. But after Philip visited his home, he could no longer sleep.
He wrapped the silver candlestick and the pouch of coins layer after layer in cloth and hid them in a wine barrel deep in his cellar. Even then, he felt unsafe, as if unseen eyes were piercing through walls and earth, fixed on that barrel.
At night, he tossed and turned. His wife slept like the dead, snoring loudly, the sound only making him more restless. When he finally drifted off, the dream came.
He stood in Bartolo's study, holding the silver candlestick. Suddenly, a hand landed on his shoulder. It was icy cold.
Marco turned his head.
A face stared back at him, smashed flat by a hammer, red and white mixed together. One eyeball dangled outside its socket, swaying gently.
It was Bartolo.
Bartolo grinned, broken teeth exposed. "Marco… my good neighbor… you're here too?"
"That is my candlestick… give it back… give it back…"
The dangling eye stared straight at the candlestick in Marco's arms.
"Ah—!"
Marco screamed and bolted upright in bed. Cold sweat soaked through his clothes.
The next morning, he staggered to the chicken coop to collect eggs. The moment he opened the door, a foul stench rushed out. The hens he had just bought lay stiff on the ground, necks twisted, feathers in disarray. All of them were dead.
Their deaths were strange. There were no wounds, only eyes wide open, as if they had seen something horrifying before dying.
Marco let out a howl and collapsed to the ground.
The curse was real. Bartolo's evil spirit had come for him.
He scrambled back into the house and dragged his wife and children out of bed.
"Throw them away! Now! Throw them away!" he shouted, words tumbling over each other.
He rushed into the cellar, dragged out the barrel hiding the treasure, and dumped the silver candlestick and coins onto the floor. He wanted to throw them into the well.
But when he lifted the heavy candlestick, when his fingers touched the cold, solid coins, he hesitated.
This was money.
Real money that could buy bread, buy land.
Just throw it away?
He could not bear it.
Fear filled his heart, but greed tore it open again. Marco clutched his head and crouched on the floor in agony.
In the end, he felt that the only one who could save him was the abbot who could call down divine fire and speak with God.
Taking nothing with him, like a madman, he burst out of his house and ran straight for the monastery. He ran all the way there. The monks at the gate saw his state and did not stop him, letting him rush inside the church.
But the moment he entered, he saw a scene he would never forget for the rest of his life.
**
**
**
Thank you for reading! If you'd like access to extra chapters and want to support my work, you can visit my P@treon:
P@treon/SilverShark769
Vote with Power Stones for Bonus Chapters!
Your support means a lot, thank you!