Going to the indian population and the church to find out more about Jacob and his family. The end result and the demon's attempt at stopping me. There has to be something done to stop from continuing on.

      The Indian population seemed most sever, without allowing me to know about why they feared mention of the man named Jacob. They did not seem to be willing to do this. I was left to wonder what they feared about this man.

      I had seen the fire handed being who had come into the lad's room. I had chased it out of the room. Jacob seemed upset that I had done this. I could not understand why?  I choose to check something out by going to the church.  I walked into the room; I was unable to shake the feeling that they were able to help me, in finding this out.

    I walked across the aisle to reach the priest who was standing there. He looked at me, as though he was unable to figure out why I was here.

     He did not know who I was." Why are you here?"

     "I need your help?"

     "Why are you here?  What do you need?" the priest asked, he seemed very upset by that they were supposed to do for me.

      "I have to find out what you can tell me about Jacob!"

       The priest shivered as though afraid.  He began to shudder, and shake.  His brow had become damp with sweat, losing his balance.  The lights that filled the chamber were smote.  We were plunged into a cloud of darkness, I heard, him gasp with fear. I heard other people began to run towards us. I saw a light fill where we were, one of the figures held the light that panned us with its light. The priest was white, it looked as though he was without blood in his veins, and he then fell to the carpeted floor. There was a scent of rancidness.

     I gagged on the scent, hurling vomit from my mouth. I tumbled to my knees, as I struggled to be awake. The people who had rushed towards us, tried to keep me up from falling down.  Blood ran from his mouth and eyes.

      "Father Macintyre! Can you hear me?" one of the people asked.

     "He is not talking!" a cleric asked.

     "It looks like he is dead!"

      "What did you ask him?"

      "Nothing, other than that he did not know what I said.” I said.

      "What are you talking about?"

     "I do not have any idea!"

     "He is dead!" one of the other people stated as he pressed a hand about the priest's neck. It looked as though he was dead.

    The lights were finally brought back to life. The priest lay in a puddle of piss. He was dead most assuredly.  I looked at Father MacIntyre who had just passed; I knew he would be unable to answer.

The question I had posed to him.

     "Why are you here?"

      "I wanted to talk to him, and he died!"

     "You are responsible for that." The cleric told me that. He seemed to think, that I had been responsible for his death. He was afraid, that having this happened, because of me. He looked at me as though he was afraid of what I had done this.

    "I tell you?"

    I began to walk back towards the back of the church.  I was afraid he might be right, he did die as if he was about to tell me, what he knew.  But what was that?  I did not know, but I tell you. I will find the answer to what I was seeking to find out.  This place is backwoods; they believe the church has all the answer to this matter. I doubted that anyone here practiced safe sex. As the church told them, the people here to procreate.

       They did not even seem to know what a doctor did. They looked at that practice with disdain,

It seemed they believed a priest had all the answers.

    I rode out of the church yard.  I had to gain the answer I sought, but how? I also felt that they would not look too favorably at a reporter poking around in their community. They would no doubt be very uncreative in dealing with me. I was going to need someone to do this but whom. That I did not know, but I would have to find whoever it is.

Asking around, I found that there was annually that Jacob never died. His son vanishes every so often. His name was mentioned in the journals of various historians in the community.

I could not understand as to how come he had been alive for a hundred and fifty years. Yet, he looked to be sixty years of age, instead of the age. He should have been.

He had several wives, who vanished some time ago. The last one was listed as being his wife was married eight years ago to him. There was no way being able to catch his wife.

I could not understand this, there was some mention that he was that old. The Indians looked at me, as if I had spoken the name of a high devil, in their beliefs, but why was he alive. The church should have tried to stop him from doing this.

I found an article, by the ark ham gazette in regards to Jacob Muckals. It seems he had made an enemy of the Indian’s in this region. They tried to slay him. The article did not describe what he had done.

It involved the waters that surrounded the community. From what I could understand he angered the Indians by doing something that was frowned upon by the Indian’s and their gods. What had he done, I did not know.

There had to be some way to find out the answer, to this problem. What did I know about the Indians? There had to be away to bribe them into talking about him...

I walked into my room, in the hotel where I was to live while I was here. I turned on the light to sit before my typewriter to begin to pound away on it to tell what I knew presently. I continued to pound the statement that I would be willing to send out to the press.

I felt someone was watching me. The door was closed to my room, I looked at the window. However it was thirty feet from the ground, so, how could anyone or anything be looking into my window from here?  

True, it was night fall. There was no way in which I would be willing to allow anyone to steal my story. However I did not know as what or who was doing this?

The window was without a patio, so that meant that whoever had climbed up here would have to rely upon the ledge of the window to hold onto it. I rose to my feet, nudged the window open, I saw an imprint of a hand on the window sill. Smoke slithered and crept from that imprint. I looked about for the source of this imprint.


The End

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