So, I was REALLY tired of reading stories written about priests by people who don't actually know any priests. Then, this MK story just popped into my head, and I couldn't resist.
Father Fox was not a fox, not by any standard. He lacked the ears, the tail, the grace that made those of the vulpine race. He never stopped to sniff the air to find out what resided there. He never hunted, never fought, never howled, and never thought about why he should be a fox in the first place.
Of course, he knew there were foxes, since he had read about them. Not just the ordinary foxes that he saw around town, but true foxes. They had been the result of some sort of evil magical spell at a place called Metamor Keep. However, they had learned to overcome the animal instincts that resided in them in order to defend themselves. There were the perpetual children and those who had been transformed into members of the opposite gender, but they did not receive nearly as much attention as the animals.
Father Fox knew he would never see these creature-people, but he had read a great deal about them. Thomas the Duke had been transformed into a horse. Misha the fox defended that keep with all his strength. But, most interestingly, there was a devout Follower there by the name of Charles Matthias. Not even being transformed into a rat could cause him to lose his way.
One time, the altar boy Frederick asked Father Fox, “Will you ever become a bishop?” to which he replied, “I don’t think so, as long as I don’t need to. Bishop Marst is a very capable Bishop.” Father Fox always trusted Bishop Marst. Bishop Marst had told Father Fox to write to him often, and report if there was anything strange or unusual happening.
But one day, late at night, a stranger knocked. Father Fox half-expected to find a runaway bride, or a murderer (because there are very few options for strange knocks in the night.) Yet, he opened the door anyway.
Much to his surprise, a small robed stranger appeared at the door. His size was about that of a child, he, or she, even had gloves to cover his small hands.
“Hello,” the small figure said.
“Hello, do you need something?” Fox asked.
“Well, I could actually use your help. I presume you’ve heard of the residents of Metamor Keep?”
“Of course,” Father Fox thought for a minute, but didn’t know the proper reply. Was this small figure a transformed child hiding out from pursuers? Perhaps he was an escaped attacker of the keep? Father Fox did not try to think too much, and just followed his feelings. “I know that they are Victims of unfortunate circumstance,” he said, “Why do you ask?”
The small figure slowly uncovered his hood, and Father Fox could see clearly that this was not an ordinary resident of Metamor Keep.
“My name is Charles Matthias.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard about you. Please, come in,” the rat was just like Father Fox had imagined him.
The large rat glanced left and right, to make sure there were no predators ahead. “I apologize for the inconvenience,” he said,” But I need someplace to…lay low for a while. As you can imagine, most are not quite as tolerant of my appearance as yourself.”
“But with a clean soul, who needs appearances?”
“True.”
The priest showed Matthias into a small room. There were now windows, and a small lock dangled from the back of the door, a remnant of the time when there were things in the room worth protecting.
“Will this do?”
“Yes, thank you. It is only for a few days.”
“Fell free to stay as long as you need to.”
“Thank you. I am ever grateful.”
With that, Father Fox left the rat to his alcove, and returned to sleep, as he would be performing mass tomorrow. He couldn’t look too tired, or the townspeople might get suspicious.
________________________________________________________________________
The church in the small rural town where Father Fox lead his flock was never really full. And yet, although a small mass it was, it was still a celebration, filled with the Followers’ attentionship and absolute elation.
After the mass, and after the people had left, Father Fox had a special guest to visit.
“Hello, Charles,” he knocked on the door, “Feeling well?”
“Fairly, give me a minute before you come in.”
Father Fox waited outside the door. A bit of shuffling of papers emanated from inside, with another bit of fumbling followed by the door opening.
“Please,” Matthias directed, “Come in.”
The small room that Father Fox had given him was adequate for the man-rat’s needs. The desk no longer had the thin layer of dust that Father Fox had intended to brush off eventually, and the few paper wads rebelling against the floor were huddled into one corner. The chair no longer wobbled.
“I apologize for being to secretive,” Charles said, “But I hope you can understand. My missions for the Keep are definitely of utmost importance.”
“Of course,” Father Fox sat down,” I understand. I have read a great deal about you.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Of course, not all of it has been flattering…”
“Well, all words have their place somewhere.”
“Of course.”
“How is the community here?”
“Fair. We are mostly farmers, and the bit of rain we recently received was a welcome gift.”
“I see.”
“How is the religious life up at Metamor?”
“Good, good. Even with our…difficulties…we manage to get by.”
“What kind of difficulties?”
“Well, many members of the Ecclesia disagree with our tolerance of the Lothanasi there, and many Ecclesia simply disagree with us,” he twitched his nose, “So it’s hard to find a balance.”
“Of course.”
Father Fox watched as the rat twitched in the chair, his whiskers accenting his face oddly.
“Well, I had better leave you be; I am sure you have much work to do.”
“Don’t be afraid to come back anytime. It was great to speak with you.”
“The same.”
With that, Father Fox left the room and closed the door. He listened for a moment as the shuffling of papers once again emanated from the inside, and returned to write his letter of report to Bishop Marst.
________________________________________________________________________
When Frederick came up to Father Fox after mass, he looked slightly distraught.
“Father Fox?” he asked, standing far below him in his white altar boy robe.
“Yes, Frederick?” Father Fox asked in reply.
“May I show you something?”
“Of course.”
Father Fox followed Frederick all the way to the front of the church. It was not a very long distance, but they both treasured every step of the way.
Eventually, Frederick showed Father Fox a small space under one of the pews.
“See? It’s gone! One block. Well, I know it’s not very important, I know, but it’s still strange.”
“Yes, it does make me a bit uneasy as well. Who would have both the strength to remove one stone from the floor along with a reason to do so in the first place?”
“That’s all I wanted to show you, Father.”
“Thank you, Frederick,” the light coming in through the stained glass windows made the boy look a bit unearthly, “And if your keen eyes spot anything else, be sure to tell me, okay?”
“I will.”
After Frederick left, Father Fox check on the missing block again. However, before he could, he noticed that a small block in the floor before the altar was missing as well.
________________________________________________________________________
Most of the Followers were fine with the missing-block mystery at first. It was just a matter of watching your step as you walked up to receive communion. However, as the church began to become more and more drafty, the people starting asking Father Fox more and more questions, to the point where his time studying the the seminary was useless.
The missing blocks were nowhere in sight. The only solution to the problem would be to watch all night for any sign of the stone stealer.
“Heard anything yet, Frederick?”
Frederick hastily shook his head, both to reply and to keep himself awake.
“Very well, you may go home and get some rest. I will watch for the rest of the night.”
Father Fox watched the rising soon gradually peel in through the windows, and reminded himself to watch the sunrise more often. So often he busied himself that he didn’t have time to appreciate the little things. After watching the whole night yielded nothing, he decided to spend a little time talking with Charles. As he walked out of the church, he noticed a new block missing fro the front wall.
________________________________________________________________________
Charles’s room was impeccable, as usual, since all the important papers were hidden. However, this was all the better, since then Father Fox could talk to him without his eyes constantly wandering.
“Do you have…any clue on when you must depart? I am sure that you have far more important things to do than sit around in a cramped room shuffling papers.”
“Still, no. But I think the day is getting closer and closer. Please do not be offended if I mysteriously depart without saying goodbye.”
“Of course. Stay as long as you need to, since if you weren’t here, the real rats would move back in,” Matthias snickered awkwardly.
________________________________________________________________________
Father Fox had enough; the stealing had to stop. Therefore, he penned a letter to Bishop Marst outlining the whole situation. He told him exactly when the first block had been removed, and where each block was.
Of course, the bishop undoubtedly had better things to do than check up on an out-of-the-way parish with a problem that seemed like a joke, so Father Fox tried to write in his most sure penmanship. Well, this problem was certainly unusual. So, the best Father Fox could do was wait.
In the meantime, both he and Frederick found unique ways to fill in for the missing blocks. After unsuccessfully trying to fit in new blocks, they resort to inserting straw into the holes, then covering them with a mud-based hardening mixture. It was fairly efficient, but new holes sprang open practically as fast as the pair filled them.
Father Fox thanked the Lord with all his might; Bishop Marst had finally arrived.
“Hello, Bishop Marst.”
“Hello, Father Fox. I received your letter, and decided to come by to help you with your problem.”
“Thank you very much. Would you like to see what’s happening?”
“I would, it has certainly intrigued me.”
Father Fox opened the front door for Bishop Marst. Frederick was sweeping the floor, but paused to give respect to the Bishop.
Father Fox started with the first block missing from the floor, then began to show him the blocks in the order they disappeared, while explaining their various attempts to patch up the structure. By the end of the display, Bishop Marst began to grow bored.
“Do you mind if I look at these…removals…a bit closer?”
“Of course. I have not found anything through close examination, but perhaps your sharp eye will yield something.”
“Bishop Marst traced his hands along the vacancies, all the while mumbling to himself far too quietly for Father Fox to understand him. Then, he stood up, “Do you mind if I take a look around by myself?”
“Of course. I’ll wait in my room until you’re ready.”
With that, Father Fox left Bishop Marst to his tracking.
________________________________________________________________________
Bishop Marst did not have a natural nose for trouble, but through an expansive search, he hoped to find the right trail.
He knocked on every door, making sure to talk to everyone, from the altar boy Frederick to the beggar Maximillian. However, none of them yielded anything. Nevertheless, he told Father Fox his findings.
“None of them have any clue or trace,” he seemed to be talking to himself rather than to Father Fox. “I know there’s magic behind this, I just know it. But I didn’t feel any real magical abilities from anyone around here.”
Bishop Marst sighed, knowing there was nothing else he could do.
“I’m sorry, Father Fox. There’s nothing more I can do. I’ll try to find someone more adept at these things when I can.”
Bishop Marst stood up, “I need to get going; I can’t spend all my time here. I will be thinking about your problem all the while,” he turned to the door, but turned around to Father Fox just before he left, “If the church looks too unstable, stay out of it until the problem is foxed, okay?”
Bishop Marst chuckled a bit, then sighed, “Fixed. I mean. Fixed.”
“I will,” Father Fox replied.
Father Fox looked back to his desk. A lone sheet of paper rested in the center, and Father Fox didn’t really know what to do with it. He thought about writing on it, but he didn’t really know what to write about. As he heard Bishop Marst’s footsteps recede into the distance, he decided to write a letter of thanks to the bishop for all his hard work.
However, just as he began to write, he heard more footsteps, running.
Bishop Marst ran in, out of breath.
“Father Fox, may I have the keys to the basement sub-storage?”
Father Fox looked at him with a blank stare.
“The keys.”
“I don’t think you want to go in there.”
“Give me the keys!”
“No.”
Bishop Marst slowed his voice, and spoke in a more soothing tone, “Father Fox, what’s in the basement storage room?”
“It’s a wreck.”
Bishop Marst inched closer, “I don’t care what it looks like. What’s in it?”
“Oh, just a…few…odds and ends.”
“Don’t like to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Then tell me what I want to hear. Is there someone in there?”
Father Fox looked back down the paper.
“Give me the keys. I’m your superior. Do what I tell you.”
Father Fox slowly stood up, and pulled out the drawer behind his chair. He took the keys out of the jewelry box and handed them to Bishop Marst. Then, he collapsed in his chair again, staring at the floor.
Bishop Marst would attack Charles Matthias, and try to kill him. Others weren’t so tolerant and open-minded as Father Fox. But there was nothing he could do about their impending fight.
Then again, Father Fox had learned a lot about Charles Matthias. He was originally a writer, but Father Fox heard that he was quite a capable warrior. In fact, he would be able to defend himself quite well if Bishop Marst attacked him. Did Bishop Marst have any experience fighting?
Father Fox rose from the chair and started sprinting. When he got to the open doorway in the basement, he stopped. Then, he slowly peeled around the corner, with his body following. In the center of the room, Charles Matthias lay dead with Bishop Marst sitting on the ground behind him.
“You…” Father Fox said, “You monster! You killed him; you killed Charles Matthias.”
Bishop Marst looked up at Father Fox with dark, tired eyes.
“How could you? How could you do this? How could you ever say you did this in-”
“Stop,” Bishop Marst whispered.
Father Fox stood vacantly.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“Because I knew you would kill him!”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you hate those from Metamor Keep, just like everyone else!”
Bishop Marst slowly rose to his feet and looked intently at Father Fox.
“Open your eyes, Father Fox! Open them!” he grabbed Father Fox on the shoulders and shook him, then pointed him at the rat corpse. “This isn’t Charles Matthias; he’s brown, not white! This isn’t even a rat-morph; it has no tail! If you keep things from me like this ever again I’ll…I’ll…”
Father Fox collapsed to the floor. Bishop Marst slowly sat down beside him.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
“That’s just…why I told you to tell me…if anything unusual ever happened.”
“What if it had been the real Charles Matthias? Would you have killed him?”
“I would have done what was right.”
Father Fox put his left hand over the dead body. Its fur head had an exquisite radiance to it, even though he knew it was all an illusion.
“So, will you tell me next time?”
“Of course.”
Bishop Marst left later that afternoon, while Father Fox and Frederick returned to patching up the remaining holes.
Father Fox was not a fox, not by any standard.
Question: Are you a fox?
