The Sermon

The basement was deafening. The stained glass window high up near the ceiling—the only one left intact—shattered outward. Shards of colored glass rained down onto the wet pavement outside.

The laughter coming from the table was no longer human. It was the sound of geology cracking. It was the sound of the earth splitting open to mock the sky.

Silas scrambled to his feet. He had to bind it. But he couldn't speak the words. Every time he opened his mouth to chant, a wet giggle escaped.

* Iron,* he thought desperately. *Iron binds the old magic.*

The Bell.

St. Jude’s had a bell tower. The church was deconsecrated, but the great iron bell was still in the Belfry, too heavy to remove. If he could ring it, the resonance might disrupt the frequency. It might drown out the Hilaria.

Silas turned and ran. He stumbled up the spiral staircase, his legs feeling rubbery. He wasn't running like a man in fear; he was skipping. His body was adopting the loose, chaotic movements of a jester.

He burst into the nave. The empty pews seemed to be vibrating. The laughter was coming through the floorboards, shaking the dust from the rafters.

He reached the door to the Belfry and threw it open. The stairs were narrow, wooden, and treacherous.

Silas climbed.

* Step. Giggle. Step. Snort. Step. Guffaw.*

"Sanctus..." he tried to pray. "Sanctus... Spiritus... HA!"

He bit his tongue. The pain was sharp, but it didn't stop the urge. The pain was funny. The blood filling his mouth was hilarious. The fact that he, the great Father Silas, the Sin Eater, was going to die giggling in a condemned tower was the punchline of the century.

He reached the top. The Belfry was open to the elements. The wind and rain lashed at his face, cooling his fevered skin.

The great iron bell hung in the center, a silent, rusting giant.

Silas lunged for the rope.

His hands refused to close around the hemp.

He stared at his hands. They were trembling. He willed them to grab the rope. *Grab it. Ring it. End it.*

Instead, his palms slammed together.

* Clap.*

Silas stared in horror. He tried again.

* Clap.*

He couldn't hold onto anything. He could only applaud.

He fell to his knees in the bird droppings and dust. The laughter from the basement was so loud now that the bricks of the tower were vibrating.

Silas looked up at the bell. He realized, with a clarity that cut through the madness, that he had been arrogant. He thought he was the master of the Old Ways. But the Old Ways didn't have masters. They only had hosts.

The pressure in his chest released. The dam broke.

Silas threw his head back. He didn't try to stop it anymore. He opened his mouth wide, unhinging his jaw like a snake.