Travel Bug by David Kempf Page A

is that what you were about to say?”
    “Yes, Father Darrow.”
    “Well, very well then. If you would like to cling to your delusions I suppose no one here will fault you for that.”
    “I’ve seen evil.”
    “You’ve seen us. We are in league with church teaching and not Satan. If your job is to investigate and not to interrogate then I suggest you learn how to do your work properly.”
    Father Dawkins rolled his eyes. He started to laugh again and then opened up a bottle of wine. He drank it very fast.
    “Wine and the hunt are how we work off our lusts,” said Father Darrow.
    “How did this come to be?”
    “We heard over and over that we were sinners who gave into our lusts. The young women here in the villages were getting pregnant from priests. Men were killed but that did not stop us from being disobedient. Then we went to see a gypsy Ceija. She said that when lusts built up inside of us and we would perform unnatural acts, we would become creatures of folly. The folly of our sinful ways, the wolves would be our new form. It was not constant, mind you. We were men most of the day and night. When our sexual attractions became overwhelming, we became the beasts.”
    “You kill these villagers, these peasants…”
    “We did but the days of our filthy self-gratification are over forever.”
    “What!”
    “We are no longer men of lusts…”
    “No, you’re far, far worse. You’re blood killers!”
    “We restrain ourselves because we know that we are killers. We fight the good fight over lust every day!”
    “You don’t understand, do you?” asked Father Dawkins, interrupting them.
    “No.”
    “Perhaps we should invite you to the dance,” said Father Hitchens.
    The monks were beginning to surround him. They smiled, many of them. Others outright laughed at him.
    “You aren’t leaving here alive,” said Father Hitchens.
    “I know, Father.”
    “Aren’t you sick of giving into self-gratification and lust?”
    “Well, yes but killing is a far graver offense, I think that…”
    “No!”
    “What do you mean?” he asked Father Hitchens.
    “Killing isn’t so bad. I mean we have killed a lot of people as church, as a religion, have we not?”
    “Well, yes but…”
    “What in the hell makes you think that we value human life more than we detest sexual gratification?”
    “This can’t be real,” said Father Hitchens.
    “It can’t but it is,” answered Father Darrow.
    The disturbing shape that Father Darrow then took was menacing. He must have only been half aroused because he was half man and half wolf. It was infinitely more disturbing than the sight of the wolves were. What was even more profoundly unnatural was that he could speak while in that form.
    “You don’t have to die. You can be one of us. The choice, of course, is ultimately up to you.”
    “Do I get eternal life?”
    “Worried about damnation?”
    “Yes, of course…”
    “We do not live forever but our life span can be quite long. Hundreds of years and in some rare instances even longer, at least that’s what I’ve heard.”
    “I suppose I have no choice. I would rather live as a monster with the risk of being damned for eternity instead of facing imminent death.”
    “Good choice, Father.”
    The creature had the hair of a wolf on its face and bright, sharp fangs. His eyes were human and so was part of his nose. Father Hitchens closed his eyes, he couldn’t look. The monster bit right into his neck. The pain was profound but vanished almost as soon as it had come. Father Hitchens was now a part of the world’s strangest monastic community. He could not leave and return to Aragon. He would be seen as a demonic monster fit for slaughter. If Aragon did come to the monastery, there was no doubt Father Hitchens would have to kill him. Men like him should never be allowed to become shape shifting monsters. His wounds healed miraculously fast.
    He merely had to wait for his lust to overpower him and then he would change