"The Sign of the Fourth"
A Sherringford Bell Story
by: Ken Janssens
as published in PRO SE PRESENTS Fantasy & Fear #3
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Excerpt:
There were two things that I was very passionate about. The first was the Washington Nationals. There’s nothing like smelling the cherry blossoms planted at Nationals Park as you take in a night of America’s only real gentleman’s sport. It didn’t matter how inept they were season after season; I still loved my adopted baseball team. The second thing I was passionate about was my work. What we did, Sherringford and I, there might not be anything more important in this world. We tracked down the demonically possessed, and usually we sent the monsters back to the hell they came from. But, for today, that would have to wait.
“Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” screamed the pool boy as droplets of water splashed against his bare chest. To the casual observer that just walked into the situation, they would have thought that the tightened ropes that bound the Native American teen to the top of a dining room table would be what caused him pain. They would be incorrect.
“This will only hurt worse and worse until you decide to talk,” I warned him. The warnings rarely work. Looking around the room, it was obvious that my surroundings were not meant for such things. Though I didn’t know what kind of price tag some of these pieces of furniture and immaculately decorated dishware came with, I was sure that I couldn’t afford a single one of them on my priest’s salary. Not that I cared about such things. It was just that, even though I had eaten in the Hopes’ dining room several times before, this was the first time I thought about the value of its inanimate objects.
“You’re torturing the wrong man,” yelled the pool boy, spit flying out of his mouth. “This is what he wants. Not me.” It was difficult to look into his red eyes while he screeched and thrashed about.
