3 – Ghosts at Midnight

Midnight: St Denys Cathedral, Rumon

Haniel stood in front of the hundred metre tower that preceded the gothic structure of the cathedral in this, the old centre of Rumon. She’d been taught that the north and south transept arms flanked the six-bay nave and were studded with characteristically pointed arches. Standing in the vast cobbled plaza, she noted the coffee shops and restaurants, some with chairs and heaters outside, maximising the pull of their location. Behind her, a fountain was littered with pennies from wish-makers; its impressive centrepiece an encrusted, verdigris installation of Neptune pointing skywards. A Roman god standing close to the cathedral – what an odd combination.

An unassuming young angel, Haniel had auburn hair and although she dressed to look older, her freckles betrayed her. She was the girl-next-door you never noticed, who shrank into the corners and hid in passing shadows. But in the middle of the plaza, she was exposed. The cathedral made her feel small. It didn’t help that it was midnight. Caught in the moonlight, the carved statues of saints on the lofty façade stared into her amber eyes. It made her nervous, as if she was being judged for sins she never committed. She detected a low-pitched buzzing. She shivered; her body reacting to the presence of someone who was not there. Are they trying to put the fear of God in me? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move. She spun to the right.

Nothing. Was that a woman there?

She pushed at the cathedral door. It’s unlocked? Entering, she saw the candles were still lit, wax trickling down their sides. The lingering scent of incense was almost choking. Good job I’m not asthmatic. In the moonlight, the stained-glass windows glistened in a kaleidoscope of colours; the stories of saints and angels entwined in trailing ivy – a document of the complex relationship between Heaven and Earth.

A grey-haired, round-faced man with honest blue eyes was waiting for her. He was the reverend of this cathedral. Haniel stopped, profiling him. He’s gentle, unassuming. I’m never going to meet such a perfect stereotype again.

‘You must be the new missionary,’ he said as he bowed courteously. Haniel nodded. ‘I’m the Reverend Wilson. Welcome.’

Haniel had never been bowed to before; it was a new experience and she had to resist the urge to giggle. But then her eye was drawn to the space behind his shoulder. There she is again. The woman – pale, more abstract than defined – rushed deeper into the body of the church.

‘What’s wrong?’ the Reverend Wilson asked. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

Haniel shook her head. The woman had vanished. You’re being tricked by the occasion, Hani.

The Reverend Wilson looked over his shoulder. Strange. ‘Barachiel wanted me to inform you that he’ll arrive shortly.’

‘You know Barachiel?’

‘My dear, the church has served the angels since its inception. You can relax here.’

Hani exhaled for five seconds. Why am I so nervous? I’m an angel in the House of God. She unfurled her wings, beautifully pristine and a tapestry of overlapping white feathers. The halo above her head materialised, shining brighter than the candles lighting the cathedral. The Reverend Wilson allowed himself an indulgent smile. That sight never stops being wonderful. But his reverie was short-lived; the cathedral door burst open.

Barachiel rushed in. ‘Ah! You must be Haniel!’

‘Yes. Call me Hani, please.’ Her breath caught in her throat.

‘Excellent! I’m Barachiel.’ He paused to allow himself a smile. ‘I hope the Reverend Wilson here isn’t boring you with one of his sermons.’

Nervous, Hani fidgeted with her fingers. ‘No, no!’

The reverend laughed. ‘Don’t take him seriously. We’re old sparring partners.’

‘Oh, right. I see.’

Barachiel gave the Reverend Wilson a nod and he discreetly left the angels to their business.

Barachiel inspected Hani. She’s a classical ingenue. Let’s see if you have the potential Uriel claims you do. ‘You’ve felt them, haven’t you?’

‘Felt what?’

‘The ghosts.’

Hani trembled at the suggestion. Barachiel smiled. Time to start teaching. He opened his old grey wings to their fullest extent and waited until his halo had materialised before beginning his duty.

‘Ghosts aren’t real,’ Hani denied.

‘Yes, they are. Let’s meet one.’

Barachiel led Hani deeper into the cathedral, towards the crypt. Walking down the first few steps, the bell tolled for midnight. Hani followed slowly. I’m shivering. I feel the same foreboding that I did outside. Barachiel sensed her fear and stopped. When he turned back, he spotted her hands were shaking. I’ve not seen someone so sensitive without training for centuries. A few steps deeper into the vault and he stopped again. ‘Can you feel the outpouring of emotion?’ He turned to face Hani, smiling reassuringly. Offering his hand, he gave her time. She stared back, not knowing what to do next. This is a leap of faith. But I trust him; I trust an angel at the call of midnight claiming ghosts are real. She placed her hand in his. Uriel was right. He’s oddly brilliant.

They reached the bottom of the staircase. Barachiel folded away his wings, dimmed his halo then pressed his forefinger against his mouth. Hani acknowledged his instruction with a nod. Barachiel inched forward. Hani copied his exact movements in a conscious attempt to make no sound. Reaching the crypt, Barachiel came to a halt.

The pale woman Hani glimpsed earlier was kneeling in prayer in front of an unnamed slab of a tomb, her ethereal white radiance illuminating the shadows. Barachiel and Hani simply observed, but Hani felt uncomfortable in her own skin. She swore she could hear a faint low-pitched ringing. It disorientated her. She was convinced she should be smelling something, but nothing. Am I smelling emptiness?

‘Is she lost?’ Hani asked.

‘Ghosts are the dead who cannot pass over to the afterlife. They wait patiently for the white light, but cannot find it.’

Hani could see the woman grieving and repenting. What’s her story?

‘The ringing in your ear, Hani, is the ghost’s calling card,’ Barachiel explained. ‘Ghosts mostly emit infrasound which we can’t hear because it is below our hearing range. A tiny portion of the sound is sufficiently high-pitched for select angels to hear as a ringing and buzzing sound. However, your body responds to infrasound in different ways, generating feelings of danger, anxiety or awe.’

‘What’s a ghost made of?’ Hani felt she could reach out and touch the spectre, but she knew her hand would simply pass through her.

‘Light,’ Barachiel answered. ‘An all-penetrating light that can pass through objects.’

The ghost stood and smiled. A rip tore through the air and a bright light, purer than starlight, shone above. The ghost looked up, then ascended into the light, and vanished. The light disappeared, the natural darkness returning to the crypt. Hani’s sensory receptors calmed. It’s as if the ghost wasn’t even here.

Barachiel smiled, relieved. ‘She found her peace.’

‘Why come down here though?’

‘Churches are believed to be gateways to God. Humans are wedded to the idea of the afterlife in Heaven that angels call home, something the Archangels didn’t object to. Inside this crypt, ghosts believe they’re closer to God and that calms their restless hearts.’

‘Is God actually closer down here?’

‘What matters is the ghosts believe that.’

Barachiel headed back towards the stairs.

Hani was unsatisfied. That wasn’t an answer. ‘Wait!’

Barachiel stopped, hiding his smile. She’s curious.

‘Where did that ghost go?’

‘The afterlife, independent of Heaven and Hell. It’s the place that awaits all angels, demons and humans.’

Hani absorbed that truth. They never mentioned that back at the academy. Her eyes reverted to where the ghost had been praying. ‘Why can I see them? Not every angel can, but why can I?’

‘Once, all angels could see them,’ Barachiel solemnly replied. ‘But it’s become a recessive trait. Fewer and fewer angels are bestowed with the gift. However, Hani, you’re an exception. You can pick up the faintest of signals most angels can’t.’ Hani did a double-take. I’ve got the sixth sense?

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