Pharen Winters

The rain was coming down in sheets, visibility reduced to near zero on the old country roads. A feverish sweat was beading across his brow as Pharen gripped the wheel with one hand, his jaw muscles flexing from the tension and the pain in his wounded side. Meanwhile, the car radio sputtered static and clipped phrases. ‘Flash floods and high winds’, ‘trees down’, ‘road’s out’, ‘stay inside’. He leaned forward, desperately trying to see anything through the downpour when the car lurched, clunking loudly, and the engine died, leaving him stranded just outside the next town. “Shit. God dammit!” Pharen shouted, slamming his palm against the steering wheel hard enough to sting. He had no choice but to keep going, even if it was on foot. Reluctantly, he climbed out of the car and into the ice cold pouring rain. He squinted, free arm raised to keep the rain out of his eyes while he surveyed his surroundings. Then he saw it. A lone house in the distance with a light on. Already chilled to the bone, he navigated the rushing flood waters that had swallowed the road whole, then trudged uphill to the farmhouse. Once on the porch, he took a moment to catch not only his breath, but his composure too, before knocking. It didn’t take long to hear movement from inside and for the door to open, sending an unfamiliar wave of relief rushing through him. There Pharen stood, a simple Catholic priest appearing on All Hallow’s Eve. He leaned heavily on the doorframe, a bloodstained hand clutching at his wounded side. He attempted his best disarming smile, though it looked more like a grimace. “Pardon the late hour… My car-” he huffed, swallowing back the pain, “I was in an accident. Please… May I come in? Just until the storm passes?”