Fantasy fiction; Ghost stories; Horror tales; Paranormal fiction; Short stories; Storytelling -- Fiction
This seemed to pacify her, and she encouraged me in seeking every
possible means to disprove it. Accordingly, in an hour's time I was up
and dressed, and bending my steps towards the township. Part of this
curious tale I had already accounted for in my own mind. That Peppe had
not been dead, but had feigned to be so, that I knew. The supposed
robber I concluded must be Antonio. I supposed that the latter, having
discovered at length the imposition practised upon him by his companion,
a quarrel had ensued, in the midst of which they had been surprised by
the sacristan; but I could guess no more than this.
The affair of the treasure being found in the church completely puzzled
me, and my curiosity being aroused, I set straight off to the house of
the arch-priest, whom I knew intimately, to hear either the confirmation
or confutation of my hostess's statement.
On passing the church in the chief piazza or square of this little town,
I met the sacristan, whom, having been an eye-witness to the whole, I
stopped and inquired as to the truth of the rumour that had spread so
quickly throughout the village. He put on a sanctified look, crossed his
hands upon his breast, and rolled up the white of his eyes, solemnly
declaring that every word I had heard was true, that he himself had been
an eye-witness to the whole affair from first to last.
Then, after recounting to me the whole proceedings in a long rigmarole,
he wound up by calling on all the saints to open the ground under his
feet to swallow him up, if what he spoke was not the truth. He then took
his leave.
Now, I never did like the appearance of this sacristan. He was a young
man, sallow and emaciated, with an extremely repulsive countenance and
an expression of low cunning and avarice, which he sought to hide under
an affectation of sanctity and cringing humility. He seemed unable to
look you full in the face, though I often caught him observing me out of
the corners of his half-closed eyes.
He would have been the last man in the world whose word I should have
taken for gospel, and there was something in the manner in which he told
his story that impressed me with the idea, that whatever mystery there
might be connected with the discovered treasure, that _he_, in some way
or another, was interested in the affair being regarded as a miracle. I
therefore attached very slight importance to his testimony. In fact, I
merely addressed him in the hopes of discovering some discrepancy in my
hostess's narrative, being aware how much a story gains in telling; but,
to my surprise, I found the two accounts remarkably consistent. A step
or two further took me to the house of the arch-priest, which, being
open, I entered, and was welcomed on the landing by that worthy.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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