Agatha held the book tightly to her chest, cold sweat dripping down her old face. Joculor Tenebris drew closer, his steps a strange yet menacing dance. The sound of the little bells on his clothes continued to tinkle, echoing through the church like a death knell.
"We must go now," Agatha whispered again, more urgently this time.
Dr. Hawthorne nodded. He looked at Father Jonathan, who was still standing with his crucifix in his hand, staring at Joculor with a courage that was beginning to look fragile.
"Father, hold him off as long as you can," Hawthorne said in a low voice. "I will get Agatha out of here."
Father Jonathan turned with a determined expression. "Go. I will do whatever I can."
Joculor Tenebris chuckled, his dark eyes shining with cruel glee. "Ah, there are always those who try to be heroes. You will not succeed, little priest."
Jonathan did not answer. He only stepped forward, raising his crucifix higher as he began to recite a prayer aloud. His words echoed through the church, against the tolling of Joculor's bells. For a moment, the clown's silhouette seemed to waver, like mist in the wind.
Seeing his chance, Dr. Hawthorne grabbed Agatha's hand. "Now!"
They ran for the back door of the church, but Joculor's laughter boomed, filling the room. "Do you think you can escape me? No one can escape my last laugh!"
The door they were heading for suddenly slammed shut, as if some invisible force had locked them inside. Joculor swung his arms in the air, and the little bells on his clothes rang faster, louder.
But Father Jonathan did not give up. He moved closer, continuing to chant his prayers in a louder voice. Golden light began to emerge from his crucifix, spreading like a wave that crashed against Joculor. The clown staggered, but not completely stopped.
"You can't stop me with that little light!" Joculor roared, his voice turning into a bloodcurdling scream.
Agatha looked around, searching for another way out. His eyes fell on a small window on the side of the church. "We can get out of there!" he whispered to Dr. Hawthorne.
Quickly, they ran to the window. Hawthorne helped Agatha climb up, though the old woman nearly lost her balance. The book in her hands felt heavy, as if a dark energy from within was trying to hold her down.
"Quick, Father!" Hawthorne shouted to Jonathan.
Jonathan turned, but he knew his task was not yet complete. The Joculor Tenebris was recovering, its steps drawing closer. The crucifix in Jonathan's hand was shaking, its light beginning to dim.
"Go!" Jonathan shouted. "I'll hold him off as long as I can!"
Agatha and Hawthorne made it out of the church, but as they ran into the woods, they heard a scream from inside the church. It was Jonathan's.
Agatha paused, looking toward the church with tear-filled eyes. "He sacrificed himself for us," she said hoarsely.
Hawthorne pulled her back. "We don't have time. If we fail to bring this book to the Temple of Light, all these sacrifices will be in vain."
From inside the church, the sound of Joculor's laughter came again, this time louder, more sinister. Agatha and Hawthorne ran as fast as they could, leaving the village of Eolwyn behind them. They knew that the journey to the Temple of Light was not only fraught with danger, but also a race against time.
However, in the dark forest, the sound of the bells continued to follow them, as if Joculor Tenebris was never truly far away.
Father Jonathan stood panting in the middle of the ruined altar. The crucifix in his hand now gave off a dim glow, its strength drained by the presence of Joculor Tenebris. The clown's shadow danced around the room, the small bells on his garments tinkling softly, like a terrible taunt.
"Are you getting tired?" Joculor said, his voice full of scorn. "You know, I really enjoy your courage, Father. But this game must end."
Jonathan tried to step forward, raising his crucifix again, but his body felt heavy. His prayers began to sound disjointed, and his legs could barely support his own body.
"Almighty… protect your people…" he whispered weakly.
But Joculor Tenebris only laughed. He raised his hand, and the sound of the bells suddenly turned into a loud clang that echoed throughout the room. The sound was so deafening that Jonathan had to cover his ears. But it was not enough.
With a single movement, Joculor swung his arm, and Jonathan's body was lifted into the air by an invisible force. "Let's see how strong your priest is!" he shouted in a joyful tone.
Jonathan was thrown hard against the wall. The sound of bones cracking could be heard, but before he could hit the floor, the force pulled him back and slammed him again—this time onto the church floor.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each slam was accompanied by the sound of bells ringing louder, as if each jolt of Jonathan's body was strengthening Joculor's strength. Blood began to flow from the priest's mouth, and he felt his vision begin to blur.
Four times.
Five times.
The church shook with each impact. But Jonathan, despite the pain, held his crucifix tightly. Through the pain, he continued to pray, though his words were barely audible.
Six times.
Seven times.
"Enough!" Joculor shouted, almost bored. "Why do you keep fighting? Wouldn't it be easier to give up and laugh with me?"
Eight times.
Nine times.
As Jonathan's body was thrown into the air for the tenth time, he gathered the last of his strength. In a hoarse and weak voice, he shouted, "God... protect us from this evil!"
Ten times.
His body fell to the floor with a thud, motionless. Blood flowed from his wounds, but the cross in his hand still emitted a small, flickering light. Joculor looked at the body with satisfaction, then approached, bowing before Jonathan who lay helplessly.
"So much drama," he said with a chuckle. "Do you think your prayers can save you?"
However, as he was about to touch the cross, the small light on the cross suddenly exploded into a bright light that burned his hand. Joculor staggered back, a scream of rage escaping his mouth.
"What is this?!"
Jonathan, who was on the verge of losing consciousness, opened his eyes weakly. A thin smile appeared on his bleeding lips. "You... will never win. God's light... is stronger than your darkness."
The light from the cross grew brighter, filling the entire church with holy light. Joculor screamed in pain, his body starting to turn into a dark mist that slowly faded away. But before he disappeared completely, he threatened, "This isn't over yet, little priest. I'll be back, and I'll take everything from you!"
As Joculor vanished, the church fell silent. Jonathan lay on the floor, his body weak, but he knew that he had given Agatha and Hawthorne time to escape. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes, surrendering himself completely to God's will.
Outside the church, the bells could be heard faintly in the distance, a reminder that the threat of Joculor Tenebris was not yet over.
The next morning, weak sunlight shone on the village of Eolwyn. The atmosphere around the church was filled with a tense silence, as if the old building held a dark secret within. Several villagers gathered outside the church gate, whispering with pale faces.
When the police from the nearby town arrived, they immediately entered the church. Inside, a gruesome sight awaited them. Father Jonathan's body lay in the middle of the altar, blood flowing from his wounds, drying on the stone floor. The small crucifix he held still gave off a dim, almost invisible light.
Detective Harris, a middle-aged man with a stern face and sharp eyes, crouched beside Jonathan's body. "What is this...?" he murmured softly. Jonathan's face was frozen in an oddly peaceful expression, even though his body had clearly suffered tremendous violence.
Another officer, a woman named Officer Miller, stood a few steps behind her. "There's something strange here, sir," she said, gesturing around. "There's no sign of anyone else. No footprints, no signs of a struggle. How could this have happened?"
Harris nodded, her expression serious. "And look at this," he said, pointing to the cross in Jonathan's hand. "This thing... doesn't seem normal. It feels... alive."
Miller frowned. "Sir, you don't think this is... supernatural, do you?"
Harris didn't answer right away. He approached the wall where large scratch marks were clearly visible, as if something large and strong had dragged Jonathan's body over and over again. "I don't know what to think," he finally said. "But this is definitely no ordinary murder."
Meanwhile, outside the church, the villagers were growing increasingly restless. Grandma Agatha, who had returned to ensure the safety of the book she had brought, peered out from a distance. Her face was tense, full of guilt.
"That book brought disaster," she muttered to herself. "I should have destroyed it from the start."
However, Dr. Hawthorne, who was standing beside her, shook his head. "We can't just destroy it, Agatha. That book is the key. Without it, we won't know how to stop Joculor Tenebris completely."
Agatha nodded reluctantly, her eyes returning to the church. "But how many more lives must be lost before we succeed?"
Inside the church, Detective Harris stood, gazing at Father Jonathan's body with deep reverence. "He died protecting something," he said quietly. "But what was he trying to protect? And from whom?"
At that moment, one of the other officers approached with a tense expression. "Sir, we found something on the altar."
Harris followed the officer and found a faint carving on the altar stone. A bell-shaped symbol, similar to the one found on William's body earlier, but this time larger and clearer.
"This bell…" Harris looked at it with a furrowed brow. "What does it mean?"
Officer Miller approached, his expression full of fear. "Sir, that bell—in the folklore of this village, it is the sign of the Joculor Tenebris."
Harris stared at him intently. "Who is that?"
"Local legend," Miller answered in a trembling voice. "A murderous clown from the 13th century. They say he made a pact with dark forces to gain unlimited power, and each bell on his clothing represents a soul he has taken."
Harris listened intently, though he found it hard to believe such a story. "So you're saying this is the work of a legend? It doesn't make sense."
Before anyone could answer, however, a faint ringing sound filled the air. Everyone in the church froze. The bells tolled once more, closer this time, more ominously.
Harris reached for his gun, trying to hide his fear. "What was that?" he asked in a low voice.
Miller held a small crucifix to his neck, praying silently. "He's not done yet, sir. The Joculor Tenebris is still here."
As the bells grew louder, the officers began to feel a chill that pierced their bones, and dark shadows began to creep around the corners of the church. They realized that they were not facing just another murder—they were dealing with something far more dangerous.