The Last Temptation of Kieran Murphy

The Last Temptation of Kieran Murphy

It’s said that there is a Heaven on Earth. Maybe this is it. Uphill looks resplendent as I stare out over rooftops, steeples and spires. To my left are the waters of the Bristol Channel with the dilapidated Birnbeck Pier in the distance beyond Brean Down. Behind this wooden bench I am sitting on is the majestic St Nicholas Church, bordered by low stone walls and silent in its unconsecration.  

Seagulls circle overhead, crying in their constant search for food. The air is alive with salt and brine from the sea. You could be forgiven for thinking that the world grinds to a halt in places like this. It does. Despite the essence of Nature that permeates all around, I can’t ignore a certain creeping tightness in my body. An anxiety.

I wedge my knees against the decorative metal at the end of the bench with both feet raised. Almost foetal. It’s like there are invisible people taking up the remaining space. Thoughts drift like the cumulus clouds in my eye line. I think back to the morning and the row I had with my partner, Angela. I accused her of fucking around. Again. She denied it. These are the death throes of a turbulent marriage. 

We were happy once. She used to be so spiritual; believed in talking to the Universe. If you had enough belief you would be answered. Maybe that’s where her latest lover came from – a conversation with the cosmos. Perhaps I dreamt this. I get confused.

I peer down at the ground, green pasture of a kind. Just grass. Cows graze on hills not far away. For a second I feel disorientated. It’s as though I am dissipating, body and soul, becoming one with the land through osmosis. Disappearing. Shaking it off, I look up. Someone else is here, sitting on the bench.

Avoiding eye contact is par for the course in situations like this. I have to look, though. There’s a tall man gazing absently into the panorama. He is sitting upright, a long tatty overcoat wrapped around his entire body. His hair is bedraggled crowning a long thin face with a sprawling unkempt beard. I think of an old sailor down on his luck. A down-and-out salty sea dog. He has both hands placed on top of each other pressing into his lap.

He turns to me:

“Could I trouble you for a light?”

Reaching into a deep pocket, he pulls out a packet of cigarettes with just a few left inside.

“Oh…um….sorry, I don’t smoke.”

I know I should get up and leave but I can’t. It’s as though an invisible force has me anchored, pinning me down.

“Ah…no matter. I have a box of matches. I forget.”

His voice is at odds with his appearance. Smooth and calm. Almost velvety. Beguiling.

He gropes in his pockets and produces the matches. He lights up, smiles and gestures, enquiring whether I want to join him. I answer with a small shake of the head.

“If I may enquire, why so vexed this day?”

The question throws me momentarily. Are my emotions so transparent?

“Why do you ask?” is all I can think of saying.

He draws on the cigarette, a stream of grey smoke breathed out a second later.

I sense a shift in the atmosphere. What was a sunny, clear day seems to be changing. Blue skies are becoming ominously black, daylight seemingly snuffed out by a looming storm. What were fluffy and white are now brooding dark clouds amassing in a gathering weather front that makes the horizon look apocalyptic.

“I sense these things.” He grins and it’s then I notice sharp yellowing needle-like teeth. There are tiny insect legs sticking out of the side of his mouth, like the remains of crickets or something. His fingernails are unusually long with tar-stained fingernails. Nosferatu hands.

“Would you like to make a deal? He pauses for effect. “I can offer you the world in exchange for...well…let’s call it suitable consideration.”

The conversation has taken a macabre turn. I’m not sure what he’s on about. A pallid hand wafts in the direction of the horizon.

“Consideration?” I have no idea why I am encouraging this crazy talk. Again, I should just get up and go. But, I can’t.

“You would like your wife punished, no?”

What does this stranger know about my other half? Have they met before? What am I missing?

The rooftops, spires and steeples are now engulfed in darkness, house lights illuminating the village. It’s as though midnight has arrived. The gentle warmth of the sun has been replaced by a chill wind. I wrap my arms around myself and hug.

“I have offered this deal to many others. A soul for a soul. I take hers, you give me yours.”

Is this guy the Devil? I can only think that he is.

Before the proposal can gain any traction, I feel my shoulders being shaken. SHAKEN. Maybe it’s a seizure. Maybe it’s an incidence of possession. Like The Exorcist.

My thoughts race and I try to remember saner times only minutes ago. Inside I am calling out to the Universe. Not that it’s something I believe in but others do and it’s not an occasion to be precious. I close my eyes and wish.

After what seems an age I open them again. Cautiously. Terror-stricken.

I focus and see that the curious character is rapidly fading away, becoming translucent. An ethereal outline turning hazy. Indistinct. Finally, there’s nothing left of the sinister tempter. Gone.

The daylight returns.

“Kieran….KIERAN!”

My eyes blink several times and I turn to see where the noise is coming from. Angela is standing there clutching a clear plastic lunch box.

“You’ve left without taking your meds again, haven’t you? It’s a good job one of us remembers these things. I’ve brought your sandwiches.”

I glare at her and then the food.

“And this.” She could be saying hey presto as an open palm reveals a pill.

“Ah…shit.” I exclaim.

“Right, let’s get you inside. The church may get visitors today.”

She holds out a hand ready to lead me up the worn dirt path that leads up to Saint Nick’s and another day of curating; the days of rituals and ceremonies long gone.

As we leave something catches the corner of my eye. I peer at the wooden bench. There’s a cricket hopping along it.

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