About The Star
by Elisa Viperas
44 pages
/ 16500 words
Available file types - lit, pdf, prc
Father Henri Domoulin is a troubled man. He keeps having dreams about a Star, a symbol on a doorway, and some of those thoughts are very unbefitting a young priest. When his parish is disrupted by the death of his old mentor and the arrival of a mysterious stranger, Henri worries that he will not be able to deal with the challenge.
Caught in an ever increasing web of fear and deceit, Henri must struggle with a strange new love, even while he fights for his life. Filled with twists and turns, Elisa Viperas' take on erotic horror will leave you on the edge of your seat!
Sample
Three times Father Dumoulin dreamt of the door with the crimson sigil, and three times was he visited by the man in the red cloak.
The door was simple oak with an unadorned iron handle, indistinguishable from the other doors in the tiny village church save for the mark on it. Two fingers above the handle, a broad red circle had been pressed into the wood. Its appearance was that of a wax seal, but firm and cool to the touch, as though it were metal.
Henri Dumoulin ran his fingers over the seal. He traced the raised curls, the scooped indentations, the complicated pattern. The curious star shape in its center enthralled him the most. Its points were uneven, disordered, and the more he looked at it, the larger it seemed to grow.
The scent of cinnamon enveloped him, saturating the air. When Henri’s palm closed around the iron handle, it warmed quickly to his touch, and what had started as a subtle, soft fluttering sound became a deafening roar, like a rushing storm.
Henri’s eyes snapped open, leaving him lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, hand outstretched as if reaching for something. His bedroom was silent.
He rolled onto his side, drawing his hand in. The dream confused him, with its odd symbolism, and that most unnerving of sounds. Something not unlike the beating of wings, thousands of wings, all opening, expanding.
The night air chilled him, and Henri reached for his thin blanket, wrapping it around himself. Tomorrow, he reassured himself. Tomorrow, he would seek the council of Father Montclair, and all would be well.
The scent of cinnamon still lingered in his nostrils when he drifted to sleep.