September 15, Sunday

THE LATE morning sun filtered through the changing leaves, casting dappled shadows across my notebook. I'd been sitting on the concrete bench in the graveyard for hours, alternating between half-hearted attempts at writing and scanning the road for Sawyer's truck.

He hadn't shown up yet, and I couldn't shake the nagging worry that it had something to do with yesterday's... incident. I closed my eyes, replaying the scene in my mind for the hundredth time. Had I really seen what I thought I saw? Or was my imagination, honed by years of crafting fiction, playing tricks on me?

As the day wore on with no sign of Sawyer, I began to accept he wasn't coming. Just as I was about to pack up and head back to the house, the sound of an approaching vehicle caught my attention.

To my surprise, it wasn't Sawyer's familiar truck, but a modest sedan. The car pulled up, and out stepped Reverend John Abernathy, still dressed in his Sunday best.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Vanguard," he called, his voice warm and resonant.

"Reverend." I stood to greet him. "This is unexpected."

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I hope I'm not intruding. I thought I'd stop by and say a prayer for the lost souls here and bless the ground with holy water left over from today's services."

I nodded. "By all means."

Reverend Abernathy moved among the headstones with a quiet reverence, pausing here and there to sprinkle water from a small silver flask. When he reached the center of the graveyard, he bowed his head and began to pray.

"Heavenly Father, we come before you today to ask for your divine protection over this sacred ground and the souls who rest here. In the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, we pray for your light to shine in this place, dispelling any darkness that may linger."

His voice grew stronger as he continued, "We ask for your shield against evil forces that may seek to disturb the peace of these departed souls. Protect them, Lord, and guide them to your eternal light. In Jesus' name, Amen."

As he finished, I was struck by the genuine compassion in his voice. There was no hint of the judgement or fire-and-brimstone rhetoric I'd half-expected.

"That was beautiful," I murmured as he approached. "Do you have a loved one buried here?"

He shook his head. "All souls are important to me, Ms. Vanguard. Especially in a place with such a... complicated history."

I raised an eyebrow. "You mean the rumors about witches?"

He nodded solemnly. "I try to counter such things with prayer and faith rather than confrontation. But I do worry about the souls of those involved in Wiccan practices."

Something in his tone made me shift uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he said, his kind eyes meeting mine, "people often turn to such practices out of desperation or a desire for control. But true wisdom and justice come through prayer, not black magic."

It was as if he was speaking directly to me about the curse ingredients hidden in my room.

"The path of righteousness isn't always easy," he continued, "but it's the surest way to find peace. Don't you agree, Ms. Vanguard?"

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exposed. "I... I should be getting back to the house."

He nodded, a knowing look in his eye that made me wonder just how much he'd guessed. "Remember, my door is always open if you need to talk."

As I hurried away, I could feel his gaze on my back. My mind was a whirlwind of confusion. Between Sawyer's unexplained abilities and the Reverend's timely warnings, it felt as if the universe was trying to tell me something.

But was I ready to listen? Or was I already in too deep to turn back now?