The Black Chalice

Thirty-Three

At night, alone, the voice came.

Still, he could not make out a word it said.

He didn't need to.

The words formed impressions inside his head and those impressions came alive inside him.

He lay in his bed, his entire body hollowed out, so that when the voice came, it filled him. It swelled to reach every corner of his being. The shapeless sounds repeated the same sibilance of syllables, chanting them over and over and over again:

chalicechalicechalicechalicechalicechalicechalicechalice…

And for once he did not feel alone in the great manor house.