Jenna the Vicar's Wife Ch. 05

"What are your thoughts on ghosts, Jen?" Reverend Morris said as he climbed into bed.

Jenna reclined next to her husband, and ran a finger through his chest hair. "Hmm, never given them much thought. I keep an open mind. I've never seen one myself, but I'd like to! I wouldn't be scared. Just really fascinated."

"I might get to see one tomorrow. I've just had a rather desperate email from Reverend Marsha Ewing over at the Oakwood Road Methodist Church. She's at her wits end. Says her church has been haunted by a persistent ghost ever since Halloween. She's tried walking around splashing holy water on the walls, saying a prayer of deliverance, but to no avail. The church has had to remain closed all week."

"Whoa, that ghost must really like the Methodist church then!" Jenna said. "I haven't been in there since I was a little girl. My gran is a Methodist. I remember going to a few services. I remember it being light and airy inside, with the white balcony and pale yellow walls."

"Well it's not just any old ghost that's taken up residence there. Reverend Ewing is adamant says that it's the ghost of John Wesley."

"What...THE John Wesley? The founder of Methodism?" Jenna blinked.

"Yes. That's the bit I find really hard to believe. Not saying that Reverend Ewing is lying of course. I just can't understand why John Wesley of all people, would choose to return to this earthly realm. I mean, he was a true servant of God, a good man, who preached to the masses and led a long, pious life. Why would his soul suddenly become restless and earthbound?"

Jenna was fascinated. "Maybe he didn't choose to return. Maybe someone or something lured him back...and he's got trapped somehow? Don't they say on All Hallow's Eve, the barrier between the dead and the living is broken and the dead can pop back for a visit? Or something?"

"Good theory!" Reverend Morris replied. "Wesley did visit the site where the Oakwood church now stands. The church wasn't built until Victorian times, but he preached out in the open in the 1770s. The very spot where he stood is marked by a bronze statue of him. Anyways, Reverend Morris has decided to ask other members of the clergy for help. She's asked me to go along to the church tomorrow. Hopefully two vicars are better than one, and we can help John to return to the other side, so to speak."

"Shouldn't Father Aiden be called along too? Like in the Exorcist?"

Reverend Morris laughed. "I once watched that movie with some mates at uni. I really regret eating at the time...it put me off soup for weeks. Bit different though. That was movie about demonic possession, not a haunting."

Jenna thought for a while. "If you ask me, having John Wesley actually appear could be a fantastic tourism opportunity for the church. Think of the visitors it could attract. Maybe he just wanted to see one of his old worship spots again. I wish he could've brought his brother Charles along. You know how much I'm a fan of him. Did I ever tell you I once had an erotic dream about him?"

"No? Tell me more!"

"I was working as a tavern wench, when Charles arrived, weary after a long journey from Bristol. I led him to a bedchamber. He told me he was travelling to London, to visit his brother, John."

Jenna rolled over and kissed him. The Reverend's tongue darted into her mouth, fondling hers. Her left arm stretched across his back with her hand resting between his shoulders. With her right hand, she reached down the front of his boxer shorts, slowly tracing up and down the length of his engorged cock with her palm.

"And...I helped Charles overcome his writer's block, so he was able to write Hark the Herald Angels Sing."

She pulled down his boxers and rolled her tongue around the head of her husband's cock, trying to get every drop of precum.

"Ohh...I'll never be able to think of that carol in the same way again!"

Next morning, Reverend Morris headed to Oakwood Road Methodist Church. It was a small, solidly-built structure, sandwiched between a row of terraced houses, their brickwork still smoke-blackened from the days of the Industrial Revolution.

"This part of town never seems to change," Reverend Morris said to himself, as he parked the car. "They call it the Victorian Quarter."

The vicar of Oakwood Road Methodist Church was Reverend Marsha Ewing, a jolly, middle-aged black woman. Originally from South Carolina, she'd emigrated nearly ten years ago, and put her heart and soul into running the church. Even the dismal British weather couldn't dampen her spirits. Now for the first time, she looked a little stressed.

"Thanks for coming, Simon," she said as he entered the church.

"Not at all," he replied. "Always happy to assist a fellow person of the cloth. A most unusual situation this. I've never been called upon to be a "deliverance minister" before. First time for everything I guess!"

"I've been going out of my mind with this. Ol' Mr Wesley ain't for stayin' quiet! I've tried everything to placate the guy but nothing works. I've tried prayer, singing hymns, talking to him. Went through the whole Ghostbusting routine. I asked Róisín, the vicar from the Living Earth Free Church to call round yesterday. She's only been in the role a few weeks, but very willing to help. We both prayed together, hoping John would find peace. But it didn't work and this morning, John appeared again, in the vestry. Took me by surprise. Started blowing papers around. And the church goes so darn cold when he appears. Actually saw him full-length today. I asked him directly, why is he so upset? He said he couldn't say why, but there's only one person who can help him. I pressed him further. He just said the person he needs lives in this town. Wouldn't say if they're male or female."

"Blimey," Reverend Morris said, rubbing his chin. "That's a bit vague. It could be anyone. The population of this town is around 100,000 people! How are we ever going to find out who the right person is?"

"One of the wardens suggested I post something on the church's Facebook page, but I'd rather keep it all as quiet as possible. We've already had folks making hoax phone calls and posting memes and stuff on Twitter. It ain't funny. Most of my congregation are seniors. They don't want any fuss. Some of them think I'm making the whole thing up, as a sort of viral marketing campaign to increase attendance. Some of the comments online have been nasty."

Reverend Morris sighed. "I'm sorry to hear that. Well, let's pray together and see if we can help John. Not sure if I'm the one he seeks, but there's only one way to find out!"

"Mm, hmm." Reverend Ewing nodded. "John Wesley is very dear to all of us here. He stood in the very spot where that statue is." She pointed to the bronze statue in the corner. "I don't want folks thinking I'm mocking his memory or anything. Must say I haven't experienced anything like this since the Orangeburg Incident of 1999."

"The what?"

"Oh it was when I was back in the States. So, on the night of New Year's Eve 1999, Abraham Lincoln suddenly appeared in a branch of Walgreens. Many blamed it on drug-induced paranoia brought about by the hype of the coming Millennium."

"Fascinating stuff," Reverend Morris replied. He walked over to the Wesley statue. On a table next to it, were three large, newly-lit candles.

"Tell me, does he look exactly like his portrait?"

"Oh yes. Long white hair. Dressed all in black and with preaching bands. He's a shortstack too. Around five foot four? Slightly built. He looks so miserable though, like he needs a hug or something."

"The state of the world right now, I think we all need a hug," Reverend Morris said. "Okay, well I'll try my best. If I fail, I'll have to give Father Aiden from St. Gregory's a call. Let's start by saying the Lord's Prayer."

The flames on the candles, which had been steady, flared and writhed, drawn upward by a draft that the two of them couldn't feel. Salamanders of yellow light wriggled across the previously dark side of Reverend Ewing's face. When she looked at the candles, her eyes were as yellow as moons low on the horizon.

"He's coming."

Quickly the candle flames subsided. The church chandeliers dimmed and brightened, dimmed and brightened, like the flickering lights in the classic old movie Gaslight. Reverend Morris felt a growing sense of fear. The temperature in the church had plummeted.

He tried talking to the spirit directly. "The Lord be with you. Lift up your heart, John. I welcome to you to this place of worship. My name is Reverend Simon Morris and I..."

From behind him came not a hand and not, as he might have expected, a blast of heat, but a hissing cold that first prickled the nape of his neck and then seemed to drill into the summit of his spine, through the base of his skull.

Throughout all this, Reverend Ewing remained calm. "Simon," she whispered. "He's behind you."

He didn't want to turn round, afraid of coming face to face with some eldritch abomination, but he summoned his courage. There, stood right behind him, as plain as day, was John Wesley himself. At first glance, he resembled any other living person, save for a faint aura of silver light surrounding him.

"Um...greetings to you, Mr Wesley." The vicar stammered. He wondered why he was so afraid. Of all the dead persons one could meet, John Wesley was surely one of the nicest, most inoffensive ones.

John's face relaxed into a smile. He put his hands together and bowed. "I thank you most sincerely. Soon, I shall experience salvation, for you are known to this person whom I seek. I hope you can bring her to me soon. I bid you a good day..."

He bowed and vanished. Suddenly, in the space of thirty seconds, it was light and bright in the church. The lights stopped flickering and the gloom lifted. Outside, the clouds had rolled back from the sun. The building was suddenly and unexplainably warm too, as if the temperature had risen by about five degrees.

Reverend Morris dared to exhale. "Oh! Well...that...wasn't too nerve-racking! He's a very polite ghost isn't he?"

"Simon, did you hear what he said? He said HER. A female relative or friend of yours is the person he's seeking!"

"Wonder who it could be? Not my mum, surely. Could be Aunt Susan? I'm not seeing the connection here."

"What about your wife?" Reverend Ewing suggested.

He blinked. "Jenna? Oh of course! it must be her! Her grandma is a Methodist! That must be why John wants to see her!"