What did I learn from my weekend at the seminary?
Mind you, I was not there in a religious capacity. Instead, the Grant Society rented out one of the rooms for our workshop. Paradise Park, our usual haunt, was closed down due to renovations. The workshop on remote viewing was so engaging that we lost track of time. We began at noon; before we knew it, it was eight in the evening. We had just realized we'd gone way past our time when one of the brothers reminded us. Profusely apologizing, we packed everything up, returned the chairs and tables, and made our way out to the parking lot. It was pitch black. One could hardly see one's hand in front of one's face if one did not have a cell phone. We all came together in a 15-passenger van because we'd planned to go out for dinner after, preferably Korean food. For some reason, we took a moment to pause and enjoy the calm wind filtering through the parking lot, carrying with it the scent of laua'e and 'awapuhi. A second later, everything went still, and a shrill scream erupted from somewhere within the seminary. It was a woman. As we looked toward the foreboding building, because that is where the scream came from, we also noticed a line of brightly lit orange torchlight descending the mountain and towards the seminary.Night marchers.
Who was that woman screaming from somewhere within the confines of the seminary? Was she in trouble? Did we need to find out and risk our own safety? We did not bother to ask ourselves these questions. We emptied out the van and headed back into the seminary, but one of the priests, Father Kessler, met us at the door. "Pay no attention to what you heard and saw, and just leave," he instructed. His demeanor was more like that of a construction foreman than a catholic priest. The presence of any compassion was not present; he wanted us gone.
"But you have night marchers headed your way," I cautioned him.
"We know, and for years, we've known what to do," he said. "Leave, now please,"
"If you need any help in the future," I began to offer, but he cut me off.
"Go," he pointed toward the road that led out to the highway.
Frustrated and put out by Father Kessler's attitude, we left. Our late-night meal was filled with concern for whoever might have let out that horrific scream earlier. So much so that we went back the next day to find out if everything was alright without coming off like a bunch of half-wit conspiracy theorists. The person whom we had made arrangements with for the use of the hall and the payments for it, Father Borely, was surprised to see us. He was jovial, and being around him made you smile without even knowing you were doing it.
"We were just concerned last night because we heard a woman screaming from inside the building before we left. We were going to check it out, but Father Kessler told us he had it handled," I said. "Is everything alright?"
"Ugh," Father Borely rolled his eyes. "He's such a pain in the ass, he used to be a cop, and he still acts like a cop even though it's been all these years. Always bossing people around!"
"Did you find out about who the woman is? A nun, maybe?" I asked.
"Oh, we don't know who is screaming, but we only hear it on the night when the Night Marchers are coming down the ridge and toward the seminary," Father Borely explained. "Whoever she is, she always warns us with her screams; that's how we know,"
"Alright, well, give our regards to Father Kessler," I said.
"Oh, he's been dead for ten years already," Father Borely waved us off. "You got a three for one last night, the scream of the woman, the night marchers, and our resident pain in the ass spirit of Father Kessler,"
NOTE: Father Borely and Father Kessler are fictional names in this story. They are meant to protect the actual Fathers I met years ago.
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