Incorrupt

By Patrick Dorn

Not playing with a full deck!

After a recovering priest is exiled to a small casino and mining town in the Colorado mountains, he discovers the perfectly preserved body of a young nun buried under his church's altar, only to be challenged by a Blackjack-playing demon who's staked a claim on the sister's soul.

Incorrupt is an upbeat, often funny, Catholic-friendly, ghost and demon supernatural novelette. A modern-day weird western story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrick Dorn
• Release date: Sep 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223185017

Patrick Dorn

Patrick Dorn used to write weird westerns set in Old California, New Mexico, and Colorado, but then he visited Ireland. Now his supernatural fiction alternates between The West and The Emerald Isle, but is always, always weird. He's also an Anglican priest and a full-time chaplain. Check out Patrick's blog, stories, plays, musicals, children's books, and more at www.PatrickDorn.com. You can reach him at [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter One

G o ahead, take a whiff, Morgane Delaney said, flipping a cascading wave of dyed crimson hair back to expose her freckled neck.

Franciscan Father Declan O'Shea gripped the Ghost Van's dashboard with both hands. Please, keep your eyes on the road, Morgane.

He glanced over at her. His psychic friend tugged at the collar of her rather loud and festive party dress with a multi-colored repeating diamond pattern.

To impress The Colonel, no doubt.

The Franciscan friar resumed scanning the afternoon traffic. They were headed northeast on the Celbridge Road toward Leixlip, Co. Kildare, having just passed under the hectic M4 highway. The castle should be just above the outskirts of town.

Oh, come on, Declan, give us a sniff. She dropped a shoulder, and her kelly green Kilkenny Ghost Tours van lurched halfway into the oncoming lane.

The priest tensed and took in an involuntary breath as Morgane swerved back. I don’t want to smell you just now.

In fact, the entire Ghost Van was redolent with the aroma of fresh summer fruit. Some of it could be attributed to the cloth bag behind his seat next to Morgane’s hurley stick and nylon satchel of athletic equipment. The reusable grocery sack was heavy-laden with pints of assorted berries and whatnot from the Celbridge Market where they'd spent the morning on the way up from Kilkenny.

Besides, he’d already noticed that she fairly reeked from a concentrated concoction of fruity fragrance.

Father Declan almost told her that he could smell her just fine from the passenger seat, but didn’t wish to annoy the driver. Why do women insist on camouflaging their scent to be more like flowers, or God-forbid, the musk of rutting animals? Morgane’s natural smell was fine just as it was, without artificial modifications.

I call it ‘Summer Pudding.’

You don’t think strong perfume could scare away the ghost of Leixlip Castle?

Oh, I don’t know. It might actually attract the specter, seeing as how I now give off an air of life, vitality, or as you might say, fecundity. What ghost wouldn’t want a snootful of feminine fertility?

Ah, Father Declan said, nodding. Like the way alcohol fumes at a pub attract disembodied drunkards.

Exactly, she said. Bait.

All right then. He leaned toward her. Just one sniff.

Morgane Delaney fairly stomped on the brakes, causing Father Declan to lurch forward and bang the side of his head on the windscreen. The car behind her honked rudely, but she took no notice. Instead, she pointed toward something on his side of the road. She accelerated slowly, to keep the traffic moving, but swiveled her head to get a better view of the oddity.

Father Declan turned and saw a fanciful stone tower, conical in shape, standing seven stories tall at the edge of a cow pasture. It reminded the priest somewhat of J.K. Rowling’s Sorting Hat.

Triangular ventilation holes punctuated the structure, along with two deep-set, weathered timber doors. An exterior walled staircase corkscrewed around the lumpy, slightly off-kilter building. Some kind of modern construction equipment was assembled at its base. A narrow ragged gap in the stone foundation was shored up with steel beams.

The Wonderful Barn, he said. "A folly commissioned in 1743 by the widow Laura Catherine Connolly to provide much-needed