by Amy Cross
“Oh.” I pause, trying to work out what he means. “So are you and the Pope not in the same group?”
“I work for an organization that has links to a great many institutions and faiths,” he explains calmly. “Irrespective of my personal background, I'm mindful of the needs of all Christians, regardless of their denominations. I'm also in regular touch with leading figures from other religious groups, such as Judaism and Islam and Hinduism. We all have certain things in common.”
“Right,” I reply, even though I still don't quite understand. “So who actually owns the church in Briarwych?”
“The people who have asked me to come here.”
“Right.” I pause. “So they sent you because we broke in? You're not going to call the police, are you? I'll pay for the lock, I swear, and we didn't take anything. Well, Kerry took a bag, but you can have that back.”
“Nobody's going to contact the police,” he replies. “If somebody did, they'd immediately get in touch with yours truly.”
“Who's mine truly?”
“Me, Mark,” he explains. “I meant that they'd refer the situation directly to me. Or at least to one of my superiors, who in turn would send me to investigate. And I can assure you that the loss of a lock on an old wooden door is of no real interest to me whatsoever.” He pauses again, watching me with that same calm demeanor that I first noticed back at the cottage. “What do you know about the church at Briarwych?”
“I looked it up on Google,” I tell him.
“What did you find?”
“Nothing much.”
“Good. We've worked very hard to keep it that way.”
“What's going on with that church?” I ask, unable to hold back my exasperation any longer. “Why do people talk about it like that?”
“Like what?”
“The way you just did. Like everyone's hiding something!”
“You're a very perceptive young man.”
“Don't patronize me!”
He takes a deep breath.
“The church here in Briarwych has been closed since 1942,” he explains finally. “Not a single living soul set foot inside the place for more than three quarters of a century, until the night you and your friend entered the building.”
“Why?” I ask.
“The church was sealed.”
“Why? Why have you all been trying to stop people getting in?”
I wait, but he looks concerned.
“Or are you...”
My voice trails off for a moment.
“Are you trying to stop something getting out?” I ask, before realizing how ridiculous that idea is. It's so ridiculous, in fact, that I immediately get to my feet. “I think I'm gonna go now,” I tell him. “Sorry, but I'm not into all this weird shit.”
Turning, I head toward the door.
“She killed your friend,” Liam says suddenly. “She killed Kerry.”
I stop and look back over at him.
“I'm sorry,” he continues, “but there's no doubt about that whatsoever.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“You said it yourself, Mark. While you were in the church, Kerry started acting strangely. She referred to a woman she'd seen and heard. She herself said strange things. She suffered a brief, temporary possession while she was sitting on that altar.”
“Possession?” I reply, barely able to believe that he's coming out with this stuff. “Are you for real?”
“The autopsy stated that she died due to an aneurysm,” he continues. “While that isn't strictly a contradiction of the truth, the aneurysm itself was caused by mounting pressure in Kerry's cranium. Your friend was murdered as an act of revenge. She was killed by a cruel, vengeful entity that has been allowed to fester inside that church for far too long.”
“That church was empty,” I point out.
He shakes his head.
“There was no-one there!” I continue, raising my voice even though I didn't mean to. “Kerry was rambling on about someone, but that's just because she was crazy! And if you think there was someone in there with us, then maybe you're crazy too!”
Sighing, he gets to his feet. He steps past me, and then he takes his jacket from a hook on the wall. As he begins to put the jacket on, he also reaches into one of the pockets and removes something small.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Where do you think?” He shows me a small metal key with a strange design. “I'm going to the church.”
“But you're not -”
“The act of authorization, enacted by the late Bishop Alfred Carmichael in 1942, permits any representative of the Council to enter the church at Briarwych,” he replies calmly, almost as if he'd anticipated what I was about to say. “Locks be damned, Mark. I need to see the interior of that place for myself, before I decide how to proceed. And to be perfectly frank with you, I've lost patience with the petty superstition of people here in the village. Nobody has the legal or moral right to keep me out of the church, and I'm done with the niceties.”
With that, he opens the door and steps out into the corridor, before glancing back at me.
“So,” he adds finally, “are you coming with me?”
Chapter Thirteen
Mark
“You won't even get the door open,” I tell Liam as I follow him through the undergrowth that fills the cemetery. “Mate, I've seen the lock on that door. It's ten times stronger than the one Kerry managed to break.”
“I very much doubt that your friend broke anything,” he says, reaching the door and sliding his own key into Tim's lock. He struggles for a moment, before managing to click the key into place. “That lock was opened from the inside.”
“No, she -”
Before I can finish, there's another loud clicking sound and part of Tim's lock falls away. Liam quickly pulls the metal plate aside, before turning the ring-pull thing on the front of the door. Then, stepping back, he pulls the door open to reveal the gloomy interior.
Feeling an instant chill, I take a step back as I see the gray stone walls of the church's main corridor. Last time I was here, it was too dark to see anything at all.
I open my mouth to tell this Liam guy that he's tripping balls, but then something stops me. I can't help staring into the church, and once again I get this really strong feeling that somehow something's staring back at me. I can see the corridor, I can even see the wall at the far end, and there's blatantly no-one there. At the same time, I swear I can feel a pair of eyes watching me, and the sensation builds and builds until finally I feel like I just want to run and not look back.
“Tell me what you're thinking right now,” Liam says.
I turn to him.
“Are you feeling something?” he continues. “Maybe something you can't quite explain?”
“I'm feeling embarrassed, mate,” I reply, unable to drop the defensiveness. “For you. You're nuts.”
“Am I?” He pauses, before pushing the door all the way open and then taking a step into the church. “Well, I suppose there's only one way to -”
“Stop!” I blurt out.
He turns to me.
“I didn't mean that,” I add, even though I'm shocked by my own reaction. Seeing Liam entering the church reminded me of when Kerry went inside, and the thought of that moment has sent me into a kind of panic. “I don't think you should go in there, that's all.”
“I was under the impression that you don't believe what I told you back in my room.”
“I don't, but -”
“So go home,” he continues, cutting me off. “It's been very interesting to talk to you, Mark, but I'm not going to force you to come into the church with me. Go home. Be like all the others in Briarwych. Pretend nothing's happening here, pretend the evil in this church can be contained forever by a wooden door and a fancy lock. Pretend your friend Kerry died of a random aneurysm. Lie to yourself. It's easier.”
Turning, he starts walking along the corridor. His steps ring
out as he advances into the gloom, and as I watch him I have to really fight the urge to yell at him and to tell him he's making a mistake.
“Not again,” I whisper under my breath, still thinking back to the night here with Kerry. “Come on, this is too much.”
I should leave, like he said, but somehow I stay right here for a moment. I can still see Mark, even though the church's interior is pretty shadowy, and he's getting closer and closer to the far end of the corridor. That's where the feeling of being watched is coming from, and I can't shake the fear that he's walking straight toward something that shouldn't be there. And even though I want to get out of here, I finally take a step forward into the doorway, and then I make my way into the church. People have called me a lot of things over the years, but the one thing I hate more than anything is being called a coward.
I'm shaking, though, and I don't know whether that's because of how cold it is in here, or because of the way some invisible gaze seems to be burning into me.
“Can we just go?” I ask, unable to keep the fear from my voice. “I can't just leave you here, but can we go?”
He doesn't reply. Instead, as he reaches the end of the corridor he turns and starts carefully taking something from one of the other pockets of his jacket.
“This place is creepy as shit,” I continue, stepping along the corridor, forcing myself to keep going. The last thing I want is to be here, but at the same time I'm not going to let this Liam guy think that he's managed to scare me. I'm going to prove to him, and to myself, that there's nothing bad here. “You're wasting your time.”
Stopping halfway along the corridor, I see that he's holding a small glass vial of liquid.
“What's that?” I ask cautiously.
“Do you sense her, Mark?” he replies.
“Sense who?”
“The woman your friend Kerry encountered that night while she was sitting on the altar.” He slowly swings the vial from the end of a short silver chain. “Her name is, or was, Judith Prendergast.”
“There's no-one here,” I point out, although at that moment I can't help looking past Liam and watching the space behind him. I tell myself I'm imagining things, but at the same time I feel like there's something invisible in the air, something that's just past his left shoulder.
“Don't worry,” Liam continues, watching the vial as he turns, as if he expects it to suddenly start swinging differently, “she won't appear right now. She's cautious by nature. Not as cautious as she was seventy years ago, but still cautious, especially when she knows that there's a man of the cloth here.”
He turns again, as the vial continues to swing.
“I'm certain that she's close, though,” he adds, turning again. “She'll be drawn to us, to see who we are and why we -”
“Stop!” I yell, as he turns to face the space right behind him. At that moment, the vial suddenly starts swinging wildly in the other direction.
Liam takes a step back and looks at the far end of the corridor.
“She's definitely here,” he continues, before glancing at me. “You sense her, Mark, don't you?”
“I don't know what you're talking about!” I snap, watching as the vial continues to swing far more wildly than before. “You're doing that with your fingers.”
“She must be right here,” he says, watching the far wall. “She's close, as close as she dares to come.” He starts backing away, coming closer to me as the vial begins to swing more normally again. “After seventy years alone, she must be pretty surprised to have visitors. Then again, she's been waiting for that door to be breached, maybe even learning how to open it herself from the inside.” He stops next to me, and now the vial is simply hanging from the chain. “She wants to know what we want here.”
Stopping, he crouches down and look at a spot at the bottom of the archway. There looks to be some kind of mark carved into stonework, and he runs a fingertip against the surface for a moment before getting back to his feet.
“What is that thing?” I ask, looking at the vial and seeing that it contains a small amount of what seems to be water.
“Just a few drops of holy water,” he replies. “I'm confident that we're safe for the moment, but it's always good to have some insurance.”
“Holy water?” I ask. “For real? Isn't that just... normal water?”
“You saw how it reacted in her presence.”
“Yeah, but that was you playing with it.”
“I assure you, I did nothing,” he replies, still watching the wall at the corridor's far end for a moment, before turning to me. “She's here with us, Mark. The ghost of Judith Prendergast is right here in this space, and she's watching us.”
***
“What happened here, anyway?” I ask a few minutes later, as Liam begins to make his way along the aisle. “Did someone trash this place?”
Stopping in the archway, I look at the ruined pews, which looks like they were set on fire a long time ago. A moment later I glance over my shoulder, looking back along the corridor. I still feel like I'm being watched, like something's at the corridor's far end, but I keep telling myself to stop being such a wimp. Looking back over at Mark, I see that he's reached the altar, and I feel a flicker of fear as I remember the way Kerry sat up there on that thing.
“Hey!” I call out, making my way along the aisle and then stopping as I get halfway. “Why are all these chairs so trashed?”
He turns to me. He's still holding the vial, which is hanging still.
“There was a fire,” he explains. “It wasn't exactly an accident. According to Father Loveford's testimony, the fire was started deliberately but then extinguished a short while later, before any real structural damage could be done. Of course, by the time of that testimony the church had already been re-sealed, and nobody was very keen to come in and remove the debris.” He looks around at the ruined pews. “They've stood like this for more than seventy years. They're another form of testimony, I suppose. They're a reminder of what happened the last time people came into this church.”
“Who set it on fire?” I ask cautiously.
“A very troubled young woman.”
“But why?”
“Because she was misguided,” he continues. “The ghost of Judith Prendergast was directing her. Encouraging her. The ghost wasn't as strong then as it is now, but it still almost managed to trap an entire congregation and have them burn to death. I suppose the ghost has had plenty of time to reflect upon her failure to -”
Suddenly there's a scraping sound in the distance. Turning, I look back toward the archway, but I don't see anything. Somehow I know, however, that I'll feel like I'm begin watched again if I go and look back along the corridor.
“Maybe she doesn't like being reminded of those times,” Liam continues as I turn to him again. “Maybe she's a little sensitive about it all.”
“You're talking about her like she's...”
My voice trails off for a moment.
“Like she's real,” I add finally. “Like she's really here, like ghosts are real.”
“You don't have to believe me,” he replies. “I can't force you. But I think deep down you know I'm right, otherwise you wouldn't have followed me back in here today. And you can feel things, Mark, can't you? Tell me, on the night you first came here, did your friend Kerry show any sign of fear before she started acting strangely?”
I pause, before shaking my head.
“I'm sure she felt something,” he adds, “but it would have been weak enough for her to dismiss it. That's how most people are in this kind of location. But you picked up on something, didn't you?”
“I thought it was stupid to be here,” I tell him. “I still do.”
“Are you sure that's why you were being so cautious?”
“It was cold and I was tired!”
“But there was something else, wasn't there?”
“You know what?” I add, feeling beyond frustrated. “Screw this pile of -”
Suddenly I fee
l something brushing against the back of my neck. Turning, I instinctively take a step back, and for a moment I feel filled with a burst of fear. It's not like I feel that I'm being watched right now; instead, it's like I can feel something moving past me, making its way along the aisle. For a fraction of a second that sensation is palpable, it's so strong I think I might faint, but then it begins to subside and I'm left looking toward Liam as he remains on the altar with the vial hanging from his fingers.
“What was that?” he asks. “What did you feel?”
“Nothing,” I stammer.
“It didn't look like nothing.”
“It was just...” I take a deep breath and try to sort myself out. “You can't blame me for being freaked out!” I point out finally. “Kerry died after being here, and now you're telling a load of bullshit ghost stories! Anyone'd be bothered by stuff like that!”
I wait, but now he's simply watching the vial.
“It's so easy to get scared even though there's nothing to be scared of!” I continue. “I get that, it's human nature. You spout a load of bollocks about a ghost, and of course people are gonna get their panties in a twist, but that doesn't mean any of it's real! It just means that -”
Before I can finish, I see that the vial is starting to swing again. Only gently, but enough for me to notice from over here.
“It just means that you're good at fucking with people,” I stammer, “and with their minds, and -”
I stop as the vial's swing becomes stronger. Maybe even stronger than before. Still, it's blatantly obvious that Liam's controlling it with his fingers. He's probably as much a magician as he is a priest.
“You're clever,” I add, “I'll give you that, but...”
My voice trails off as the vial suddenly swings to the right and then hovers there, as if it's being repulsed by something on the other side of Liam's hand. I want to tell him that I don't believe in any of this, but when I look at his face I see that he's staring down at the vial with a hint of fear in his eyes, and I realize he's whispering something very quietly. Instinctively, I take a step forward, and as I do so I swear I feel the air getting colder against my face.