by Amy Cross
Did I collapse?
Suddenly a second face appears. A man leans over me, and he looks troubled by something.
“Fuck,” Mark says, before stepping back out of my field of vision. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is some kind of -”
“Don't go,” the man replies, cutting him off. “Mark, you have to stay. Your presence is important.”
I try again to speak, to ask them what's wrong, but I'm really struggling to move my mouth. After a moment I manage to feel my jaw again, and I feel my lips parting slightly, but the effort is really crazy and I'm struggling to keep from panicking. I remember a guy I used to know, Mr. Abercrombie from the flat opposite, and he had a stroke one time and he ended up in a wheelchair and he could hardly move one side of his face. I'm way too young for that to have happened to me, but I can't help feeling a growing sense of panic.
Why can't I move my body properly?
“Mark, stay,” the man says, looking away from me for a moment, as if he's staring at Mark across the room. “We've come this far. We have to stay the course now.”
I try to turn and look at Mark, but I can't move my head. I can't blink, either, and I'm starting to realize that I feel really, really wrong. And still. I feel as if nothing's moving anywhere in my body. I never really noticed before, but I always used to have a sense of my own heartbeat; it was something I took for granted, something I didn't really notice until it was gone. Why can't I feel my own heart beating? And why am I so fucking cold?
“Kerry,” the man says as he looks back down at me, “my name is Father Liam Dermott. Can you hear me?”
When I try to speak, I feel my mouth open a little more, but I still can't actually get any words out.
“I'm going to take that as a yes,” he continues. “It'll take a moment before you're able to properly respond, that's completely normal in a situation where the body has...”
His voice trails off for a few seconds.
“Well, let's just say that it's understandable,” he adds. “Kerry, we probably only have a few minutes, so I'm afraid I'm going to have to press you on this, and you're going to have to do your absolute best to answer. I'm so sorry I can't do more for you, but you have to understand that I wouldn't have brought you back unless it was absolutely necessary.”
As he says those words, Mark slowly leans back into my view. He's staring down at me with that same shocked expression on his face. I want to punch him, but at the same time this sense of panic is growing and growing as I try to work out why I'm so cold.
“That night in the church,” the Liam guy continues, “you saw something, didn't you? I need to know exactly what it looked like, and what it said to you.”
I try again to get my mouth open, and this time it's a little easier. When I try to speak, however, all that emerges from my throat is a faint, guttural groan.
“Kerry, it's okay!” Mark stammers. “You're -”
“Quiet!” Liam snaps at him. “Don't tell her! She won't be able to handle it!”
“What happened to me?” I manage to whimper, as I try desperately to move my hands, or my feet, or any other part of my body at all.
“I need you to focus, Kerry,” Liam continues, leaning closer to my face. “That night in the church, what exactly did you see? Did it look like a woman, or did it look like something else? This is important, Kerry. I need you to think back to that night.”
“Where am I?” I ask, finally managing to turn my head a little so that I can look directly at Mark. “Why am I here?”
“Stay focused,” Liam says, touching the side of my face and gently tilting my head back to face him. I try to resist, but he's too strong and the warmth of his hand is overwhelming. “Tell me what she looked like.”
“She looked like a woman,” I reply. “Just a woman.”
“This woman?” he asks, and then he holds up a photo for me to see. “The woman on the left of the back row. Is that the woman you saw in the church?”
“I...”
Struggling to focus, I take a moment to look at the picture. As soon as I see the woman's face, however, I feel a shudder run up through my chest.
“It's her,” I say, and now it's getting a little easier to speak. “She was wearing black, and she looked...”
My voice trails off as I stare at the photo.
“Angrier,” I add finally. “There was something about her face, a kind of darkness. It was like she hated me, like she was twisted with anger.”
For a moment, I think back to the sight of that woman leaning toward me, and then I remember her cold hand on the side of my face. She was speaking to me, asking me over and over to explain why I was in the church. Then when Mark came closer, she started asking him the same thing, until finally he reached out and touched my arm. That was when she leaned right against my ear, and I felt the coldness of the last words she whispered before she vanished
“Shattak,” I stammer.
“What was that?” Liam asks, leaning closer.
“Sattiak,” I say again, “or... Santak, something like that. Shattak? I don't know.”
I remember my heart was pounding.
“Why am I so cold?” I whimper, as I feel my eyes swelling with the coming of tears. Except, there are no tears. “What's wrong with me? Why can't I sit up?”
“Shaltak,” Liam says firmly. “Is that what she said to you, Kerry?”
“Yes. Maybe. I think so. But why can't I move?”
“Are you sure? Try to think back. Did she say the name Shaltak?”
“Mark, what's happening?” I ask, turning to him again. I can feel my bottom lip trembling. “What are they doing to me?”
I wait, but he's staring at me with tears in his eyes and I'm starting to feel really scared.
“Please,” I continue, trying to reach out to him but not quite managing to move my hands. “I don't remember what happened after I was in the kitchen. Am I in a hospital? Why am I here? What happened to me?”
“Do something!” Mark hisses, looking across me toward Liam. “Help her!”
“There's nothing I can do,” he replies. “I'm so sorry.”
“But she'll get better, right?” he continues. “You've brought her back from the dead and now she's going to recover. Right?”
“This is only a temporary reprieve,” he explains. “Nothing more.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “Who did you bring back from the dead? Who's dead?”
I can feel myself starting to panic. And with each second of silence that passes as I wait for an answer, I can tell that the panic is growing and growing.
“Who's dead?” I ask again. “Why are you both looking at me like that?”
“You have to help her!” Mark snaps. “You brought her back, so why can't you let her stay?”
“It doesn't work like that,” Liam replies.
“You can't let her die again!”
“She's still dead, Mark!” he says firmly, before turning to look down at me again. “This is just a brief reprieve. I was able to draw her soul back to her body, but soon she'll be gone and this time it'll be permanent.” He pauses, with tears in his eyes. “I'm so sorry, Kerry,” he adds, “but there's really, truly nothing I can do. You have to go back.
“Back where?” I stammer, still trying again and again to sit up. I think I can just about feel my body now, but everything's so cold. “Where are you taking me?”
“It's okay,” Mark says, leaning closer, “I won't let anything happen to you, not again. We're going to find a way to keep you here. We're not going to lose you again.”
“What do you mean, lose me?” I ask, although now I'm starting to find it harder to speak. “What's happening to me? Why are you talking to me like this?”
“You died, Kerry,” Mark continues. “You died two weeks ago, but Liam brought you back to life and now we're going to save you. I don't care what anyone says, we're going to -”
“Don't make promises you can't keep,” Liam tells him.
; “We are going to keep it!” he shouts, turning to him as they both lean over me. “How can you say you can't save her, when you've already brought her back from the dead?”
“I'm not dead!” I stammer, but I'm starting to feel even colder than before. “How can I be dead? I'm right here!”
“You'll go back to wherever you went after you died,” Liam says, clearly struggling to stay calm. “It's that simple, Kerry.”
“I haven't been anywhere!” I sob. “Why are you saying these things?”
“Wherever you were between your death and this moment, you'll return and -”
“There was nothing!” I scream, struggling harder than ever in a desperate attempt to rise up from wherever I am right now. “I haven't been anywhere! I was in the kitchen and then I was here! There wasn't anywhere else!”
“Is that true?” Mark asks, looking over at Liam again. “Where do people go when they die?”
“I didn't go anywhere!” I whimper. “It's like I was asleep, but without any dreams! It was just nothing! Please, you can't make me go back to that! It wasn't real! It can't have been real, I can't have been dead!”
“I'm so sorry, Kerry,” Liam says. “I would never have brought you back at all, if I hadn't needed to ask you about that night in the church.”
“He's lying!” I shout, turning to Mark again. “Please, Mark, tell me it's all a lie. I can't be dead. There was nothing between being in the kitchen and being here. It was just black and cold, it's like I didn't exist. Please don't let me go back to that. Please find a way to keep me here.”
“She's weakening,” Liam says.
“No, I'm not!” I shout, but in that instant I can already feel myself slipping into darkness. “Don't make me go back to how I was! There wasn't anything there! I didn't exist!”
“We're going to find a way,” Mark says. “I swear to you, no matter what it takes, we'll find a way to keep you here.”
“I'm so sorry,” Liam tells me. “There's nothing I can do.”
“I don't want to go back to nothing!” I reply, but I'm slurring my words now and I can barely move my mouth. “Please, I'm so cold and I'm scared. You can't make me go back, you have to find a way to let me -”
Suddenly I feel myself falling, and my vision starts to fade. It's the same feeling I remember from before, from the night I was stabbed and from the moment just before I collapsed in the kitchen. This time, however, I can't figure out how to fight back, but my senses are starting to fade and I realize I've only got a few seconds. I can hear Mark and Liam still talking, still arguing, but I can barely make out their voices. The cold is fading, but so is the sensation of having a body at all.
I'm so terrified, all I can do is scream, and then everything goes black.
Chapter Twenty
Mark
Rain is falling more steadily now, starting to tap constantly against the windshield as we sit in Liam's car. We haven't spoken for a while now, not since we came back out to the car park, and in my mind I'm just replaying that final scream over and over again. She sounded terrified, and then suddenly the scream just ended.
Finally, I turn and see that Liam is staring straight ahead.
“Where is she now?” I ask.
He glances at me.
“She said there was nothing,” I continue, “but that can't be right, can it? I mean, you don't believe that there's nothing, do you?”
“Mark...”
“What about ghosts?” I add. “If ghosts are real, then there's something after death.”
“Ghosts are the souls of people who've refused to pass from this world,” he replies. “Those who do pass simply... go. There's no revolving door, Mark. Once a soul leaves, it can't come back.”
“But you just brought Elizabeth back!” I point out.
“I temporarily raised her from what's left of her body,” he explains. “It's not like I opened a door and brought her back from somewhere. I simply created the correct circumstances that would allow her to exist again for a few minutes.”
“You don't believe her, though, do you?” I ask. “You're a priest. You have to believe that there's something that comes after death.”
I wait, but he doesn't reply. Instead, he seems lost in his own thoughts, as if he's still trying to deal with the way Kerry screamed as she died. The scream was suddenly cut off, as if Kerry simply stopped existing, as if she was there one moment and gone the next.
“So where is she now?” I add.
“We have to get back to Briarwych,” he says, suddenly reaching out and starting the engine. “There's no time to lose. I have to begin the process of cleansing the church immediately.”
“You mean getting rid of the ghost?”
“I told them containment wouldn't work,” he continues, already backing the car out of the parking bay. “Maybe it would have done, if what we were dealing with had been just a ghost. But it's not, Mark. That thing in Briarwych Church is far more than just the ghost of Judith Prendergast.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “She died and now she's a ghost. Isn't that all there is to it?”
“I need to check one more thing before I'm sure,” he replies, “but I think I'm finally starting to understand what happened in that church all those years ago, before Judith Prendergast died.”
***
As the car comes to a halt outside the pub in Briarwych, I can't shake a feeling of dread in my gut. Liam was mostly quiet on the drive back here, only responding very briefly to my attempts to ask him questions. It's clear that his conversation with Kerry left him even more concerned than before, and as I glance out the window and spot the church's spire I can't shake the feeling that I still don't really understand what's happening here in this village.
“I need you to come inside with me and help carry some equipment,” Liam says after a moment.
“Where to?” I ask, turning to him.
Please don't be the church.
“To the church,” he says, and I can hear the fear in his voice. “I'm going to need your help with a few things, Mark. I wouldn't ask you, but it's vital. I can't do this alone.”
“But -”
“And you're the best person for the job.”
“Me?” Shocked, I wait for him to admit that he's joking. “I'm not really good at anything,” I add finally, trying to think of a way out of this mess. “I'm just an idiot, I'm not very good at helping anyone.”
“You pick up on things,” he replies.
“I don't pick up on anything!”
“I've noticed it over the past couple of days,” he says. “Despite your protestations, you sense the evil in that church, don't you?”
“I...”
My voice trails off as I think back to the feeling of being watched.
“It's okay,” he continues, “there's no need to be scared. Everyone has a different degree of awareness. Some don't pick up on anything. Others pick up on just enough to know that they should be cautious. Others pick up on a lot more. Some even see and hear things.” He watches me closely. “Have you ever seen or heard anything, Mark?” he asks finally. “Voices, perhaps?”
“No,” I reply, although I can already hear the defensiveness in my own voice. “I mean, not really. I mean... Not in the church.”
“Where?”
“Maybe at that old airfield,” I continue. “I don't know, it might have been nothing, but I think I heard a voice.”
“What was the voice saying?”
“It was begging for a priest,” I tell him. “I think it was coming from an old bed, but there was no-one on the bed. It might have been a joke, though. It might have been someone pranking me for a TV show or a YouTube channel.”
“That airfield was used for experimental planes during the war,” he replies. “There were plenty of accidents out there. Men died.”
“That doesn't mean I heard anything.”
“But you did.”
Sighing, I try to figure out why he's wrong, but I can't.
&n
bsp; “You have a sensitivity to these things that's quite rare,” he continues, “and that, unfortunately, makes you perfect for helping me today. I'll keep you safe, I promise. I know how to perform this ceremony, so it's just a matter of getting it done. The hardest part will be staying calm, but I can't afford to wait days for someone else to arrive and assist me.” He pauses, as rain continues to patter against the roof of the car. “The fact that your sensitivity has emerged without guidance, without any kind of training, is very impressive,” he adds. “With the right help, you could really make something of it.”
“I don't want to,” I tell him.
“It won't go away.”
“I don't want to be part of this,” I add, feeling a rising sense of fear along with an urgent need to get out of this car and never come near Briarwych again. “I didn't ask to get involved.”
“Neither did you friend Kerry,” he replies, “and you saw her today, dead on that slab. She's never coming back, Mark, not after we spoke to her. And wherever she is now, she's there because of the entity that's infesting Briarwych Church. Forgive me if this seems a little manipulative, but I'm getting desperate. Don't you want to help make that thing pay for what it did to Kerry?”
I pause for a moment, thinking back to the way she begged us to save her.
“How do you still believe in God?” I ask finally.
Turning, I see a flicker of concern on his face.
“After seeing things like that,” I continue, “how can you still believe in anything good?”
“You're not the first person who's ever asked me that,” he replies.
“So how do you do it?”
“I've seen some terrible things,” he replies. “I've seen children dying in the most appalling circumstances. I've seen demons, creatures of pure evil, practicing their dark arts in our world. I watched my own wife die of brain cancer.”
“I wouldn't still have faith after that,” I tell him. “Not in anything. If you've seen all that bad shit, have you ever seen anything good?”