The Haunting of Briarwych Church

by Amy Cross

  “Amen,” they all reply.

  Taking a deep breath, I make my way down from the pulpit, which is a little tricky since the light is now so low. The stained-glass windows rise high above us all, as members of the congregation begin to rise and head toward the door, but precious little light is reaching us inside.

  “Thank you, Father,” a woman says, hurrying over to me and clutching my hands, then squeezing them tight. Tears are streaming down her face. “I just pray that the Lord can forgive me. I knew I should have come and checked on Miss Prendergast, but I just... I thought she was okay. I thought she'd left.”

  “It's alright,” I tell her. “The Lord hears you.”

  “I've had dreams about her,” another woman says as she approaches. “I've had the most horrible nightmares.”

  “I had more than dreams,” a third woman adds, and I turn to see that Mrs. Canton has come over to join us. “Father, you know full well that I thought I saw Miss Prendergast outside the cottage once. Is it possible that guilt could have caused me to hallucinate?”

  “Guilt can do many things to us,” I reply. “I have a feeling that you shall sleep better tonight.”

  Hearing voices in the distance, I turn and see that few if any members of the congregation have left yet. They seem to be talking near the door.

  “I've taken to having a glass of my husband's whiskey before bed,” one of the women says, and I turn to see her wiping her nose on a handkerchief. “Oh, I know it's silly, but it helps me sleep, and it keeps me from having the worst of those dreams.”

  “Perhaps you could try sleeping without the whiskey tonight,” I suggest, “so that your mind might rest.”

  Looking past her, I spot Mrs. Neill sitting alone on one of the pews, sobbing gently.

  “Excuse me,” I say to the others, before slipping past them and heading over to join the good lady. “My dear Mrs. Neill,” I continue, “I must ask how you are coping.”

  “It's more than a month now since we heard anything,” she says, with tears in her eyes. “A month, Father. That must mean something's happened, mustn't it? First we lost Jack, and now there's no news of Anthony out there in France.”

  Lowering her head, she puts her hands over her face, and a moment later I hear her starting to sniff back tears.

  “First we lost one son, now the other.”

  “You don't know that,” I point out. “Perhaps we can pray for his safe return.”

  “I can't do that,” she replies. “I told you before. I can't pray for Anthony to be saved, not if it simply condemns some other mother's son to die.”

  “I'm not sure that's how it works.”

  “I can't,” she whimpers, as tears run down from beneath her hands and trickle down her wrist. “I can't, Father. I just can't.”

  We remain in silence for a moment, both sitting on the cold pew. After a few seconds, Mrs. Neill looks up at the altar, and I see that tears are streaming down her face. In such times, I feel compelled to offer guidance and comfort, yet I know not what to say. This poor woman is suffering so terribly, and in these dark times she is far from alone. I still feel that I must help her, and finally I realize that there is one option that might work.

  “Let us pray,” I tell her.

  “For Jack?”

  “No, for -”

  “I told you, I can't do that.”

  “Not for Anthony either,” I continue, interrupting her. “Or rather, not solely for Anthony.” I put my hands together. “Let us pray for all the sons out there in the theater of war.”

  “But if -”

  “Whatever their nationality,” I add.

  She opens her mouth to argue with me, but then she hesitates. Perhaps, finally, I have managed to get through to her and make her see reason.

  “Let us pray,” I continue, “that for the sake of all young men, whether they're English or German or American or whatever, this dreadful fighting ends soon. For all of them, Mrs. Neill, across Europe and indeed across the world. Leaving not one of them out of our thoughts.”

  “Do you think that might work?” she asks.

  “I think the Lord will listen,” I tell her, “and that we can ask for no more than that.”

  “Why would he listen to us?” she asks. “Surely, so many others are already praying for peace? What does it matter if our voices are added?”

  “We must have faith that our prayers will be heard. That our prayers shall join the prayers of mothers and fathers and sons and daughters all across the world, rising up from these war-torn lands and somehow joining together to be heard that much more clearly. Please, won't you join me?”

  She stares at me for a moment, and then slowly she turns and bows her head. Clasping her hands together, she is clearly ready for prayer, which means that I must now rise to the occasion.

  Turning, I bow my head and put my hands together, and then I close my eyes.

  And the words come.

  “We pray for an end to this madness,” I say, as if the words are flowing through me from some other source, “and for the suffering, Lord, of your children to end. And let -”

  Before I can finish, I realize that I can hear slightly raised voices coming from over by the doorway, and a moment later there's a faint banging sound.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Neill,” I say, getting to my feet and then heading along the aisle.

  As I reach the corridor, I see that a dozen or so men and women have gathered around the closed door, where they seem to be taking it in turns trying to get the door open.

  “I think it's locked, Father,” a woman says as I reach them.

  “No, it's not locked,” I reply, heading over to the door. “Perhaps it's a little stiff. Let me try.”

  I turn the handle, but then when I try to pull the door open I find that something is holding it firmly in place. I try several more times, and now it is apparent that there seems to be something on the other side that is keeping the door securely fastened.

  “I know you're keen to have us here, Father,” a man says, “but locking us inside seems a little extreme.”

  “The door is not locked,” I reply, as I turn the handle again and again. “I do not understand.”

  “There isn't another way out, is there?” a woman mutters. “What seems to be the problem, Father?”

  “I do not understand,” I tell her, as I turn the handle over and over without making any kind of breakthrough. “This is most unusual, it's almost as if -”

  Suddenly I freeze, as I realize that I can hear a voice on the other side of the door. I lean closer and listen, but the voice seems muffled and quiet, as if somebody is speaking softly under their breath. I wait for a moment, trying to work out who I am hearing, and then I bang gently on the door.

  “Excuse me,” I call out, “but is somebody out there?”

  “Who is it?” a man asks behind me.

  I wait, but the person on the other side of the door fails to answer. I can still hear the muttering, however, so I step to one side and peer out through the narrow glass window above the alms box.

  At first I see nobody, since the light is so low, but finally I crane my neck enough to make out a figure pacing back and forth in the gloom beyond the door. I reach out to bang on the window and ask what's going on, but then the figure turns slightly and I am shocked to see a face that I recognize.

  “Lizzy?” I whisper, before tapping on the window. “Lizzy, can you open the door? Lizzy, what's happening out there?”

  She turns and looks at me, and I am immediately startled by the frenzied expression in her eyes. She looks almost wild.

  “What's going on, Father?” a man asks nearby. “Are you getting us out of here, or what?”

  “Lizzy!” I tap on the window again. “I don't know what you're doing, but I need you to unblock the door!”

  I wait, but she seems to be talking to herself. And then, a moment later, she turns and scurries out of view, disappearing around the side of the church.

  “Lizzy!
”

  I try the handle several more times, before taking a step back.

  “What's up, Father?” another man asks. “We're not locked in the place, are we?”

  “Where did she go?” I whisper, peering out the window again and seeing that Lizzy is still not back. It's almost as if she wasn't there in the first place, but I know that I saw her and I also know that she seemed to be talking to herself.

  Suddenly I hear the sound of glass breaking behind me. Turning, I see that everybody else is looking toward the altar.

  “What is it?” I ask, trying to stay calm despite a growing sense of panic. “What -”

  Before I can finish, I'm shocked to see a bundle of flames come tumbling through the broken window and crash down onto the edge of the altar. A moment later a second bundle comes through, then a third.

  “Let me through!” I shout, pushing past the people who are blocking my way as I struggle to reach the aisle. “Get out of my way!”

  As the gathered congregation begins to panic, I race along the aisle, just as another flaming package falls into the church. This package, however, stops burning as it hits the altar, and then it rolls off the side and hits the ground before coming to a rest just as I get to the end of the aisle.

  Looking down, I see that the bundle is wrapped in a cloth that has military stencils on the side.

  “Put it out!” a voice shouts, and a moment later a man runs past me and throws a blanket over the burning packages.

  Suddenly one of the packages explodes, sending me crashing back against the side of the pews. I roll onto my side and cover my face with my arms, just as a second package explodes and send a fireball rushing high up toward the rafters.

  “What are those things?” a woman shouts, as others starts screaming. “Are they bombs? Are we being bombed?”

  “The airbase,” I whisper, as the flames merely burst through the blanket that the man is still trying to place over the last package. “These must be the experimental fuel packages from the -”

  The third package explodes, knocking the other man back against the wall.

  Now three of the four packages are burning fast and brights, and the flames have already reached the first row of pews. I have never seen a fire like this before, but it's clear that the fuel inside the packages has begun to devour the wooden pews and is spreading faster and further than should be possible.

  “Get back!” I shout, stumbling to my feet and waving at the villages to retreat. “Everybody get to the door!”

  “It won't open!” a man yells, and I can hear the sound of other men frantically trying to break out of the church. “We're going to burn!”

  “We're not going to burn,” I reply, limping along the aisle before stopping and looking back at the flames that are now rising high from the altar. At the same time, thick black smoke is starting to fill the church, and it's clear that soon the smoke will be overwhelming. “This doesn't make sense, why would anybody do this?”

  Everyone is trying to break the door down, so I head through to the office and try to break the window. The iron bars are too firm, however, so I hurry to the kitchen and then to the storeroom in a desperate attempt to find some other way out. Finding that one of the windows in the storeroom is a little larger than the others, I grab a broom and use the handle to start smashing the glass out of the way.

  The handle's end hits the bars several times, but finally I knock out enough glass to drop the broom and start using my hands in a desperate attempt to pull the metal away. Even if this works, I'm not sure that anyone will be able to fit through, but it's the only chance.

  Suddenly a face appears on the other side of the window, staring straight in at me with wild eyes.

  “Lizzy!” I gasp. “You have to open the door! We're all going to die in here!”

  “They deserve everything that's coming to them,” she replies in a blank, monotone voice that betrays no emotion whatsoever. “For what they did to Mother.”

  “Revenge is never the answer!” I tell her. “Please, Lizzy, I know you're a good person. What happened to your mother was dreadful, but there are over a hundred people in here! Lizzy, you -”

  Before I can finish, she steps out of view.

  “Lizzy!” I shout, desperately trying to get her to talk to me. “Come back!”

  Racing out of the room, I hurry into the next room, just in time to see Lizzy's shadow pass across the window.

  “Lizzy, wait!” I yell, rushing to the window and banging my fists against the glass, as the increasingly thick smoke causes me to break into a coughing fit. “Lizzy, this is sheer madness!”

  On the other side of the glass, her shadow hesitates for a moment, and I see her face turn to me.

  “Lizzy,” I continue, as people start screaming in the corridor, “I know you're angry and I know that what happened to your mother was terrible, but these people came to the church today and confessed their guilt. You don't need to -”

  Suddenly I break down into another coughing fit, and it takes several seconds before I can speak again. Just as I open my mouth, however, Lizzy once more steps out of view.

  “Wait!”

  I race out of the room and over toward the door. Lights from the flames is filling the entire church now, and I have to push my way past the huddled figures of people who are staying low to avoid the worst of the smoke. Reaching the window next to the main door, I look out just in time to see Lizzy turning to me again.

  “No!” I shout, banging my fists against the glass. “This isn't the way!”

  The heat is getting stronger against the back of my neck, and I can tell that the flames are spreading with great speed. After a moment my knees begin to buckle, and I have to grab the side of the window in order to hold myself up. Already, the smoke is making it harder to see Lizzy as she stands outside.

  “The Germans!” I gasp. “Lizzy, the flames will guide them straight to the airbase! You're going to... This is about much more than... Lizzy, please...”

  Suddenly my grip slips, and I slump down against the stone floor. I can hear people cry out all around me, as the roar of the inferno gets stronger and stronger, but when I try to take a gulp of air I feel thick, acrid smoke filling my mouth and rushing down into my lungs. All I can do is try to shield my face as I turn away and claw at the wooden door, and finally my eyes slip shut.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Suddenly the door clicks open, and I slump out onto the cold stone step.

  Gasping, I begin to get up, only for somebody to slam into me from behind and shove me outside. I turn to go back into the church, but people are rushing out now and it's impossible to fight back. I have no choice but to pull out of the way, as the members of the congregation spill out through the door and race across the cemetery.

  “Run!” I shout, grabbing any stragglers and hauling them out of the way as the church continues. “You must run! Get out of there! You must all run!”

  More and more people come stumbling out. A moment later I hear a tremendous roaring sound, and I turn just in time to see a War Office truck screeching to a halt outside the cemetery gate. Soldiers from the airbase are already clambering out, and I watch as they begin to connect a hose to the huge container at the rear of the vehicle.

  “What the hell's going on here?” Bolton yells, hurrying this way with his men. “Loveford! What happened?”

  I try to answer, but I succeed merely in breaking down into a coughing fit. As I do so, several men carry one end of the hose into the church, and then I see the hose snap tight as the fire-fighting effort begins.

  “This might have blown our cover!” Bolton shouts. “Do you realize what this means, man? This might be all Jerry needs!”

  ***

  “Everyone's accounted for,” Hendricks says, still a little breathless as he comes to find me next to the cemetery wall. “It's a miracle, isn't it? People helped each other, and they all got out.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask, looking over and watching as th
e walking wounded begin to make their ways back into the village. “Everyone's alright?”

  “It's the shock that's a danger now,” he continues. “Whatever can have happened, Father? I still don't understand how the fire started, or why we were locked inside.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but for a moment I'm not sure what to say. I am loathe to mention Lizzy's name before I know the full story, and I certainly don't want to bring up the subject of the experimental petrol that seems to have been used to start the conflagration. Then, blessedly, I'm saved by the sound of approaching footsteps, and I turn to see Bolton coming this way.

  “The fire's out,” he says darkly, as his men emerge from the church and head toward their vehicle. “So far, there's no report of German aircraft in the area, which means we've hopefully caught a lucky break.” He pauses for a moment. “I need to get to the bottom of this, Loveford. First thing in the morning, we're going to start a full investigation and we won't stop until I know who started that fire and why. Do you know anything at all about it?”

  I hesitate, before shaking my head.

  “The culprit will face treason charges,” Bolton continues. “He or she will hang, I'll make sure of that.”

  “I'm not sure that -”

  Before I can finish, I spot a figure hurrying across the cemetery in the distance, scurrying quickly into the dark, empty church. Even from that brief flash of the figure's profile, I recognize her.

  “I'm not sure that I can help you,” I continue finally, turning to Bolton, “but I'll do what I can. At first light, we shall begin to examine the evidence.”

  “I'm still not writing off the possibility that it was a spy,” he says, turning to walk away. After a moment, he glances back at me. “By the way, we looked more closely at some of the items in the tent, and there's a strong possibility that the occupant was a woman. Not that it matters, much. A woman's neck fits a noose just as well as a man's.”

  With that, he walks over to join his men at the truck. I remain where I am, watching as they pack up, and finally the vehicle trundles away along the road. I take a deep breath, and then I look around to make sure that nobody else is nearby, and then I begin to make my way back across the cemetery toward the church. As I get closer to the door, however, I slow my pace as I realize that I have no idea what to expect when I find Lizzy. Yes, she unlocked the door when she realized that she was endangering the airbase, but when I saw her through the window I spotted the eyes of a madwoman.