The Chapel

by S. T. Boston

  “I’ll save you some bacon and a couple of sausages, you can eat in the car,” her mother replied sounding a little dejected. As Ellie reached the kitchen door her mother said, “Is this still about you not wanting to be here?”

  Ellie turned to face her, forced a convincing smile for the sake of her mother who looked a bit wounded and said, “No, I just didn’t sleep well. I’m fine, honest. I just need a shower and some fresh air, then I’ll be good.”

  “As long as you’re sure, just don’t wander too far, and watch out for cars on those narrow lanes, they might not see you.”

  “I’ll be fine, see you later.” She took a few steps toward her mother and gave her a quick hug, hoping it would make her feel a bit better and stick a plaster over the emotional wound that she’d opened up.

  Despite the consoling hug, Ellie still felt pretty much like shit, her mum genuinely looked upset at the refusal of what she'd see as some quality time together. It wasn't that Ellie didn't want to spend time with her, even at eighteen, and now starting to come out of those teen years where being seen with parents was paramount to embarrassment, she still enjoyed a little time with her, despite her sometimes strange ways and odd ideas. Ellie just needed to get out of the chapel, breathe some fresh air into her lungs and feel the sun on her face. The place was big, but for some reason inside its old walls it felt almost claustrophobic, like a reverse of Dr. Who’s TARDIS, that despite looking the size of a Police Call Box was actually larger on the inside than anyone had ever really managed to figure out.

  Heading up to the first floor, she crept into her room. Hand-Me-Down-Henry was still sleeping soundly, his blonde hair had been visited by the sleep fairies and seemed to be standing at a perfect ninety degrees to the top of his head. His cherubic-like face was locked in a slight frown as if something in his slumber was troubling him. Not wanting to wake him with the sound of the shower in her ensuite, Ellie collected her clothes and wash bag and headed to his room, pausing momentarily outside the door in the same spot she'd been last night. Gingerly she crept into the room, it was warm and nowhere near the frigid temperature it had been during the night. Telling herself not to be stupid, that if this place was haunted then any room would be fair game to whatever still lurked here, not just Henry’s one, she headed to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

  Ellie washed quickly, not taking time to appreciate the multi-jet shower heads that hit, no – more massaged you all over, like some kind of human car wash. Instead, her mind was full of movie scenes like the one from Psycho, or the myriad of other horror films where nasty things happened in steam-filled bathrooms. In fact, she left the door wide open with the sole intention of not letting it fog up. Thankfully that ensured there was no shower steam, no misted-up mirror that when cleared with the back of the hand produced an evil face glaring at you from behind in a chilling parody of any self-respecting horror movie.

  Staying in Henry’s room she dressed quickly in faded denim shorts, that her mother would no doubt say were just a tad short of being decent, a lime colour strap top and a pair of grey high-top Converse. Her hair that was still on the wetter side of damp and smelt strongly of Fructis. Not bothering to dry it, she threw a brush quickly through the wetted hair, deciding to let the sun do the rest. Before she’d had it cut a few weeks ago her hair had been long, to the base of her back long. Just to tame it required a good hour’s work. Now a quick brush and it was ready to rock.

  Ellie hung the wet towel over Henry’s door, something she knew her mother would tut at and move as soon as she saw it. Passing her room, she dared one more glance at her sleeping brother. He’d turned onto his back, his mouth wide open as if in the hope of catching a passing fly. Muddy puddles George was now clamped firmly under one arm. He held the toy in such a vice-like grip that poor old George would have been strangled in mere seconds had he been real.

  Satisfied, Ellie padded down the stairs, glancing uneasily at the crucifix as she passed it by. Thankfully it was still propped up in the exact spot she’d left it. She had no desire to hang it up, what was the point? She knew that by the time she got home, or at some point in the day when they were out and no eyes were around to see it, it would be displaced back to the floor.

  Reaching the door, she unlatched it, swung it open and stepped out into the warm, bright morning. She stopped for a few brief seconds just to enjoy the fresh air as it hit her lungs and the feel of the sunlight on her face. Closing the heavy oak door, she headed down the shingle drive, only glancing back at The Old Chapel once before she met the main road.

  At the entrance to the drive, she glanced left, then right, deciding which way to go. Both looked very similar. Left would take her toward where Lucinda said she lived. Just where right would take her was a bit of a mystery. Eventually, she took a right, hoping to find a bridleway or footpath off the road and across the fields. She was certain they’d passed one such bridleway just after coming into the village, about a mile up the road. It had stuck in her brain as there’d been a very old and tired-looking roadside shrine there, marking the spot where some poor unfortunate had met their end. Making that her goal, she tipped the Ray Bans off her head and set off.

  It was the start of another perfect July day, another day that the weathermen would chalk up as forming part of the great 2018 heatwave. A heatwave that baked the UK and most of Northern Europe. A real scorcher, the kind of heat that had most weather complaining Brits begging for rain while roads got so hot they began to melt.

  The sky was clear of all bar a few wisps of cloud that stretched out like gossamer threads, and a gentle breeze tickled its way through the leaves. It was idyllic, but something was off. At first, Ellie couldn't put her finger on it and the feeling gnawed at her, like when you know the answer to a question but can’t quite get it out. Finally, she realised what it was that bugged her, what it was that was wrong. The silence. This was about as perfect a morning as you'd find, yet in the trees no birds sang. In the thorny, blackberry-clad hedgerows no bees buzzed, or mice scurried. There was just the rhythmic sound of her well-worn All-Stars as they beat against the faded and slightly crumbled tarmac. Ellie stopped and held her breath. The only sound now, apart from the gentle pulse of her quickening heart in her ears, was the warm morning breeze as it played its way through the long grass of the field opposite and stirred the leaves on the trees. She noticed that her feeling of claustrophobia hadn't been limited to the chapel, and despite now being a good half mile away and out in the open countryside, she still felt the same. Suddenly being out here on her own didn’t feel right, she didn’t know why, just like she didn’t know why she knew there was something off with The Old Chapel. She just knew it. The Old Chapel might be a place where the nightmares of small children really came out from under your bed at night, but at least her family was there, and after all there was safety in numbers, wasn't there?

  The unease gave birth to another mentally nurtured monster, panic, and she knew that once you gave into panic it was one long downhill ride to irrational insanity and it took all the will she could muster to keep it under control. One too many paranormal shows, Ells, she reminded herself. Three or four too many horror films. She cursed herself for allowing her imagination to run wild because she'd not actually seen anything in Henry's room. Sure, it had been cold, sure that crucifix could naturally have fallen off the wall, twice, and sure as shit Henry could have been dreaming. Just like all the birds, bees and insects were having a lay-in and couldn’t be bothered to be carrying out mother nature’s work on a morning so fine, her betraying brain questioned. What was it that the Unexplained UK Team said? Just because you can’t explain something, doesn’t mean it can’t be explained. The tagline ran something like that. Ellie took a steadying breath, and turned to head back, trying to kid herself that she didn’t feel like a walk anymore, not that she had scared herself shitless.

  No matter how hard she tried her anxiety wouldn’t budge; she looked around, now with the growing sense of being watched, and fr
oze. In the field which she’d been walking parallel to on her left-hand side was what at first appeared to be a scarecrow, only the more she stared at it the more she realised that this was not like any scarecrow she'd ever seen. The figure was halfway into the smallish field, about sixty metres or so from her, dressed in a dark tunic almost like that of a monk, but it one was not the right colour to be that of a monk. It looked to be made of rich, velvety fabric and far too indulgent for a member of any brotherhood. The fabric, however, looked dirty and rotten as if it had just been dug up from the very field in which it stood. Despite its monk-like appearance this didn't feel like anything holy, far from it. It seemed to seethe insidiousness. It was facing her, watching with invisible eyes, eyes hidden inside a hood that festooned, not a face, but just darkness; Ellie felt her insides churn, the way they had when she’d once eaten some chicken that had turned the wrong side of good, her bladder felt swollen too, and she had a sudden and overwhelming need to pee. She wanted to look away, wanted to run but fear had her frozen, and in some strange way she couldn't understand part of her almost felt drawn to it, as if it were calling her and she nearly took a step forward, but at the last minute she managed to stop herself. The thing observed her, its rotting tunic seemed to hang in the air, as if being worn by HG Wells' Invisible Man, only much more foreboding than Jack Griffin had ever been.

  Ellie lifted her sunglasses, blinked and rubbed her eyes with shaky hands as if the act would wash the image from her view. It did anything but. As she looked again the figure had drawn closer and with lightning fast speed. Maybe by a good thirty metres or so. Now at this distance, she could see things falling from the robe, from the gap between the hemline and the ground where the legs should have been. Beetles. Thick, black and bulbous, countless numbers of them. They crawled out from under the robe, their bristly legs clinging to the fabric for a few seconds before dropping to the floor with a soft plop, like fat black drops of rain. As they hit the long grass, she could hear their legs scurrying busily toward her, eager and relentless, their passage unusually loud against the otherwise silent morning. Slowly the figure began to glide closer, as it closed the distance the once fragrant summer air began to take on a fetid smell, that of decay, burnt human flesh and things long since dead. The stench hit the back of her throat and coated it like foul paint. Ellie instantly felt her gag reflex kick in and she doubled over, emptying the half cup of coffee she'd drunk onto the road, as well as the remnants of last night's dinner.

  Grimacing, she wiped bile from her lips and as she did the first of the large black beetles scurried out from under the hedge, having covered the distance with seemingly impossible speed, its large and dangerous-looking mandibles quivering and working feverishly. Another joined it, then another, they spilled into the culvert that ran along the side of the road and began clambering up the other side toward her, like some kind of hellish encroaching tide. Ellie hated insects. All she could picture at that point was a scene from The Mummy where the Scarab Beetles snatched the life away from anyone foolish enough to get in their way by burrowing into their flesh and entering the body through any orifice that they could.

  With the air clogged thick with the stench of rot, and the vehement clicking of the excited insectile hoard, paralysis released her, and now Ellie did run. She didn’t look back. She wanted to, she yearned to, but she didn’t dare. For she knew that if she did the figure would surely be right behind her, its cargo of bulbous beetles dropping behind it in a trail as it pursued her relentlessly. Then, just as she’d thought she was safe an invisible cloaked hand would be reaching for her, hoping to grab her and pull her down into the darkness that dwelt inside the tunic’s hood.

  Ellie wasn’t sure how long she’d been running for, her legs burned with lactic acid and her breath felt hot as her chest heaved. Eventually, she reached The Old Chapel’s gravel drive, but she held her pace, almost sliding onto her side as her Converse skidded on the shingle. Finally, at the front door, she hit at it frantically with both hands, hammering it so hard her fists burned with pain. Ellie finally looked behind her, the drive was empty. Feeling spent she pressed her back against the door for support. The wood felt cool against her hot skin. Slowly, her jelly-like legs gave way and she slid down onto the cold stone stoop. Burying her face in her hands she began to weep.

  Around the same time that her daughter was running from the faceless figure in the field and its swarm of scurrying beetles, Carol was in the Altar room's ensuite bathroom freshly out of the shower and wrapped in one of the complimentary white towelled robes. Having been turned down by her daughter for the girly pamper session, she'd wanted to try the pool-sized bath out, maybe with Rob but he was still asleep. His loss. So instead and feeling a little disappointed she’d opted for the shower. She ran her hands down the soft fabric of her dressing gown. It carried The Old Chapel's logo – an embroidered copy of the building's bell tower had been sown into the fabric in royal blue cotton. The entire place was a testament to the time the owners had put into getting it just right, it was clear that no expense had been spared and that Mr. and Mrs. Reed had an acute eye for detail.

  After hearing Ellie head out the front door, and before getting her shower, she’d put a tray of bacon and sausages in the large aga style oven, on a low heat to give her time. That way by the time everyone was up, most of the breakfast would be pre-cooked. Having doused her hands with water from the sink to wash off the raw meat juices, she’d headed back to the bedroom with a quick detour via the first floor to check on Henry. He’d still been starfished out in Ellie’s bed, a light snoring sound coming from his partly open lips. If he had suffered a bad dream last night, he was obviously over it now and sleeping like normal. It was almost eight-fifteen and he'd be up soon. If she was lucky, she'd have a chance to get dressed before he woke and started to demand this and that for his breakfast. Satisfied that she might just have a little me time before he woke, she headed down the rear stairs that led from the mezzanine level and came out by their room. She tiptoed past the bed where her husband still slept, he was half in and half out the covers, his hair looking a mess and the embroidered floral design of the pillowcase imprinted on the left-hand side of his face.

  The twin head, rainfall shower had been wonderful, the hot tub bath could be used later and seemed to be wasted on just one. With the temperature turned down so the water was no more than the warm side of tepid, she allowed the slightly grubby feeling of a hot night’s sleep to wash down her body and into the drain.

  Now stood in front of the mirror with her hair wrapped in a matching towel and her overpriced moisturiser in her hand, Carol began to dab it on her face, frowning at how, despite the forty-pound price tag, it had done nothing to smooth over the thin crow’s feet that had been creeping in over the last few years. She placed the moisturiser on the sink, removed the towel and began to rub her damp hair with it vigorously. As she did a light knock came from the door.

  “Five minutes,” she called, a little angry that her me time had been interrupted.

  She turned her attention back to her hair, inwardly criticising how it seemed thinner nowadays, then feeling a pang of jealousy at how Lucinda had seemingly been able to hold on to her youthful beauty, likely blessed with good genetics that freed her from the daily toils of facial moisturising with over-priced lotions. Lucinda's flowing auburn hair didn’t look thin, tired and mumsy, neither did her figure. Rob had certainly noticed, much to her annoyance.

  Allowing her frustration to flow out through her hair towelling she was caught off guard as the knocking came again, more urgent this time and at least twice as loud.

  “For Christ sake,” Carol shouted, throwing the towel over the heated rail. “Just give me a few minutes!” The thought that it might be Henry outside instantly made her feel guilty. “Is that you Hen?”

  Silence.

  “Rob?”

  Silence.

  “Ellie?” Carol questioned, her voice not sounding quite so sure. She felt a shiver run thro
ugh her. The bathroom suddenly felt a lot cooler than it had and her skin flushed with goosebumps. She pulled the collar of her dressing gown up and re-fixed the tie around her waist.

  Almost instantly the knock came again, louder, urgent and impatient. This time she actually saw the door bulge in and strain on its latch and hinges. Carol let out an uncertain breath and pulled the edges of the gown over her breasts a little more as if the fabric would offer some protection.

  "Rob, if that's you it's not funny," she called in a slightly wobbly voice. Carol decided that if she opened the door and found him in the act she was going to kick his ass, and that kind of morning play fighting could lead to other things. They were on holiday after all, Ellie was out and Henry was asleep. Now smiling at the thought and feeling her body tingle with anticipation she took hold of the handle and swung the door open. Rob was in the room, but still sleeping peacefully in the exact spot he'd been in when she'd headed to the shower, totally undisturbed by the knocking which would have easily been loud enough to wake him. Fearing Henry was now up and wandering around on his own she bounded upstairs to Ellie's room. Henry hadn't even moved position.

  “Ells?” she called walking back out into the hall. “Are you back?” It seemed perpetually silent, then a few seconds later the silence was broken by a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass coming from her bathroom.

  Carol flew down the stairs, holding the dressing gown together as her heart hammered in her chest. As she burst into the room she found Rob sitting up in bed rubbing his eyes.

  “What the hell was that?” he said groggily. “Did you drop something?”

  Carol didn’t answer, she shot into the bathroom only to find her jar of moisturiser broken all over the floor. The white viscous contents had starburst over the granite tiles and splattered up the wall. A large thick glob of it was also hanging from the circular LED light. It stretched out as the bulbous end gave in to gravity, finally falling to the tiles with a soft ssspllattttttt.