The Chapel

by S. T. Boston

  The arms of the male version of the ceremonial robes were baggy, lots of room for movement and to dive your hand inside was easy. Mike adjusted the ammo bag, so it ran across his chest, he practised the motion of going for replacement shells and found it simple enough. Next, he lowered his right arm, the one holding the A400 into the garment and hid it from view. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t bad, either. As they drew closer, he pushed the door to the cell closed until the light from the passage was no more than a thin lance penetrating the room. Further anger brewed in his gut knowing that Ellie Harrison had likely been subjected to this suffocating darkness for the week they’d had her, and it made him wonder what kind of psychological damage the girl would have suffered if they did manage to get her, her brother and themselves out of this place alive.

  One by one the figures darkled that lance of light as the procession passed by. Mike waited, bode his time until he felt sure the last one had passed, then he slowly opened the door and slipped out behind the group with Tara and June right behind him.

  They dropped in unnoticed, the group focused on the passage ahead. Despite the robe and the mask, Mike felt exposed, felt as if he wasn’t wearing the robe nor the mask, and as if at any moment they’d all turn to face him, all those blank faces looking at him with a knowing that their porcelain frozen features could not fully express. And when they did, they’d fall upon the three of them and they’d be overpowered. The thought made his breath come heavily, the inside of the mask growing wetter each time he exhaled. Get your shit together, he told himself. Get your shit together or this will be over before it’s begun.

  They reached the door to The Chapel, and as the door opened the line of bodies halted briefly before they filed in. He followed the figure directly in front, down the steps and one by one they filled the lower circular pew, the one closest to the twin altars of stone which sat in the middle of the amphitheatre a good twenty feet in front of him. As Mike took his place, with Tara to his side and June to hers, the small body of Henry Harrison was lifted to the stone of the clean altar. He was dressed in black trousers, a white shirt, and black shoes. His clothing was dirtied, but as he lay there the stillness of his small body and the pallid complexion of his angelic face made him look more suited to a casket. He looks dead, Mike thought to himself, and through the narrow slits in the mask, he squinted trying to see the slightest rise and fall of the small boy’s chest. Despite being on the lowest level, the one on which Henry now lay was still too far away to see such shallow movement.

  His sister, dressed in a body length white nightgown-come-dress, also dirtied and torn, sobbed defeatedly as they lifted her to the blood-soaked one. She put up a futile struggle, but one of the masked figures who had her drove a fist into her stomach, making her double over in pain. At the sight of the assault, Mike felt his hand tighten on the gun once again and it was all he could do to stop himself whipping his hand out through the arm of the robe and shooting the bastard who had her. Broken, beaten and spent they forced her down onto the stone, bound her legs with a purple rope made of velvet to manacles of iron set deeply into the stone. Next, her arms were fixed the same way so they reached above her head, which was then fixed in place with a strap so she could do nothing but look at the ceiling. Ellie was closer to him, still a good twenty feet away but he could see her wide eyes darting left and right, trying to see what was going on but unable to move her head. Trying not to look out of place he took in as much of the scene before him as he could. There were three of them, three against twenty or more and it began to dawn on him with cold reality what a suicide mission this was.

  Ellie's mouth was gagged with a rag the same colour of the ropes, and beneath it, he could hear her, she was either sobbing or trying to beg, he couldn't make out which. He had seen such things in movies, read about them in books and seen re-enactments in documentaries, but the horror of the real thing was something that if he lived through this night, he knew he would never forget. It would stay with him forever and never be far from reach in his mind, stored in the same drawer as Claire and Megan’s death. As the last of the restraints were fixed, the two who'd bound her filed into the pews beside June, and now only one remained. Stood at the foot of the altars, between brother and sister she removed her mask. The woman had a bob of black hair, she was older than Lucinda Horner, much older, maybe in her seventies, yet she looked physically fit and close to an imposing six feet tall. Her yellowish eyes seemed to dance in the glow of the oil lamps as they looked with a sickening glee at the two offerings laid before her. If Lucinda had looked no older than forty-five at sixty-eight Mike had no idea of this woman’s age. He thought back to the images of the missing girls but couldn’t place her. Whoever she was he had no doubt that in the absence of the Minister she held supremacy and was the High Priestess that Seth Horner had mentioned.

  “Ten years ago,” she began, her voice booming through the large room and her eyes now scanning the faceless congregation. “Our father was taken from us in physical form, cast from this world by fire, but as you know he who can dwell between worlds can never truly die.”

  “Numquam mori,” the group chanted.

  "Tonight, on this Grand Climax, he shall come back to us in the form of a child. Through this child, he shall be born into this world for a second time." The woman walked between the altars and now stood between the heads of Ellie and Henry. She reached down and when her hand came back up Mike saw she held a golden dagger. “Lord of the Abyss, we summon you here tonight, we summon you with the blood of the girl, with the life of the girl who is pure, who gives herself to you so that you might live through her brother. Come and be upon us now, be upon us in your dark glory, be upon us and may your darkness cover the world." At the foot of the twin altars, as she spoke the shadows began to pool, they swirled and slid, dropped from the roof and writhed in ecstasy, like black ethereal serpents. From those shadows was born the figure of a man. Not a solid man, more the idea of a man, for although he had shape and form, he had no substance. Mike readied the gun, his mind racing over how the hell he was going to stop this, how the hell he was going to take on the entire room of twenty odd with a three-round shotgun, a knife and a bottle of potion; the idea seemed absurd.

  “Lord of Darkness,” the woman said with feverish delight. “We give you this girl so that the brother might become.”

  “Esset facti,” the crowd chanted.

  As she raised the dagger, Mike began to raise the gun. He began to slide his hand through the arm of the robe, his finger taking up strain on the trigger. Then behind him, the door through which they’d come, burst open.

  Chapter 54

  “Cross,” Seth Horner shouted as the door flew open. “He’s among you, there’s three of them!” A murmur swept around the faceless congregation that now turned toward Seth who was propped against the door. His face streaked with blood. His glasses were gone, and his right eye was swollen shut from where the stock of the Beretta had hit him.

  “Masks,” the High Priestess screamed from the centre of the amphitheatre, “get your masks off!”

  Mike had the Beretta halfway down the long baggy sleeve of his robe when Seth had burst into the room. He glanced quickly from where he stood at the door to the High Priestess as she screamed for the masks to be removed. The golden dagger was in her hand a hand that was over Ellie’s stomach and ready to begin the sacrifice. At the foot of the altar the shadows broiled angrily, they formed the shape of a man, one clad in ethereal robes, before twisting and churning like an angry sea as if they yearned to form fully but couldn’t decide which form to take.

  “Gun,” Mike heard a male voice shout from the other side of the amphitheatre. Those filling pews on the opposite side of the room would have a clear view of it, the ones directly to his left not so much. He twisted on the spot, confident that not all the congregation had made him, and many still hadn’t, for they began to move breaking the circle and helping him to blend in. There were too many targets and not enough roun
ds in the A400 to dispatch them all, he knew he needed to create a diversion, something to draw their attention away from the fact there were three outsiders in their midst. Knowing the shot would give his position away to everyone, yet needing to act, he raised the gun over the heads of the coven and shot at the oil lamp on the opposite wall. The gun kicked back, but again it was minimal thanks to the recoil diminisher built into the stock. As the blast drowned out the room the Beretta spat the spent cartridge from its side and instantly reloaded the next round.

  The shortened barrel spread the shot faster, making the weapon less accurate, but enough of the shot slammed into the large lamp nonetheless, shattering the oil tank just below the collar. Flames and oil sprayed all over the two tapestries either side, instantly igniting them in a WHHOOMMPPHHH, that sent a cry of surprise through the congregation who bristled back from the flames, moving as if one animal.

  Mike looked to Tara. Her mask was still on, as were many others, the words of the High Priestess forgotten in the confusion. Save for the knife which she held low she blended in perfectly. Mike watched her move behind one of the congregation and bury the lethal steel blade into the back of a robe-clad figure with stealthy deadliness. All this, from the door opening to the shooting of the oil lamp, had taken place in no more than ten seconds. Mike knew that with the gun in his hand he'd be the main target, and now the first of the coven came for him, a female with long blonde hair that spilt out around her mask and from the sides of her hood. As she came at him, she tore the mask off and Mike saw rage in her haunting grey eyes. The mask cast aside she went for the gun, intending to grab the barrel and tug it from his grip, but Mike was faster. He raised the barrel up a few inches and pulled the trigger. The shot hit her at close range square in the neck. It tore through her throat and obliterated her spinal column, causing her unsupported head to drop to one side. She regarded him like that, a look of sheer surprise at her own mortality on her face, before she fell forward and face planted the floor, dead.

  Mike needed room so he clambered back, up onto the next row of pews behind. The action made his injured leg shout in protest, but he ignored it. Another came at him, the figure, possibly a man; it was hard to tell in the melee, stumbled forward onto his knees as Mike moved back out of his way. As he fell Mike’s hand was already inside the robe, he clutched two more cartridges and slammed them deftly into the loading point at the bottom of the A400’s receiver. They were now around twenty seconds in, twenty seconds since Seth had burst into the room and prompted it all to turn to shit. Gun reloaded Mike aimed at the guy as he tried to stand and fired, the blast from the shot punched his body into the floor. To his side fire had engulfed both tapestries, the flames had eaten ravenously at the rich fabric and had already reached the top where they licked with hungry orange tongues at old dry wooden beams that supported the stone roof.

  Below him he spotted Tara, she’d been made, her ruse was up and now two masked figures went for her, one grabbed her around the neck and pulled her to the floor where they fell upon her like rabid animals with a lust for blood. He aimed the gun but hesitated, the shot would spread too far from this distance and he’d risk it hitting her, too. He grabbed two more rounds, span and shot out another oil lamp, spitting flame over two more of the fifteen-foot tapestries, wanting the place to burn, wanting to make sure that if they failed and all died here tonight then so did as many of the coven as possible. With the fresh fire now spreading behind him, he went to Tara, loading the two fresh rounds as he dropped back to the lower pew.

  Thirty seconds in now, the room was a cacophony of hellish noise, of shouts and the crackling of flame that seared at the skin of his exposed hands and heated the fabric of the robe to the point where it felt hot on the nape of his neck. The fact the room was underground with only one door in and out meant the heat was sealed in and the temperature was rising fast. The air was already become hot and noxious to breathe and Mike knew he'd underestimated a little how fast the fire would spread. He didn't know how long they'd have before the air became too hot and smoky, another minute, two at the absolute most, but that was okay, for by then this thing would likely be decided.

  He reached the two figures on Tara and kicked one square in the side of the face with his blood splattered Timberland and groaned as the impact pained his injured leg. The force of the kick snapped the attacker’s neck back and the momentum caused their body to roll off her and onto their back on the stone floor where he instantly shot them in the chest. The next round slammed into the chamber ready, thanks to the weapon’s gas-powered reloading system it was there in under a second. Mike turned the gun on the second figure, a woman, she was on top of Tara, clawing at her face while Tara's hands reached blindly for the knife that had been knocked out of her hand and lay just an inch out of her reach. Mike jammed the barrel into her side so that her body would take the entire round and pulled the trigger. Her body jolted as if hit with a violent burst of electricity. The shot went straight through her slim figure, spraying blood as it exited via her back. The blast threw her off Tara and with a shrill scream of both pain and surprise she rolled onto her back, wide eyes staring at the ceiling. As she drew her last two breaths, that came in a wheeze of blood which bubbled at her lips, she grew younger until she was no more than a girl of fourteen or fifteen once more. Mike knew that despite the violent horror of what he’d done, he’d freed another soul from the turmoil of its possession.

  June knew what she needed to do, the moment Seth Horner burst into the room and Mike made his play. She used the confusion to move anonymously through the panicked congregation as they lost their circular form, her eyes fixed on the High Priestess as she screamed for the masks to come off, and the abomination of shadow that had no rightful place in this world. As pandemonium broke out in the crowd, and the sound of Mike’s gun filled the air, the High Priestess stood in the centre of the amphitheatre, guarding the restrained body of Ellie Harrison and that of her sleeping brother with defiance and almost in total oblivion to the fire that burned behind her. She saw June coming and she raised the golden blade in warning, sensing she was an adversary. Flames danced up the walls behind her making the blade shimmer as if it were no more than golden liquid held in place by some magical spell. As June reached her, she cast aside her mask not needing its anonymity, just needing to get the job done. Glad to be free of it, she reached her hand inside her robes and pulled out both the bottle and amulet, tugging the vessel of liquid free as she went.

  “Projiciam vos a facie mea es, mitte te tenebrae est, de quo egressus es,” she said with calm certainty as she doused it over the robes of the High Priestess, (which roughly translated to), “I cast you out to the darkness from whence you came.” The moment the potion hit her robes they began to smoulder, the High Priestess let out a scream and launched herself at June, the dagger raised high. June moved to the left; the Priestess’ robes had already turned from their initial smoulder to fire that began to engulf her with an equal hunger to that which ate at the tapestried walls. The dagger flashed down as she stumbled forward and sliced June across the top of her arm. Pain flared, stronger than that which any normal dagger or knife could summon, for this was no ordinary dagger. It had taken many lives, the metal, although no doubt priceless though age and gold content was cursed, and June felt her blood become tainted by it. Screaming she fell painfully to her knees and clutching the wound she dropped the bottle to the floor. Beside her, the High Priestess writhed and shrieked in her robe of flames until they overcame her, and she lay still and burning at the foot of the altar which held Ellie. The flames licked dangerously at the base of the stone, creeping and flicking higher as if having tasted flesh, they now sensed more and were eager to devour it. They quested up, further and further until they were close to the silk of Ellie’s gown. June, now on the deck too and clutching her bloodied arm shifted her weight onto her backside, her arthritic joints crying in pain as bone ground on bone. Ignoring the searing heat, she kicked out with stiff legs, thrusting
her feet momentarily into the blaze and pushed the flaming body away and clear. Frantically her eyes now sought the man of shadow, the one who had been Device. Somewhere in the room, someone was shouting for Mike to drop the gun, the coven had grouped together and now stood one side of the circle, Mike and Tara on the other. June caught Mike’s eyes, he was about to shout something to her, but a terrible sound drowned it out, it was the sound of something breaking and giving way.

  Mike lifted Tara to her feet, reached below the robes and took a fist full of cartridges from the ammo bag. His hands shook with adrenaline and he dropped two to the floor before he managed to load two more into the A400’s receiver. The congregation had become one mass now, they'd backed off as if deciding there was safety in numbers, and for a few long seconds a standoff ensued. Mike and Tara on one side of the room, the remaining members of the coven on the other, the twin altars between them.

  “Drop the gun,” a voice demanded from the group. “Drop it and we will end you both quickly, disobey and we will overpower you.”

  They were still too many in number and Mike knew that if he didn’t obey, if he kept the gun and they did rush him then he'd be forced to fire all three shots, if he was lucky he'd kill one of the coven with each, but he'd then have no time to reload and the gun would be reduced to no more than a fancy club, and that eventually they'd lose.

  On the floor in the centre of the room and at the foot of the nearest altar was June, her robe had been sliced open on the left upper arm and blood flowed from the wound beneath and dripped steadily to the floor. He caught her eyes and was about to call out to her, tell her to get to his side of the room but before he could speak one of the gigantic tapestries broke free from its mounting. The fire had eaten away the thick rope which secured it to its anchors in the stone wall. The remainder of the congregation stood below it. Mike saw what was about to happen at the same time as the group did.