by Amy Cross
Copyright 2015 Amy Cross
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.
Kindle edition
Dark Season Books
First published: September 2015
On a desolate patch of land, far from any town and linked to the shore only by a rocky causeway, there stands an old wooden church that has been left empty for more than a century. No-one goes there anymore, but the church still has one forgotten purpose, and now it's about to be pressed back into service.
Rachel has just survived something horrific, something that left her with terrible injuries that will most likely kill her soon. She stood up against the darkest evil, and she averted a tragedy. Now, as death threatens its slow embrace, Rachel has been taken by her remaining disciples to the church, where she will either recover or die.
At least, that's what she hopes will happen.
For Rachel, the danger is still very real. Rachel is certain that she banished the evil during her final battle, but worries that other dark forces might yet be out for revenge. Hideously injured and on the verge of death, she's preparing to face the truth. And then, against her strictest orders, her helpers make one final mistake.
They bring a child to the church.
Take Me to Church is a horror novel about a woman who thought she'd defeated evil, but who now feels a dark force closing in, and about a child who ends up drawn into the heart of battle.
Take Me to Church
One
As best they can, they try to get me to the church without hurting me. They already loaded me into the old cart, and now they're rushing me across the rock-strewn beach. I can feel the exact moment we reach the causeway, as the ground beneath the cart changes; we're no longer on the beach, we're racing across a series of large stones. A couple of times, they almost tip the cart and tip me into the sea, but together they're able to keep going. They want to protect me, but there's so much panic in their souls, so much fear, they can't help pushing on as quickly as possible.
My bones are coming loose.
“Nearly there,” Donald says eventually, forcing a smile as he leans over me, his face framed against the dark gray sky. “Don't worry.”
He looks terrified.
I try to reply, but I'm too weak to even open my mouth. I stare up at him, but he moves out of my field of vision and I'm left watching the sky. Vast and stormy, filled with patches of black and gray, it's the same sky I remember from last time I was here. There's a cold wind blowing too, reaching me even as I'm slumped here in the cart, and once or twice I think I feel a fine spray of seawater falling across my face. Then again, I might be imagining that part; it might be wishful thinking, and the regurgitation of memories from long ago.
“She'll be okay,” Marnie says after a moment, as the cart rolls over a particularly rough set of stones.
“Of course she well,” Donald replies. “We're almost there. She'll be fine.”
They must be able to see the church by now. Small and dark it'll be, out here on its own little pile of rocks at the end of the causeway, as if the land itself saw fit to reach out and hold the church at arm's length away from the shore. I have no doubt that the place will have been left untouched since the last time I was here, or at least... untouched by human hands. One never truly knows what else might be out in the world, hiding in the shadows and moving with fleet, exaggerated steps whenever no earthly soul is watching.
Still, none of that matters anymore.
I'm home.
When the cart stops, I realize I've been holding my breath. I try to breathe in, but the pain in my chest is immense and there's pressure too, and I have to really force the air into my lungs. A fair wind is blowing now, and when Marnie leans over and looks down at me I'm able to see her long, faded, once-blonde hair rippling as it tries to get free from the hairpins holding it all in place. She smiles, but there are tears in her eyes and I can tell she's on the verge of breaking down. She's strong, she always has been, but it's the kind of strength I admire while knowing it can't possibly last forever. I need to find a way to release her soon, from the commitments she made to me. I don't want Donald and Marnie to be here with me when I die.
“It'll be okay,” she stammers, her voice filled with hope and fear. “It will, you know. It has to be.”
Nearby, there's the sound of wood hitting wood. Donald is struggling to get the main door open, and I remember from the old days how that task could sometimes take quite some time. Out here in the extremes, the weather varies wildly, and the church's wooden door expands and contracts a little more with each passing season, becoming warped and twisted as if the effort of breathing is enough to cause slow damage. I remember...
I remember the day many years ago when I closed the door to this church for what I thought would be the last time. My hands were young and strong then, and I remember how they looked as they slid the bolt across and then began to hammer in all the nails I could find.
I remember how scared I was.
After a moment, I hear Donald cursing under his breath, accompanied by a loud, dull creak, but a few seconds later I hear the hinges starting to grind. I know that sound. I remember so much of this place, it's almost as if I never left. It's good that he had so much trouble getting us inside, because that means hopefully nothing else has been here in the intervening years. I would so hate to have come back only to find the place disturbed. Then again, maybe I'm being selfish. Maybe I should have left the doors wide open.
“Come on!” Donald shouts. “This way!”
The cart starts moving again. I keep staring up at the gray sky, watching the roiling clouds as I find myself wondering whether I'll ever see the outdoors again. A moment later, I'm taken over the threshold and my view of the sky is replaced by the dark interior of the church's entrance hallway, with planks of wood letting only a few splinters of light through the ceiling above. The air in here is much colder and a little dry, but at least there's no wind. I recognize the smell of rotting salty wood, and of the cold wooden floor that gathers no heat at all, not even in summer. It's winter now, of course, and I remember so well the winters I spent here: I was barely ever cold, since I worked hard from dusk until dawn and then slept under a mountain of blankets.
“Are you in pain?” Donald asks, leaning over me again. “We can stop for a while, if you like.”
I try to move my lips, to answer him, but I'm far too weak.
“Do you want to stop?” he continues. “Is that what you're trying to say?”
“Stop trying to second-guess me,” I want to tell him. “You're not an idiot, do what you think is right. Do you think I want to stop now, after so many miles, when we're just a few feet from my bed?” My lips tremble slightly, but I can't get the words out.
“I think she wants to keep going,” he says, turning to Marnie.
“I'm worried about pushing her too hard,” Marnie replies. “The journey here was already so testing, and I really don't think she can take much more.”
“At least if we get her onto the bed, we can start to make her comfortable.”
“But shouldn't we -”
“That's why we brought her here, isn't it?” he continues, interrupting her. “To give her a chance to heal? To help her?” He pauses, as if to let his words sink in. “So come on, then, let's get on with it.”
I want to tell them not to argue, to remind them that it's all futile, but they continue to bicker as they set the cart down and head off further into the church. I can hear their voices echoing across the lonely s
pace and I can't help but feel amused by the fact that they think they can do a damn thing to change any of this. I guess it's just their instinctive reaction to a hopeless situation, but they genuinely don't seem to have accepted that I'm dying. I thought I'd made all of that clear before we set out, I thought I'd explained how this would go, but apparently they still cling to a sliver of hope. I honestly don't know whether to kiss them with gratitude or scream at them with rage. Well, I can do neither of those things right now, not in my current state, but...
Footsteps.
Coming closer, echoing around me.
“We have to check the place out,” Donald says, leaning over me, his voice a little breathless. He holds up the broken crucifix from the clifftop, the one I tried to fix with cement glue. “Will this be enough?” he asks, his eyes filled with doubt.
I try to answer, to tell him any goddamn thing will do, but I still don't have the strength.
“Rachel,” he continues, “will this be enough? Please, just... I don't know, blink once for yes and twice for no. If there's anything here, anything that shouldn't be, will this protect us?”
I stare at him for a moment, before slowly, painfully, blinking once. Damn it, my eyes feel like dry spheres, and I swear there's dust on my pupils.
“Okay,” Donald says, clearly a little relieved. “This shouldn't take long, we've just got to...” He pauses, before flashing a nervous smile. “Well, you know... You said it yourself, there's always a possibility that something might have moved in here while you've been gone. There are forms of evil that love nothing more than an empty church. Better safe than sorry, eh?”
With that he disappears from view, and I hear him hurrying away. I imagine he and Marnie will be hard at work for the next few minutes, checking every nook and cranny in the entire church for... For what? What exactly do they expect to find? Something cowering in the shadows? The tattered remains of something that should be dead? And what would they even do if they found an intruder? In the past, they would have come running to me, relying on me to fix it all and save them, but that approach wouldn't exactly work right now. Still, I'm glad they seem to have learned a few rules from their time with me, and they are right to check the place out.
It's just, if they do find a fragment of evil here, they won't be able to do anything about it. It'll kill them before they know what's happening.
Outside, the wind is really picking up, battering the church's wooden walls and whistling through the cracks. I can feel a strong breeze against my right leg, which hangs loose over the edge of the cart. There are rags and strips of fabric tied tight around my entire body, but I imagine most of those rags are blood-stained by now, and dirty too. I must look... For a moment, I try to imagine how I look, even though I know it's unwise to focus on such things. I try to imagine myself from up high, and I look down on my ravaged, broken body slumped in this cart, waiting for...
What am I waiting for?
Death? Well obviously, but am I waiting for something else too?
Something that lurks in the back of my mind? Something I haven't admitted to myself yet?
I hope -
Suddenly I feel something brush against my right foot. It's not the wind and it's not rain, it's something solid and real, and I feel a flash of fear shudder up through my chest. There's something here, something other than Donald and Marnie, and whatever it is, it dared come close enough to me that I felt it briefly. As I wait for more contact, I start to realize that I can sense something watching me, moving slowly around the cart as if it's trying to get a better view. Still staring up at the ceiling, I try to gather the strength to turn my head, to come face to face with this strange visitor, but I'm far too weak. Instead, all I can do is wait as I hear the faintest little footsteps shuffling across the dirty concrete floor, edging closer but still holding back a fraction.
This visitor, whatever it is, seems to be both curious and afraid. I can hear short, cautious breaths.
I try to move my lips, to get a few words out, but the effort is enormous and I can already feel my body starting to tire. After a moment, the footsteps stop close to my right shoulder and I realize that the visitor must be looking at my face, but I can't even turn my eyes to meet its gaze. Taking short, shallow breaths that barely draw enough air into my ragged lungs, I wait for the visitor to make its move, but for now it seems content to merely watch me, as if it views me as a creature of interest. I know full well that there was no such creature in the church the last time I was here, which means that it must have either found a way to crawl inside during the intervening years, or it followed us here today. Neither of those possibilities means that it's necessarily a threat, but still, I'd do anything right now for the strength to turn my head and look into its eyes.
In the distance, I can hear the sound of doors being opened and closed. Donald and Marnie are far away, still exploring the church.
“What are you?” I try to whisper, but my lips don't move at all.
Holding my breath, so as to silence my own rasps for a moment, I listen to the sound of something else breathing nearby. Slow, steady, rhythmic, unhurried... Whatever it is, it's calm and placid, as if it knows full well that I pose no danger. After a moment, I feel as if I can sense it moving closer, almost as if the visitor is leaning toward me in an attempt to get a better look. I turn my eyes in their sockets, straining to look to the right, but still nothing comes into view. Whatever it is, it seems to understand how to keep just far enough back to avoid being seen, yet curiosity seems to compel it to keep looking, as if it has to see me properly. And then, slowly, I'm able to make out the faintest dark shape poking into view at the very edge of my field of vision, edging toward me. A few more seconds, and I might be able to see its face and -
Suddenly I hear footsteps coming closer, and the dark shape pulls back, out of sight.
“There's nothing here,” Donald says, leaning over me. “We checked everywhere.”
I try to open my mouth, to ask about the visitor that was just here a moment ago, but as Donald and Marnie start adjusting the cart, I realize they obviously didn't see anything. Either that or they chose not to mention it, but I doubt they'd be quite so controlled. Marnie, in particular, has had a tendency to panic for as long as I've known her; I can hear her whispering to Donald now, and although I can't make out the words, I can tell that she seems relatively calm. There's no way she'd be acting this way if she had any idea that there was something else in the church with us, so I can only assume that she and Donald are completely oblivious. Whatever's here, it must have the ability to hide itself from view. The only reason I became aware of it is that I was the focus of its attention; that, and the fact that I have experience with these things.
“We're going to move you now,” Donald says, as I feel him picking up the arms of the cart. “We're almost there.”
I wait as he wheels me across the church. The faint rocking sensation is strangely pleasant and I can see the church's ceiling properly now, high above. They must have lit a few candles, because there's a faint, warm glow all around as I'm wheeled along the aisle that runs between the sets of benches. I would so dearly love to turn my head and see my church properly again, but perhaps I'll have the necessary strength later. In fact, that's what matters the most right now: if I can summon the energy to walk at some point, to make my way around the church one final time and see that all is well, and then get to the altar, that will be enough for me. If I can do that, I will be able to accept death.
“We've made up a lovely bed for you,” Marnie says a moment later, as I'm wheeled through a door that I think must lead into my old office in the side-room. “You'll be able to rest here. We thought about putting you in the main part of the building but, well, we figured...”
Her voice trails off.
She's waiting for Donald to finish the sentence. Typical Marnie.
“We figured you'd like some privacy,” Donald says, as I hear Marnie moving the bedsheets aside, ready for me. “I'm sur
e in a day or two you'll be strong enough to get up and walk around a little.”
“In a day or two I'll be dead,” I want to tell him but, again, I'm too weak.
“So we're going to lift you up from the cart,” he continues, with a hint of uncertainty in his voice, “and put you into the bed. It might...” He pauses. “Well, I'm sure you understand, it might hurt a little.”
“Just a little,” Marnie echoes.
“Maybe more than a little,” Donald adds,” but... We'll do our best, okay?” He leans over me again, looking down at my face with cautious eyes. “It might hurt a lot, Rachel. We'll do everything in our power to keep you comfortable, and I'm sure you'll be fine once you're on the bed, but the burns and the cuts and the...” He glances down at the rest of my body, and I can see that he's struggling to stay calm as he surveys the damage. “Well, we'll do our best, but the actual move itself might be very difficult for you.”
I try to move my lips, to let him know that it's okay and that he should just get on with it, but all I can really do is wait.
“We'll lift her on three,” Donald tells Marnie, as they arrange themselves on either side of me. “Just get your hands into position, like I described.”
“What if I hurt her?” she asks.
“You can't really avoid that.”
“But maybe there's another way?”
“There isn't.”
“But...” She pauses, most likely staring at my ravaged body. “I don't want to hurt her,” she continues, her voice trembling a little, as if she's on the verge of breaking down. “Please, can't we just take a moment to find another way? Maybe we can lift her in the tarpaulin she's resting on? Wouldn't that help?”
“No,” he replies.
“Or we could leave her in the cart?”
“She should be on the bed,” he tells her. “Please, let's not waste any more time.”
“Get on with it,” I want to tell them, already tensing myself in anticipation of the pain.
