Take Me to Church

by Amy Cross

  A boat needs to be made of sturdy wood.

  “Set it down,” I tell Tammy as soon as she comes back over with the tarpaulin. “I've never done this before, but I think it should get you to the opposite shore. It's only half a mile away.”

  “What are you doing?” she asks. “Why are you taking the church apart?”

  “Just one part of one wall,” I mutter, setting the planks in place with trembling hands. “Let me worry about all of that.”

  Holding a nail in place, I start hammering it into one of the planks, joining it to another with the tarpaulin held firmly between them. Once she understands the plan, Tammy starts to help, which allows me to work faster. This is very much a last-minute plan, but I figure it'll be fine if I just focus and apply myself properly. After all, I'm not an idiot; it shouldn't be beyond me to put together a simple boat that'll get a little girl to the shore from here. I can feel my body weakening, but I've already pushed myself way past my earlier limits and sheer force of will seems to be driving me onward. Barely even stopping to think about what I'm doing, in case I lose the last of my energy, I work to put the pieces of wood together until I have the boat's basic shape finished, and then I immediately start adding extra planks to strengthen the structure and make sure it won't break apart.

  Finally, I start work on a crude set of oars.

  “I hope you're feeling strong,” I tell Tammy, turning to her and seeing that she's staring at me with a sense of shock. “You're going to have to row to shore. I can't do that part for you.”

  “You're building a whole boat?” she replies, clearly stunned.

  “Don't get too excited,” I continue. “It's good for one journey only. In fact, it's barely a boat at all, it's really just a floating box, but...” I stare at what I've managed to build, and slowly I realize that I'm done.

  It's ready.

  I mean, sure, it looks crude and rough, and it's never going to win any prizes for beauty, but I'm certain it'll get Tammy to the far shore, and that's all that matters.

  “Come on,” I say firmly, hooking the hammer onto my belt and then getting to my feet. I head around to one end of the boat and then I start dragging it past the benches, heading for the main door. “We have to get you out there!”

  Tammy starts pushing from the other end and soon we're at the threshold. I have no doubt that the bone snatcher is watching from the roof, but as I stare out at the rough sea and at Donald and Marnie on the distant shore, I feel deep down that this is going to work. The boat is sturdy enough for its task, and I'm damn well going to get Tammy back to her parents. I can't fix her up the way I fixed the church, but I can make sure she's safe.

  “I'm scared,” she says after a moment, taking hold of my hand and squeezing it tight. “Can you come with me? I don't want to go alone.”

  “I...” Staring down at her, I realize that there's no way the boat would be able to support two people. I could try to modify it, of course, but that would take time that I most likely don't have. Besides, just as Tammy belongs with her parents, I belong here with my church. “You have to be brave,” I tell her, squeezing her hand in return. “You can do this, there's absolutely nothing stopping you, and I'm afraid it's a boat built for one. That's all I could come up with at such short notice.” I force a smile, hoping to make her feel a little better. “You might not have noticed, but I'm not exactly an expert at boat-building. This is my first.”

  She looks down at the boat. “I think it's pretty good.”

  “Now you're just trying to flatter me,” I mutter, before realizing that I have to help her get it to the shore. “We need to be quick,” I continue. “You know how to row, don't you?”

  She pauses, before nodding. “I think I've seen people doing it before.”

  “Once we get through the doorway,” I continue, “we have to get you out there as fast as possible, and then you have to row as fast as you can. Your arms will hurt, they'll be agony, but you have to keep going. Do you understand?”

  She nods again.

  “So are you ready?” I ask, taking hold of the boat, ready to drag it outside.

  “I'm ready.”

  “Good, 'cause that's the only answer I'll accept.” I take a deep breath as I adjust my grip. I figure I should start a little countdown, but then again, I'd probably just be giving the bone snatcher a heads-up. “Now!” I shout, and I immediately start dragging the boat out through the doorway and onto the rocks that surround the church. I glance over my shoulder and see Tammy pushing the boat from behind, and a moment later I spot the bone snatcher watching from the roof, but so far he seems willing to let me do this. I guess he likes the idea of me getting tired, and besides, he only attacked Tammy and her parents in order to get to me. He probably wants me to himself.

  Reaching the shore, I push the boat out and then keep hold of one side while Tammy wades past me.

  “Are you -” she starts to say.

  “No time for any more questions,” I reply, grabbing her by the collar and shoving her into the boat. After pushing her out, I take a couple of steps back. Rain is falling again, and I watch as the boat bobs on the rough sea. Crucially, however, it's already clear that the boat is pretty sturdy, and that my very basic wood-and-tarpaulin design will be enough to get her all the way to the other shore, where Donald and Marnie are already waving at us.

  “Are you going to die now?” Tammy asks as she arranges the oars.

  “Yes,” I reply, feeling a cold shiver run through my body.

  “But -”

  “Maybe I'll come back as a ghost,” I add. “Who knows?”

  “Are you going to fight that thing?” she asks, looking past me.

  Turning, I see the bone snatcher waiting on the roof.

  “Yes,” I continue, turning back to her. “I don't want to, but if I'm going to try to repair the damage to the church, I need to get that creature out of the way first.”

  “But will you...” She pauses, and I can see that she's scared. “I don't want to leave you.”

  I want to say something profound, something deep and meaningful, but I feel as if I might start crying if I try to speak so, instead, I simply mumble “Ditto” and then use the last of my strength to push the boat out.

  “Rachel!” she shouts.

  “Go!”

  “But Rachel -”

  “Go!”

  Stumbling back to shore, I watch as Tammy starts to row, and I feel a wave of relief passing through my body as I realize that she's going to have no trouble getting to her parents.

  I did it.

  I saved her.

  Reaching down to my belt, I unhook the hammer and then turn. I start walking toward the church, and I can't help but wince as I see not only the holes in the roof but also the holes in the wall where I tore away wood to make the boat. I swear, after the events of the past few days, the church looks about as bad as it looked all those years ago, when I stood in this spot as a younger woman and prepared to start my task. I got the job done, but now...

  As I get closer to the main door I stop, and I look up into the rain and once again make eye contact with the bone snatcher. With the hammer in my right hand, I take a series of deep breaths, trying to regain at least some of my composure.

  “Okay, then,” I say finally, gripping the hammer tight as I wait for the creature to make its move. After all, I never strike first. Never have, never will. “I get the feeling you're next on my to-do list.”

  With that, the bone snatcher screams with fury as it leaps from the roof, filled with hatred as it races down toward the person who killed its master. In turn, I raise the hammer and charge forward with the very last of my strength, and I slash at the beast's face as it lands on me. We tumble down onto the rocks, locked in combat, each tearing at the other's flesh in a desperate attempt to gain the upper hand. Two wounded animals, we know we have no choice but to fight to the death. I have an advantage, though, because I know I'm going to die either way.

  As the creature's
jaws rip into my chest, I pull back and scream.

  Epilogue

  Nine years later

  It's not until shortly after my sixteenth birthday that I finally manage to go back to the church. My parents refuse my every request, telling me that there's no point, so I have to wait until I'm old enough to no longer need their possession.

  “Tammy,” Papa pleads as he follows me out the door, “won't you reconsider? There's no reason to go to that place again. Just let it be.”

  “I want to see,” I tell him, adjusting my backpack. “You can understand that, can't you?”

  I remember the look in his face. The truth is, I don't think he could ever understand why I had to make this journey. It's almost as if he and Mama willfully tried to forget about Rachel as much as possible after we left her behind; I don't mean that they pretended she didn't exist, more that they quickly shut down any conversations about her. Pappa didn't even seem to understand how upset I was when we got back to our village all those years ago and I found that I'd lost the wooden coin Rachel had given me. He told me it was better to think of the future, and when I asked why I couldn't think of the future and the past at the same time, why I had to see them as two separate things, he simply gave me my list of chores for the day.

  But I'm sixteen now, so he and Mama can't stop me now. They tried to talk me out of it, of course, and Papa even sulked for a few days and refused to speak to me, but eventually they realized they couldn't change my mind. Finally, Mama gave me some money for the journey, which I used to buy food from the market plus the new coat I'm wearing now, but apart from that I've had to do everything myself.

  That's good, though.

  I didn't need help anyway.

  It takes several weeks to complete the trek, and I have to work from memory since there are no maps that offer any help, but finally I get to the shore and see the church framed against the blue sky of a summer's day. To my surprise, I find that the causeway is back in place, albeit with different, lighter rocks than before. The remains of the little wooden boat are nearby, having been neglected ever since the day nine years ago when my parents pulled me to safety. I can't resist going to take a quick look at the boat, with a light summer's breeze rippling what remains of the tarpaulin. The nails all seem to have held fast, and I can't help thinking that maybe Rachel was wrong, that maybe the boat would have been strong enough for a return journey.

  Turning, I look out toward the church half a mile away. Who rebuilt the causeway?

  I make my way cautiously along the line of rocks, but the sea is calm and a bright blue summer sky promises not even the faintest hint of rain. A couple of seagulls soar high overhead, watching me as if it has been a long time since they saw humans around here. The causeway itself is firm and well founded, obviously put back together by someone who knew what they were doing, and as I pass the halfway point I can't help but watch the church ahead and wonder whether...

  No, that would be crazy.

  Mama always tells me to keep my head out of the clouds. Even miracles have their limits.

  When I get to the end of the causeway and step onto the scratch of rocky land containing the church, I feel as if the air is different somehow, as if my breaths are heavier in my lungs. The first thing I notice, up close, is that there's a set of scattered bones on the ground, but my initial fear is quickly assuaged when I realize that the bones aren't quite human: the skull has a set of ridges on the forehead, and the teeth are far sharper than anything I've seen before. Actually, that's not quite true. As I look down at the skull, I realize that I have seen those teeth before, grinning at me many years ago from up on the church's roof. The bone snatcher, then, obviously met his end right here on the island.

  Turning to look toward the church, I see that the gaps in the roof have once again been repaired.

  I head over to the doorway, before taking a brief detour around the side so that I can see the gap in the wall where Rachel scavenged the wood for the boat. Except, that gap is gone now, with different wood of a slightly different color and grain having been nailed in place. Nearby, a few of the remaining trees look to have been drastically cut back at some point, which I guess explains where the new wood came from, although it doesn't explain who did the work. I take a few steps back and look up at the church's roof, and at the steeple, and I realize that the place looks better than before. Maybe my memory isn't completely reliable, but still... After everything that happened, it gladdens my heart to see that the church is in such a wonderful condition.

  Almost as if...

  “Stop daydreaming,” Mama would tell me at this point. “Keep your feet on the ground.”

  She'd be right.

  I reach into my pocket, hoping that I might have some matches left to light the way, but there's nothing. Turning my pockets inside out, I find that they're completely empty.

  Still, as I make my way back to the main door, I can't help hoping that Rachel might be here. There's a growing knot of anticipation in my belly, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, something amazing and miraculous and wonderful might have happened. Resting a hand on the door-frame, I lean through and see that the interior of the church hasn't changed at all. I wait, hoping to perhaps hear shuffling footsteps somewhere nearby, but there's nothing. I remember being right here many years ago, with that creature's claw digging into my shoulder; even today, I still have a slight scar. As I look across the church's dark interior, I can't help thinking back to how frayed Rachel seemed at the end, when she was ripping wood from the walls to make a boat.

  Finally, I know I have to break the silence.

  “Hello?” I call out, stepping across the threshold. I shrug my backpack off my shoulders and place it on the nearest bench, before making my way over to the start of the aisle. “Hello...”

  I want to call her name.

  The problem is, I'm scared she won't respond.

  No, I know she won't respond.

  And yet, deep down in my gut, that sense of hope is still tingling.

  “Rachel?” I call out finally, with a hint of tears in my eyes. “Are you... Are you here?”

  I wait.

  Silence.

  Taking a few steps forward, I spot something metallic glinting on the floor. I head over and see that the metal plates are still in place, exactly where Rachel left them when she was trying to catch rainwater. The holes in the roof, though, have been repaired. I can't help but smile as I walk over to the nearby door and prepare peer through into the side-room. In my heart of hearts, I know she's most likely on the bed, having died shortly after I left, but no matter how hard I try, I can't shake the sense of hope that maybe...

  I pause, daring myself to look.

  Come on, Tammy, don't be such a wimp.

  Leaning through, I see that the bed is empty. There are some sheets, but nothing else.

  That glimmer of hope is still turning in the pit of my belly.

  “Rachel?” I whisper.

  No answer.

  Turning back, I make my way past the remaining benches. Even if Rachel is long gone, I would have thought that someone would have found the church by now. Sure, the area around here is barren, but it's hard to believe no-one has passed this way, not even by accident, at any point over the past nine years. Reaching the front of the benches, I look around and realize that -

  Suddenly my foot nudges against something on the floor that moves slightly.

  I look down and see Rachel's hammer. With a smile, I pick it up and turn it around in my hands.

  And then I see her.

  Over by the altar, there's a body slumped on the steps. I freeze, hoping against hope that I'm wrong, refusing to accept what I'm seeing, but as the seconds tick past I realize with more and more certainty that there's a human figure there, wrapped in the same bandages and pieces of fabric that Rachel was wearing the last time I saw her. I want to call out, to entertain the hope that maybe she's just resting, just sleeping, but deep down I already understand that all hope is gone.
Damn it, I knew years ago that there'd be no miraculous salvation for her, or rather that the miracle had already occurred before I met her, and that I merely witnessed its dwindling end.

  With the hammer still in my hands, I step closer.

  Her face is just about visible from beneath some of the fabric. Her skin is weathered and rotten, clinging tight now to her skull, and her eyes are almost completely closed, with maybe just a sliver visible between the lids. I walk up the first two steps and then crouch next to her, and I see that her shriveled left hand is resting on one of the highest steps, as if she died while reaching for the altar. The air feels even heavier in my lungs now and I close my eyes, not wanting to see her remains but still wanting to be here, still wanting to be near her.

  “It's not my church,” I remember her saying to me nine years ago. “I was just privileged to look after it for a while.” I remember how she paused after that, as if she was thinking of something else. “Maybe it doesn't need a name,” she added.

  “Everything needs a name,” I remember telling her.

  I remember she shook her head.

  With my eyes still closed, I realize that the knot of hope is still turning in my belly, still telling me that maybe, somehow, I'll get to talk to Rachel again. Opening my eyes, I can't deny a sense of disappointment at the sight of her corpse, still dead on the altar steps, still reaching up toward the altar. I know there's nothing left for me to do here, I know I've seen what I needed to see and that I should turn around and go home now, but at the same time I feel compelled to do something, anything, just to mark this occasion. For a moment I think of taking Rachel outside and burying her, but I know she'd want to stay in the church, and then I consider simply setting the hammer in her hand and leaving her like that, but...

  Suddenly I know what I have to do.

  Reaching down, I slip my hands under her body and gently lift her up. She's lighter than I expected, and it only takes a moment for me to move her up the steps and then carefully set her on the altar. Although I'm worried about damaging her, I take hold of her hands and start to move them, and I manage to place them on her chest. After setting the hammer in her right hand, I take a step back and look at her face, and I realize that at least she's at peace. I guess she fought the bone snatcher off after I left, and then somehow she fought on and repaired the church with the very last of her strength, and then she tried to crawl to the altar, only to lose the fight with just a few inches left to go. All of that sounds impossible, but if anyone could do it...