“So, this is the old church?
“Yea. We want to start having service here again.”
The white building, ringed with trees, sat atop a hill on the edge of town. It looked more like a stately old home than a church.
The church proprietors, an older man and a middle-aged woman, walked up to the door and began prying the planks from it, while the newcomers looked on. The church couple turned around to wave entry before disappearing through the doorway.
“No,” she said, tugging at his elbow, holding him back a few paces. “Not yet.”
They waited a moment and felt a vibration under foot.
Something was moving.
They heard a scream - and then another - from the old church.
He instinctively stepped forward.
“Wait!” she insisted, “One more minute.”
When they were alone again with the still and silence of the old woods she nodded and they swiftly moved to the door.
It swung open.
No one was there.
It was as if no one had been there in years, let alone struggling with…something…two minutes before.
Light wafted down from the high windows and illuminated dust dancing in the air. The walls had been stripped to their studs, and the wooden floors were covered in dust and
“Dirt?” she said aloud.
She bent down, her blue trench brushed aside. Her church heels were not the best footwear for the occasion, but she had worn them anyway. She needed these people to think they were just the newly-married couple in town.
She stood up and looked at her partner. “Here. It’s here. There’s a trap door right below us.”
He got to work. He was great at what he did. And he did a bit of everything. He needed to, to keep up with her. He was the only man she had met that ever could.
He, unlike she, had not worn fancy shoes this outing. He had on his khakis and a nice coat, but, being a bit rougher around the edges, and a bit more practical, had worn his work boots.
He danced around the boards now, tapping his steel toes on the old rotting floor until he heard it.
THUD THUD.
He was standing on planks that were stronger than the rest. Fresher somehow. They looked just as old as the church, but they were sturdier than the other boards. “This is it.”
He began jumping up and down, more forcefully with each jump, until
Creakkkkkkk.
The wood began to splinter.
Her eyes quickly searched the walls around them. “Use this,” she said, tossing him a discarded broom.
In one seamless motion he caught it and smashed the handle through the floor. The floor gave out under his feet and he crashed right down with it, into a 4 meter deep hole.
It was dark and dank and smelled of rotting leaves and rotting…something else.
A single beam of light from an arched window above shone down.
He scrambled to his feet, eyes squinting, trying to see what was in front of him.
“STOP!” she screamed. His fingertips were an inch away from what looked like a tree trunk. It was the size and shape of a tree trunk but had a glassy, chiseled appearance.
He lowered his hand and backed away.
She threw an old rope down to him, securing it on the front door’s wrought iron handle. He climbed hand over hand until he reached the top.
She peered into his face closely, making sure he was unharmed. “I’m okay, babe,” he smiled back at her. She relaxed at his grin and hugged him tightly for a moment, thankful he was fine.
They got to their feet and backed away a few paces. She pulled his old trusty flash from her purse and handed it to him. He shone it down to where he had stood moments before.
The floor of the hole was covered in leaves - leaves that looked as fresh as the ones outside, newly fallen from the trees.
“How’s that possible?” he asked, looking at her.
She frowned in return and raised his arm up, higher and to the right. The flash’s beam moved from the leaves on the pit’s floor and up its dirt sides to those weird tree trunks. The light shone through that odd bark now. It was an ugly shade of brown, clouded over, but translucent enough to let the light shine through.
Inside the largest tree trunk was the old man who had opened the church door.
He looked ghastly, pale, and frozen in time. His cheeks were hollowed, and his eyes bulged open in fear. Roots were snaked around his feet and torso, holding him in place. His hands were pressed against the murky bark, motionless.
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.
She had been right.
She hated being right so often.
She looked at him again and nodded.
They strode out the old church door and popped the trunk of their car open.