Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
With new confidence sparking through my body, I stepped off the elevator and nodded my goodbye, excited to get on with it so I could see her again.
The stone hallway was narrow, looked at least three hundred years old, and was much more of what I’d expected the castle interior to look like, including tapestries and candle sconces. On the carpeted floor was a taped arrow, pointing down the hall and leading to an ornate wooden door. When I stopped in front of it, my gaze traveled up to the phrase scrawled over the frame in angry letters.
Pray for your sins.
It seemed like a thousand hand-drawn arrows pointed at the door, surrounding the frame on all sides. I took in a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The first thing I noticed through the flickering candlelight was the small Gothic chapel was dilapidated. There was cracked plaster, cobwebs, and rubble that had been pushed aside. It was like the vaulted ceiling was slowly decaying. Someone had swept the fallen pieces into piles but hadn’t bothered to remove them.
The second thing I noticed was some of the pews were occupied.
People shrouded in tattered white shrouds were sprinkled about the few rows on either side of the center aisle. The fabric of their robes was like dirty cobwebs that had been knitted together. All the people were sitting alone and with their heads bowed seemingly in prayer.
The chapel was deathly silent.
Could anyone hear my pulse pounding in my neck? The large bare cross hanging on the wall behind the altar made me uncomfortable. I’d never been religious and had grown to distrust organized religion over the years.
There weren’t any arrows on the walls or floor or a sign telling me what I should do next, and I glanced around, unsure.
A moment later I realized the creepy chapel had distracted my thoughts—I’d already been given instruction.
I’d been told to pray for my sins.
The last pew was empty, so I ducked into it and took a seat, trying to be as quiet and respectful as possible.
Like in the holding room I’d waited in after changing clothes, time dragged, and it heightened my anxiety. I didn’t know what would happen next because Void hadn’t been anything like I’d expected. Maybe someone would jump out and scare me, but I doubted it. That lacked sophistication. But I had a sinking feeling that whatever this next scene was, it’d be worse than the ritual in the courtyard.
Since I had a moment to myself, I pulled out my notebook and jotted down my thoughts. I made notes about the events so far, building a timeline as best I could. I wrote shorthand, scribbling as fast as my pen would allow so I could—
An eerie sensation prickled at the back of my neck, pulling my focus up.
One of the shrouded figures in the row ahead of mine had straightened and turned to look at me. The enormous sagging hood hung over most of the man’s face, and he sat motionless, seemingly glaring at me.
I was held in the uncomfortable grip of his focus until movement to my left stole my attention.
The figure in the front pew lifted his head and slowly turned around until he could scowl at me over his shoulder. He didn’t speak, and I felt the men’s stares as they needled into me.
It was fucking unnerving.
Worse, the sensation grew with each figure who wordlessly turned in their seat, one at a time, until every single person in the chapel was staring at me. No one uttered a word. The only sound was the flickering candles and my shallow breath.
Six sets of eyes were fixed on me like I didn’t belong. Like I had intruded.
Then the man in the front row slowly rose to stand. He extended a long crooked finger at me in wordless accusation, making my heart stop.
Chapter 6
The urge to run was hard to suppress when the rest of the figures launched to their feet. They moved as if they’d been given a command and charged toward me.
Fear had me rooted to my seat. A few years ago, I’d written a piece about a zealot and his cult in Wyoming, which only made my unease with the highly religious worse. There was no way this scene had been created just to get under my skin.
But it felt that way.
I glued my lips together to stifle any sound as hands grabbed at me. Someone ripped my notepad from my grasp and tossed it away, while the other people pulled me from the pew. I couldn’t get my feet under me as I was dragged toward the altar, and words of protest clogged in my throat.
“Your presence is blasphemy,” one of the men spat.
“Did you come here to infect us?” another demanded. “To spread your vile filth in this sacred place?”