The police sirens blared through the stormy night. Street lights and the intermittent lightning provided light. Through the drenched streets did Trevor Moreland run, with a small backpack filled with loot. A music player, a golden watch, a smartphone, and a wad of cash he found in a drawer in one house. If he wasn't so clumsy, this chase probably wouldn't be happening right now. His car dying and preventing a getaway didn't help the situation either. But here he was. No sense in complaining about it, he thought to himself as he splashed through a deep puddle, sending cold water to soak his pant leg. The red and blue light painted the buildings in front of him. They're getting close. 524Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLnfLyXIeVX
He climbed over walls and snuck through alleys, and soon he ended up in some nearly abandoned part of town. The sirens were long gone, and he was alone here. The sign read: "Bolton's Shopping Center." At this hour, the neon lights would have been on and spelled out the words, but either the tubes were busted or the wiring got damaged. Anyway, it looked like it hasn't been repaired in years. The same went for some of the stores in this place. To his left, a liquor store, a hair salon, and a Nora's Pizzeria stood in a row, facing the empty parking lot, forgotten and forlorn. Not by their owners, perhaps. Only the few lights within were on for each of them for security purposes, most like. The liquor store was barred. Trevor didn't want to go ahead and set off another alarm tonight. Straight ahead was a different sort of service. "House of Worship," the sign said. "Haven't prayed since middle school." Trevor said out loud to no one in particular. No doubt his pastor would look down upon him if he could see him now; carrying a bag full of stolen goods and running from the cops. It looked lonely and unmaintained like its neighbors. One window was boarded up with a square of plywood. Some obscenity was spray-painted on it in big red letters. Trevor thought he could hear sirens in the distance. He rushed to the House and found the glass double doors to open easily. It's not locked.524Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKd2WajQJfc
Inside, the lobby was dark. The carpet was dirty, dark stains over a generic pattern of teal and scarlet. A few corridors lay out before him. He picked one, and he walked slowly.
He heard a voice, then several more voices, he realized, as he moved closer. Quiet voices, as if they were in a library. The corridor led into larger room up ahead. He sidled up to the wall and crept closer, his curiosity getting the better of him. I should go, but... The room was big, enough to seat a small to medium sized congregation. All the seats were filled and a few were forced to stand. They all wore black, as if dressed for a funeral. But no one wept. They all sat, staring forward at the stage. Before them was a casket, its polished wood gleaming in the candle light. Trevor couldn't see the body within too well from where he was standing. The only thing that lit the room was candles. It was strange to Trevor, seeing all these candles instead of light bulbs and electricity. Even some of the guest's choice of clothing was antiquated. Some wore black robes, their hoods up to hide their faces. Instead of pretty flowers set before the bier on which the casket stood on, there were a pile of thorny branches, as if the heads of the roses were the least interesting part of the plant. The skulls of various animals lay on the steps that led up to the stage.
A man, or was it a woman, Trevor could not tell because of the robe, walked up to the altar, picked up a silver bell, and rang it five times. The first two rings were made in quick succession, but the last three were made slowly. The congregation stood in unison, oddly perfect, not one lagging behind. A man came from behind the blood red curtains and stood before the altar. His appearance almost made Trevor scream, but instead he shrunk away, his skin crawling. He had no hair, and his face was bone white, as if he buried his face in a bowl of flour. His eyes were a solid black, like polished stones. A coal black streak ran from his lower lip down to his throat.
His lips parted and from his mouth came words Trevor could not understand. It sounded like a language that died centuries ago. Some words seemed to echo, not off the walls, but within Trevor's skull, as if they spoke directly through his thoughts. It made his head hurt a little. What the hell is this? He thought between the speakers words, what kind of funeral is this? The congregation repeated some phrases, again, in perfect unison. The preacher, as Trevor thought him to be, raised a pallid hand, referring to the body in the casket as he spoke.
A robe handed the preacher a thorny branch. He bellowed a word, and he pricked each finger with a thorn. He closed the bleeding hand into a fist, and when he opened it, a burst of blue flame exploded from his palm, lighting the entire room for second. The blue fire died down, but still engulfed his hand. He went to the casket and placed his burning hand over the heart of the dead body. The congregation knelt, a murmur of voices emitting from them. The body convulsed violently. The preacher's incantation sounded angrier, as its movements bothered him.
The preacher recoiled, his hand no longer ablaze. The corpse stood up in its casket, making a horrid grunt. Impossible. The corpse was long dead, its skin pale, tight and dry, and its eyes glazed over. It looked at its hands and stretched his arms upwards, as the congregation stood and greeted it in unison.
Bzzzzt Bzzzt "CALL FROM...DANNY" the smartphone in his backpack said, followed by a catchy ringtone. The ringer was on full blast. Oh, no...
The preacher was not pleased. His eyes stared at Trevor and he let out a hiss. The robes turned to him and let down their hoods. The congregation turned to stare at him as well.524Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡINNrc01ODG
These people...Their faces... A room full of corpses stared at him with their dead eyes.524Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFDM1IUEzqm
