Leaky boards in the roof couldn’t have caused the circular blemish like the remains of a snuffed-out fire.
There was no reason for black rot to spread tendrils across the floor.
Decker went still as cold talons bristled at his spine.
No.
No, he’d drained him until his face was grey and cold, and he’d buried him under the gravel and rock, six feet under. Meticulousand orchestrated was how he died, the chapel swept clean of any trace of his death afterwards.
He was dead.
Elias Lane was dead.
Laurie rounded the corner in a rush, a single, crumpled letter in his hand. “Thisis why the journal seemed familiar—”
“It’s Elias.” Decker’s voice came out hollow, tight, as if he’d swallowed gravel. His gaze fixed on the spreading black stain in the center of the sanctuary, crawling up the pews like mold. A sickly sweet smell filled the chapel, incense masking the decay.
Laurie stopped short. “How did you—”
The chapel shuddered.
Boards snapped, flinging splinters against the walls.
Decker’s face went ashen. “He’s under the floor.”
Elias Lane, no longer a desiccated husk of the man Decker buried three years ago, clawed his way out of the pit below the chapel.
Filth slewed off his preacher’s robes, cloth ripping on the jagged edges of rotten floorboards. Snarls of hair writhed across his face and pale blue eyes snapped with holy fire as he rose to his full stature.
“You buried him under thefloor?” Laurie shrank back against the wall, fear pitching his voice into a horrified whisper.
Elias snarled and the mangled sound reverberated in Decker’s chest. Acrid incense flooded the room, lips spewing clouds of the suffocating smoke. “I am the prophet, willed by God,” Elias rasped, his arms raising. The twisted metal stands on both sides of the pulpit rattled and shook, flying together with a teeth-achingclang,the metal writhing and shimmering as white candles rolled to Laurie’s feet.
Impossible.
This was impossible. Conjuring plagues from beyond the grave,risingfrom the grave and looking like not a day had passed was impossible.
The candlesticks thrashed and transformed, hammered metal flashing into black scales, floor shredding as the metallic snake writhed and hissed in front of its master, the resurrected reverend Elias Lane.
As thick as a man’s waist, the serpent rose up, its jaw gaping impossibly wide, glinting with venom-tipped fangs. It towered in the sanctuary like an ancient god, red eyes slitted.
Laurie cried out, stumbling along the wall further into the chapel. Pages of notes scattered behind him like shed angel-feathers. The building shuddered as the serpent crashed into the wall, its fangs leaving a smear of milky venom across the wood after it twisted free.
Decker lunged. Sparks snapped at him and he jolted back.
His chest hollowed.
Laurie hadn’t invited him in.
The barrier born from God or more ancient practices seethed against him, crackling and gnashing at his hands, holding its breath for a blessing to enter while Decker beat against it, tearing at the invisible curtain keeping him from Laurie.
“Uncle Elias, please,” Laurie begged as he backed between pews, his hands raised in a perfect mirror of the preacher.
The serpent poised, its face twisted like its master’s before it struck again.
Laurie spun and darted away, further into the church, away from him.
Shined pews snapped under the weight of the serpent as it fell heavily, its jaws snapping at Laurie’s heels.
