Chapter 1

The evening breeze breathed a breath of deceit, and the New England moon added to the scene. As he walked through the woods, he couldn't help but shiver at the thought of his surroundings.

As he slowly lowered his feet to the ground, the twigs on the woodland floor snapped, as if they were broken by a pair of unforgiving hands. Each new step was another risk. Each new step brought another chance to get caught.

The moon guided his path better than his flashlight, which had never been very good. "Goddamn piece of shit," he said as the light was snuffed out by the unfaltering blackness of night.

Slowly but steadily, he was making his way to the old, abandoned church in nearly the center of the woods. Earlier that day, Rege had instructed him to meet there. Why, he wasn't certain, but he was sure that it was something important. Because there was a look in Rege's eyes, something, scared.

He jumped nearly to the top of the old pines around him when his watch chirped one A.M., and he knew he needed to hurry up. So he quickened his pace.

As creeping became walking, walking became jogging, and eventually, jogging turned into running. He was almost at the church when, while running, he heard a subtle snap.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as a minute went by, and a drop of sweat emerged to meet the cold night air. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, he gently exhaled.

Catching his breath, he started walking through the hyperphysical woods. Seconds turned to minutes, an one minute turned into fifteen, and the old church was in sight.

Broken down, rotten white wood and the rusted church bell that gleamed at the steeple seemed to welcome him in with wicked intentions.

He looked at his watch, which read 1:37. "Time to kill." He thought out loud. He began to walk slowly up the steps to the door of the church, and walked through a large hole in the grotesque, faithless, walls.

The royal purple cushions on the old pine pews were overgrown with ivy and vines, and the benches themselves were nearing the bitter end. He looked at the barren walls, covered with drawings of the occult. Babies with no eyes, women with serpent tongues, and sometimes even an inverted cross. "I guess not even God can survive the wrath of time," said a rough voice from the corner of the blackened room.

In one fluid moment, he turned around and shone the flashlight at where the voice came from. Nothing was there.

"Over here, dipshit," the voice said from the other corner of the room, this one lit by the light of the moon. It was Rege, standing in his school uniform. Black polo and khaki pants. Standing with a cigarette in his hand, he said, "You're late, Ben."

"No I'm not. You said to meet here at 2."

"I changed my mind. I couldn't sleep, so I called you and left a message to meet at 1. Whatever. He aint' here yet, so we got time."

"Who?" Questioned Ben.

"Eric told me to get you here and meet him. He's got important shit to tell us. Or so he says."

"So why the hell are we here? I have an exam in Calculus tomorrow."

"I don't know. Eric didn't tell me shit."

"Whatever, I'm gonna go up to the bell in the tower an get some smokes."

Ben slowly approached the stairway and carefully started walking up them, measuring each step as if it could be his last one. After long seconds, he reached the top of the tower, and the cold night air stung his face into red submission. Ben walked to the rim of the ugly brown bell and reached up into it, and produced a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out and lit it.

When he walked back down, the cigarette was nearing the butt, and he heard Rege talking.

"Yeah, he's here. He's getting a cigarette; he'll be down in a goddamn second. Calm down. What do you want us here for anyfuckingways?"

"You curse way too much, Rege. Who are you talking to?" Called Ben as he stepped off the last step onto the cold, lifeless ground.

"She's dead, Ben." Said Eric's voice.

His cigarette dropped.