It was going to happen again. She could feel it. Inexplicable dread had torn her from her dreams moments before. A floorboard screeched somewhere in the house. Chasity's hair went on end. Apprehension like sharp fingernails climbed up her spine, and sent a prickling static sweat from her brow to toes. Her door handle rattled.
Waves of pungent frankincense filled the room. A scent that at one time, had given Chasity comfort. Since their move to this godforsaken building, the smell now made her want to vomit. She released a rigid death grip over her blankets, abandoned their protection, and sprung to her nightstand.
While her mother had been ecstatic about the house, Chasity had hated moving to this town. A spacious home from a converted church. "I love these vaulted ceilings! Oh, think of the potential! Think of the lovely lofts!"
Potential, how Chasity despised the word. A word that had driven their family from their old home, their old town, their old friends to this city. For "better jobs," "better schools," a "better life." So far it had only served to arrive them within a creepy old building, painted in tacky colours, decorated with crummy,stained wallpaper, trying to hide its old secular past.
"Oh we could make a great reading nook, a nice insulated, well almost, gazebo up here!" her mother gushed with enthusiasm as they stood in the bell tower, looking above the endless chiclet house dotting the suburbs towards the towers of the city. "You could read your books, you'd like that wouldn't you Chas?"
The words seemed as far away as her mother was now. Away with her father picking up the final truckload of their belongings from her Grandparent’s house, due back home on Sunday. The noises had begun well before they'd left, but allegedly only around Chasity.
It started with the bathroom faucet turning itself on. First Chas had found it pouring freezing water down the drain. She'd thought there was a leak or plumbing problem, but the tap had been left fully opened. Someone had to have spun it.
As she walked away from the room she heard it again. Only to return to find the water boiling this time, and the other faucet twisted. Steam rose from the basin, with no one else around.
Later, in the church's dank basement her heart had stopped when she thought she'd found a body. A man's face twisted in pain leered at her from the corner of the room . She'd leapt through her skin, terrored out of the old Sunday School classroom, and slammed the door. Chasity's parents were still hours away from returning from their new jobs so she braved herself back in alone. Only to find the face was that of the saviour, Jesus on the cross, packed into a pile filled with old bibles and church paraphernalia, a packaging blanket fallen from his crown of thorns.
The next afternoon her footsteps suddenly began to echo while she was exploring the Eastern halls. Not like a proper echo. Like someone was trying to match her steps. Pausing as she paused, striding as she strode. But there were mistakes. The steps were a bit behind the beat. A few times it sounded as if a right foot had matched the left's step and vice versa.
Of course her parents hadn't believed her. They'd only rambled on about how they knew the change was difficult, that in a few year's time, as they made this house a home, she'd see they'd made a choice for the better. They said it was her subconscious, searching for reasons to leave. Her mind leveraging her sorrow, the melancholy fertile ground for mind tricks to send her packing.
And now, after their first week of new jobs, they’d gone back to get more boxes, and left Chasity alone. That's when the fear really took off. It wasn't the first time Chasity had spent the night by herself, she was old enough and her parents trusted her. She had been scared before, but this time the fear was different. This time something was happening.
She'd begun more disappointed than afraid. It wasn't until her door began rattling the night before that she started to have trouble sleeping. And here she was again.
Her fingers wrapping around a cold metallic flashlight handle, and BANG! Something pounded against the entrance.
Chasity was cemented in shock. The door began to shudder, and thrash against its frame. An orange glow peeked from behind the cracks. The smell of incense became overwhelming, suffocating, nauseating.
With a trembling hand Chasity reached back to the nightstand and raised a large cross for protection like she'd seen in vampire films. Leg's weakening she cowered from the noise, and clung to the curtains.
The door burst open with a gust. Her hair blew back and nostrils singed from reeking frankincense and stale wine.
Chasity dropping to her knees, and lashed her flashlight like a sword, its beam illuminating the room in piercing white light.
A blinding howl erupted from the enormous shadow. The ghoul twisted from the light, startled and unsure where to move. In the silhouette from behind the cross still held in front of her, Chasity was dumbfounded to see a faint white collar, and a smaller cross hanging below the phantom's neck.
The darkness shrieked. The sound was so piercing Chasity dropped the torch to protect her ears. In that moment of confusion it dashed away down the hall.
Aside from the pounding in Chasity's chest the house went as silent as a grave. The stink of wine and frankincense had disappeared. She raced to the door, placed it back to its frame, and lay back to her bed. Wide eyed she fixated on the entrance, and held the darkened torch to her lips, ready for action. It would be a long night. She had nowhere else to go. Nowhere safe to run. Only hours to wait and keep guard over herself, and pray the sun rise a little faster. Just her and her light.
Thanks for reading!
Wazoo!
-Mr. Write