The Empty Church

They had been called to Mass. It was another Sunday.

They wandered through the grey derelict landscape along the track, until they entered the dark grave-ridden churchyard. As they passed through the lychgate they felt they were being watched by something unclean, unholy, and malevolent, but they had been called and they knew that they had to be there.

There was the dark tolling of a bell, but there were no others that they could see as they walked toward the dark church.

The land was silent, the churchyard was silent, they were silent, but they were frightened, and they knew that they had no choice.

This was a place where even the colour had been drained, the leaves, trees, and the grass were a uniform grey where the only contrast was given by darker shadows.

They felt threatened by the unseen presence in the graveyard and saw that many gravestones were cracked and graves were open, their former occupants seeming to have escaped back into the world of mortals.

The closer they drew to the church the stronger the compulsion to enter was, and the stronger the desire to turn and run from their fate was almost as strong, but they had been summoned, called the Mass, and there was no turning back.

As they entered the Church they realised that they had never been there before. Like the outside, the building was grey and full of foreboding. They knew they should not be here but they had no choice, something had compelled them to come here, and they doubted they would leave.

They were the only ones in the Church, the only light was the grey shades that filtered through the filthy windows like a fatally diseased stream of fading light, the colour of oblivion.

They stood before an altar that seemed to have never seen any ecclesiastical use and wondered what was going to happen. They felt there was a presence, but they saw nothing and heard nothing.

They wanted to run, but they were rooted to the spat in front of that dark altar. They looked and realised although this looked like a church there was nothing in there to indicate the practice of any religion dark or otherwise. There were no statues no paintings, no icons, no cups, or vestments, no incense burners, no candles, no crosses upright or upside down. This was not a place of worship.

It was a place of finality, anyone who entered would never leave, but if that was so where was everyone? The place was silent and unoccupied.

They had forgotten where they had come from, or if they had left anyone behind. They had been called here to attend a Mass but the place was silent and now, though they could see each other they could not speak.

They were here, and they could not leave.

Then they felt a pull.

They looked down, looked at each other, their bodies were fading, they were becoming the Church, the Altar, then they realised why there was no one here. They were becoming one with the Church.

There was no fear, but a desire for more, for souls to join them.

Then they heard heard it, and they joined in with it.

A call was being sent out, and someone answered.

They would come to the Church, they would join the Mass, they knew that there was no choice.

This was the way that The Church was

It took the souls of those that it chose to become one with it, but it gave them no choice.

The church was The Church, no less, no more.