The church was dimly lit.
"Room service?" Daniel called out.
No one answered.
Nathan, right behind him, was rubbing his hands together in a repetitive gesture that was starting to irritate Daniel.
"He might be at his house."
Daniel raised an eyebrow. "I thought he lived in the church."
"He lives in the house next door," Sara replied, already walking toward the exit.
The three of them stepped outside and headed to the neighboring residence. Daniel was about to raise his hand to knock when a shout cut through the air, coming from the direction of the Matthews' new house.
"The priest isn't home!"
Daniel's hand froze midair. He slowly turned his head.
The sheriff dropped the hammer he had been using and walked toward them. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, but his eyes remained fixed on the trio.
"Need something?" The question was polite. The tone was an interrogation.
Sara immediately averted her gaze. Nathan shifted his weight from one leg to the other with the subtlety of someone who thought he was being discreet — and wasn't.
Daniel kept his posture relaxed. "We want to talk to the priest. Do you know where he is?"
Boyd stared at him a moment longer than necessary, as if trying to read something in the words that hadn't been spoken. Finally, he answered,
"When he needs to think, he goes to a clearing nearby. He's probably there."
"I know where it is." Sara was already moving before she finished speaking, raising a hand in brief thanks. "Thank you, Sheriff."
The two followed her without offering any explanation.
Boyd remained standing there, watching them walk away.
What are they up to?
He couldn't separate that question from the image of Daniel always at the center of events. The sheriff slowly turned, picked up the hammer from the ground, and returned to work.
When they reached the clearing, the scene was almost bucolic — if one ignored the permanent nightmare context they lived in.
Father Khatri was crouched down, eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer.
The sound of grass being crushed under footsteps made him open his eyes and rise in one fluid motion. The surprise on his face was genuine when he saw the composition of the group.
"Can I help you?"
"We need to talk," Daniel said directly. "But it would be better at the church."
Khatri studied Nathan and Sara's serious expressions for a moment.
"Let's go, then."
—
Inside the church, seated on the old wooden pews, the silence lingered for several seconds after the priest closed the door.
"What did you want to talk about?"
Daniel began speaking before Sara or Nathan could take the initiative. He needed to take control of the conversation — and judging by their expressions, they seemed grateful for it.
There was a specific way to present Sara's story. A way that made her a victim, not a culprit. And he knew exactly what it was.
He spoke slowly, choosing each word carefully.
He told them about Tobey and Gina's deaths. Explained that he had discovered it was Sara.
He didn't go into details about the method. Khatri didn't ask. The priest kept his eyes fixed on her, his expression blending disbelief and anguish.
He seemed incapable of reconciling the image of the young woman before him with what he had just heard.
Daniel continued.
He spoke about the voices. Explained how they manipulated her. Said that when they ordered her to kill Ethan, she resisted. The seizure hadn't been weakness, but her body fighting against the control.
After that, she seemed to have learned how to block what was malicious and communicate only with what was helpful.
He constructed the narrative precisely: she wasn't the author, she was an instrument. And she had been strong enough to break the control when it mattered.
When he finished, he turned to Sara.
"Tell him what the voices said last night."
Sara took a deep breath.
With Nathan at her side and the priest in front of her, her voice came out steadier than she expected as she recounted every detail.
When she finished, Khatri remained silent for a long moment. There was a different light in his eyes.
Three in the morning.
He knew the weight of that hour. For many, it was just deep night. For him, it was the point of least resistance between what is seen and what remains hidden. The battle between good and evil had never been a metaphor in his life.
And what Sara described — creatures that had once been human, that chose power in exchange for their humanity — aligned with something that had troubled him since he arrived in this place.
There wasn't a single Bible in town.
Any other kind of book could be found. But no Bible. As if someone — or something — had ensured that specific object would never be present.
The one he used was made of handwritten pages, reconstructed from memory. An imperfect version of something that was missing.
"If these voices are real," Khatri finally said, "if there is something in this place communicating with you, then that means you have a connection here that no one else does."
He looked at Sara with something close to hope.
"And that makes you incredibly valuable."
Nathan agreed, relieved.
Sara looked at the priest without responding, fingers intertwined in her lap.
"But we need proof," Khatri continued. "Before we take this to the sheriff, we need absolute certainty that what you hear isn't the product of a mind shaken by what this place does to people. I want you to try to communicate with them now. We need something concrete."
Sara shifted uncomfortably on the pew. "I'll try. But they only speak when they want to."
"I understand." The priest inclined his head. "Try."
She closed her eyes.
For one minute, nothing happened.
Then two.
Suddenly, Sara gasped.
Her hands flew to her head, fingers tangling in her hair. A groan slipped through clenched teeth.
"Sara?" Nathan moved closer immediately, panic evident in his voice. "Are you okay?"
"Paper..." she hissed, her voice distorted by pain. "I need paper."
Daniel turned to the priest, who remained frozen, torn between fascination and shock.
"Father. Paper and pen. Now."
Khatri ran to the back of the church. A minute later, he returned with a notebook and a ballpoint pen.
Sara snatched them from his hand and began drawing frantically, pressing hard enough to nearly tear the page.
When she finished, she handed the notebook to the priest.
"What is this?"
Sara lifted her face, still breathless.
"They said they watched you the day you arrived here. That they saw you bury a bag." She paused to catch her breath. "And this proves they're real. You know what it means?"
Father Khatri froze.
The color slowly drained from his face.
He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the crude drawing on the page.
After several seconds that felt far too long, he spoke only:
"Follow me."
None of the three asked where.
Khatri led them behind the church, exiting through a narrow door. He grabbed the shovel leaning against the wall — the same one he had used to dig Frank's grave earlier.
The group walked in silence back to the clearing. Once there, the priest went straight to a specific stone. He counted a few steps with the precision of someone who had walked that path before and began digging.
The shovel struck something with a dull sound.
Khatri knelt and brushed the dirt away with his fingers, revealing a cloth bag.
Daniel remembered that the priest had buried something there, but not what. He remained watching.
Khatri opened the bag right there, kneeling in the damp earth, and removed the items one by one.
A half-empty bottle of alcohol.
A white shirt stained with dried blood.
And finally, a chocolate bar.
On the foil wrapper was a logo: a stylized rocket with a small figure riding it.
Khatri unfolded the page Sara had drawn and placed it beside the wrapper. He compared the two carefully.
The same rocket. The same figure.
He remained kneeling in the dirt for a few seconds, holding the paper and the wrapper in silence.
Daniel noticed that Sara and Nathan were watching the bloodstained shirt with growing suspicion. The priest noticed too.
"I buried this bag the day I arrived here."
His voice came out lower than before.
"In my congregation, there was a boy. Quiet. Shy. He showed up every Sunday."
He took a deep breath before continuing.
"One day, after mass, I saw him wandering near the rectory. He was sad. Asked if he could stay with me."
"I had the next service to prepare. I didn't want to leave his parents worried. So I took a chocolate bar, gave it to him, and sent him home."
He touched the bar lightly with his fingertips.
"That same day, I went to his house. It wasn't my habit to make visits like that. But I was uneasy. With a feeling I couldn't name."
"When I reached the street, his mother ran out the door. Hysterical."
"I found it strange. I entered the house. I smelled the alcohol before I even saw the father. He was standing in the middle of the living room, with a look of panic and confusion... repeating: Get up, get up, boy."
"I walked past him. Entered the bedroom."
"And there was the boy. Lying on the floor. His neck... twisted. At an impossible angle. And sticking out of his pocket... the chocolate bar I had given him."
Nathan closed his eyes for a second. Sara pressed her lips together.
"The father said: He'll be fine, priest. He just fell."
"The next thing I remember, I was on top of him." The priest's voice didn't tremble, but there was something in it that sounded like a poorly healed fracture. "Punching with everything I had. I didn't stop even when my knuckles started to break."
He looked down at his own palms, as if he could still see the blood on them.
"You did right," Daniel said.
There was no sarcasm. Only a cold statement.
"Divine justice looks great on paper, Father," he continued. "But sometimes it needs to be delivered by human hands. With violence."
Nathan nodded, expression firm. Sara too, her shoulders relaxing slightly.
Khatri looked at them for a moment, as if that validation was something he had never expected to hear about that day.
"After that, I only remember being on top of a bridge, with this bottle in my hands."
"And it was the first time in my life that I heard the voice of God. He told me to get back in the car. That there was another path for me to follow. I obeyed. And that path brought me here."
Khatri placed the objects back into the bag with firmer movements.
When he stood, there was something different in his posture. Not just guilt. Decision.
"We have proof now." He looked at Sara. "We'll speak to the sheriff. And I won't allow anything to happen to you."
Sara nodded slowly. She still wasn't completely at ease, but she seemed less alone.
When the four of them returned to town, Boyd was still working on the Matthews' new house.
The sheriff stopped what he was doing when he saw them approaching. His brow furrowed, confusion evident on his face.
Not long ago, he had seen them enter the church. The front door had remained closed since then. Now, they were coming from the opposite direction.
The priest stepped a few paces ahead of the group.
"Boyd, we need to talk."
The sheriff's gaze moved from Khatri to Sara and Nathan, until it settled on Daniel.
It lingered there a second longer.
What did he do now? Boyd thought.
The new kid seemed to be at the center of everything that had become strange in town lately.
Boyd let out a quiet sigh and turned to Jim, who was still on the ladder, finishing the last window on the second floor.
He was about to ask for a minute, but Jim noticed the tension before a word was spoken. He saw the priest's serious look. Sara's rigid posture. Nathan's silent expectation.
"Go ahead, Sheriff. We're just about done here anyway. I'll finish up."
Boyd nodded.
He stepped down a rung, wiped his palms on his pants, and faced the group again.
His expression was no longer just curiosity.
It was assessment.
"Alright. Let's head to the station."
And as he started walking, his gaze never left Daniel.
========================================
If you want to support the continuation of the story and read chapters in advance, you can become a supporter for just $5 and get access to 5 early chapters.
patreon.com/Northmann