CHAPTER 5
422 Words
The chapel was empty except for the cold flicker of candlelight. The heavy doors groaned as if warning intruders that the space was sacred yet dangerous.
Rebecca knelt at the altar, clutching the book that held Mercy’s story. Her hands were icy, but her mind burned with a strange clarity. She could feel Mercy’s presence pressing against her consciousness, guiding her thoughts, sharpening her resolve.
The first whisper came softly, echoing in the back of her mind:
“Look… watch… remember.”
Rebecca’s eyes scanned the chapel, catching every shadow, every reflection in the polished floor. Something moved in the corner — a form too indistinct to be human. The shadows shifted and pulsed, bending unnaturally.
A chill ran down her spine.
“He is here,” the voice whispered.
Rebecca’s gaze shot to the back pews.
Reverend Michael’s silhouette was barely visible in the dim light. He had come alone, claiming to inspect the chapel before morning prayers, but Rebecca knew better.
She felt the darkness surrounding him, the corruption he carried, the weight of the crimes Mercy had tried to expose.
The candlelight flickered violently, casting the Reverend’s long shadow across the altar. It looked alive, twisting with intent.
Rebecca felt a pull, a tether connecting her to Mercy. The spirit’s presence surged, urging her forward, lending her courage.
“Confront him. Force the truth. Do not falter.”
Her voice trembled as she spoke aloud, though no one in the chapel responded:
“Reverend Michael… we know what you’ve done. Mercy saw everything.”
The shadow shifted. The Reverend’s form stiffened. His eyes darted around, searching for the source of the accusation. But there was no one there.
Only Rebecca.
The wind inside the chapel swirled violently, extinguishing a few candles. Shadows stretched long, flickering across the stone walls like specters. Rebecca felt the presence of Mercy spiral around her, protective yet relentless.
“Justice will be served,” the spirit whispered.
Reverend Michael’s breathing became rapid, shallow. He did not speak, but the air around him pulsed with tension. The shadows seemed to cling to him, pressing close, whispering accusations in a language only the damned could understand.
Rebecca’s resolve hardened. Mercy had chosen her for this task, and she would not fail.
Outside, the storm intensified. Rain hammered against the convent roof.
Thunder shook the walls, as if nature itself were witnessing the unfolding reckoning.
Inside the chapel, a silent war began — one of shadows, spirits, and vengeance.
The first step of Mercy’s revenge had begun.
- Writer
