Bungou Stray Dogs Oneshots

Church

Summary: A short scary story starring Nathaniel

Church was a place of security growing up.

Nathaniel could still recall the beige walls, and the old pews where he used to crawl underneath when his mother would call for him to leave. The snacks of questionable edibility and the way that the pastor would drawl for hours every sermon. It made little sense for such things to be of interest to a young child, but the Minister recalled church as a place where he could always expect what would happen. And, much to the chagrin of all the members of the Guild, he worked hard to implement these features into his church and sermons, and would always manage to make the others feel bad enough to attend.

What had happened? It needed desperately some maintenance. A new coating of white paint would do some good, some of the windows needed to be replaced, and... where was the rest of the town? Why was it simply in this field, and what of the stars? Could it go on forever? Certainly not. Certainly not.

The pastor knew that his legs were walking, but it didn't seem like the church was getting all that much closer. Rather than growing in size, the building looked as though it was breathing. In, and out, in, and out... getting bigger and smaller with each breath. But Nathaniel had a hunch that maybe the inside would be safer, if he could manage to make it there. If he could make it.

...

He could have been walking for hours for all he knew. The thickness of the dark sky was like a suffocating hand, robbing the world of any life. Had the grass always looked so dead? Had the air always been so uncomfortably hot? Had the Minister always been so slow? Hard to tell. But he felt as though the church had gotten just a smidge closer now. any day now.

But what were the footsteps behind him?

Maybe he was due for a nice jog.

Maybe a run would do him good, actually.

If one asked Nathaniel to try and run through thick waters, he would be unable to tell the difference between that circumstance and this one. The air was becoming thicker, nearly a liquid that needed to be pushed through. It was hard to breathe now, harder to see. Boiling water.

Finally, the reverend managed to wrap a trembling hand around the church door handle. Faster than light, he pulled the door open and let himself in, slamming the door shut as quickly as possible. He couldn't let whatever was following him in.

The church's carpets could use some vacuuming. The curtains were overdue for some dusting, and the tapestry on the stage had begun to fall apart.

But he was safe now.

The pastor walked through the church, and onto the pulpit. A nice copy of the Holy Word was waiting for him, the best preserved part of the church. With a sigh of relief, the Reverend Nathaniel Hawthorne flipped to a random page. Only...

What words were these? He couldn't recognize any script that may look like this. It looked like the ink spilled from a leaky fountain pen, scribbled loosely down by some witch child.

Nathaniel was alarmed by this. Why was the book so poorly written, no matter, he never left home with his own-

Why was his left pocket empty?

He looked around, and his heart sunk into his feet when he saw the figure in the back row.

He hadn't closed the door in time.