The Curse of the Spiral Eye

Chapter 1: Superstition

First Draft -- Not Yet Revised!

Collette, Louisiana

Everything would have been fine if he hadn't dropped the flashlight.

The reverend of Saint Louis United Methodist Church was down on all fours, swiping his hands frantically across the rough carpet in the near pitch-blackness. His hand bumped along the edge of the pews, and he tried not to panic. If the flashlight had rolled under one of the pews it would take a lot more time to find it, time he didn't have. And if it had broken...

The reverend's heart raced, and he prayed for daylight. On sunny days the light streamed through the skylight and the stained glass windows above the communion table, illuminating the whole of the sanctuary at once. But today the sky was overcast, a gray, troubled mass of clouds, and what thin, sickly rays of light had managed to leak through the dust-covered panes were far to weak to drive back the shadows and the things that lurked within.

It should have been easy. Walk in, grab what he needed, walk out. The person he'd contacted about the problem the previous week, a man called Joe something who supposedly specialized in such unconventional matters, had told him to avoid the church, especially at night. But he couldn't wait any longer; he had to get to his office. And so at half past noon he'd kissed Emily goodbye and, armed with nothing but a flashlight, a set of keys, and a copy of the Good Book, had set out on the path to reclaiming his church.

But every aspect of his plan had gone awry, right from the start. And now here he was, crawling around like a madman on the floor in the sanctuary where this whole nightmare had started. He was a man of God, a man of faith. How could things have gone so wrong?

After what felt like hours his hand collided with something cylindrical. Finally. He was saved! He grabbed the flashlight and rose unsteadily to his feet, wiping the sweat from his brow before feeling for the switch and clicked it on.

On.

On.

It wasn't working. The damned thing wasn't working. He shook the flashlight once, twice, three times, then tried the switch again - to no avail. Panic rose like a tidal wave withing him as he smacked the device in a desperate attempt to enliven its circuits.

Suddenly something zipped by his ear, and his throat made a tight sound as he flinched away from the invisible enemy. It passed by a second time, and he almost threw himself sideways in terror.

Again the sound came and went, but this time as he jumped to avoid it he tripped; unable to regain his footing he fell, his spine hitting hard against one of the pews as he slid to the floor. Clutching the flashlight to his chest, the reverend's muscles were as tight and tremulous as piano wire as he stared around wildly in search of his foe. Then the sound returned, closer than before, and to his horror it stopped without retreating at what sounded like mere inches from his left ear.

For a long time he sat in silence, afraid to do so much as twitch or breathe too harshly. He considered that he would die here, trapped in this hell of a church, defeated by the very evil that he, a reverend, a messenger of God and a leader of His flock, was supposed to cast out. He clasped the flashlight tighter, but had to readjust his grip to avoid the sharp ridges near the bottom of the handle.

He stopped. Could it be? He tested the ridges again, and his heart flew as he realized he was touching the screw threads on the cap of the battery housing. With trembling hands he painstakingly screwed the cap back into place, then aimed the device like a cannon along the left side of the pew. Gathering the last of his courage, in his mind he recited John 3:20 to give him the strength for what he was about to do: For every one that doeth evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the light, lest his deeds should be reproved.