HAUNTING ANNABELLE: A SOUTHERN GOTHIC HORROR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: THE AWAKENING, AUGUST 2016

Abe opened his eyes. He no longer lay in the bedroom. Gone was the husk of a skeleton he knew had to be the late Colonel Leigh. Although the image of the grinning skull with bits of parchment flesh still studded with the remnants of gray whiskers will forever haunt his mind, Abe found himself in a fresh new hell.

Somehow he had awakened in Annabelle's chapel. Had he stumbled here in a stupor? Neither woman had the strength to drag him here. At least, not alone.

Candlelight reflected off of the stained glass windows that he had glimpsed from outside. The dancing flames animated the Biblical figures portrayed. Abe stood up slowly and tried to get his bearings.

"Annabelle," he called out. "Sarah?"

Abe's words echoed as if in a cavern. As he looked around, he realized that he stood not in a small family chapel. Instead, this immense space could fit a hundred of Annabelle's tiny chapels. Overhead, the roof soared to unnatural cathedral heights, made up of enormous oak tree limbs, intertwined like leaf-covered giant's arms, wrist-wrestling in the sacred air.

There were no pews or chairs along the floor. Instead, boughs of candles ran along the entire length of either side of the long nave. Each candle sat in a small, blood red votive that, which rested on a multi-tiered platform that stood at least six feet high. Abe guessed there must be thousands of candles on each side of the room. The waxy perfume rising from the multitude of dancing flames surrounded him and threatened to smother his senses.

At the end of the cathedral stood a black marble bier. Upon the somber platform lay a small, simple wooden coffin. There were no flowers. The absence of any ornamentation gave the scene an impression of a sacrifice more than a funeral. He could hear no solemn hymns. All Abe could hear was the occasional sputtering of a candle as a gentle breeze played over the candle flames.

Without even taking a step, Abe moved closer to the altar. He could not discern whether his shoes were sliding without his help or that the floor moved beneath him. His attention was too fixed on the approaching casket to dare to look down at his own passing.

As he got closer, he could see the coffin's lid was off kilter so he knew the face of the deceased would soon be visible. Only feet away, the dread of who he would find grew unbearable. Would it the broken remains of his lost fiancé or the death blue skin of his drowned childhood friend? Abe just prayed it would not be the charred, fetal positioned corpse of his mother. That loss was still too fresh. The scars were still too tender to the touch.

It was not any of them.

When he finally stood looking down into the coffin, Sarah stared up at him with open, death-clouded eyes.

Abe felt hot tears roll down his cheeks. He bent over and kissed her cold forehead. A single teardrop fell onto her face. When it did, Abe watched in horror as Sarah's skin began to wrinkle and shrivel. Her hair turned from loose black curls to gray and coarse wisps. She aged right before his eyes. Her full cheeks sank as her eyes retreated into their sockets before disappearing entirely. Before Abe could catch his breath, Sarah's body had turned into a dried out mummified husk.

"No!" Abe pushed the coffin away, and it crashed onto the floor.

As the body hit the stone floor, it burst into a cloud of white ash that swirled around Abe and filled his nostrils. He coughed and sputtered.

"Get up off of the floor. It's time to go now."

Abe's eyes flew open. Sarah stood over him, shaking his arm. She had not turned to ashes. She stood in front of him whole, young and beautiful. She was alive.