The first is a creepy little story I wrote called The Chalice...
The
darkness is heavy, bearing down on me as if it seeks to crush me. The wind
blusters around, catching at my hood, tearing it from my head, rendering it
useless upon my back. The rain lashes down, running in rivulets down my cheeks,
camouflaging the tears that would fall alone. My breath is coming in short
gasps, my legs walking as quickly as they can, without straining to a run. The
chalice is clasped, close to my chest, held tight against my thumping heart. I
am alone, completely alone, yet I feel his eyes watching me, following my every
step.
I
seek the path that runs between the school and the cemetery; there perhaps I
might be sheltered. Finally, I slow my pace, giving in to the violent weather
that assaults me anyway, however quickly I move, seeking to escape its fury.
The moon appears from behind a cloud, lighting the path suddenly. Through the
fence and the bushes that grow to my left, I see the gravestones, bathed in
moonlight, ethereal and strangely beautiful, gleaming with rainwater. To my
right a high wall stands, blocking the path from the secondary school which
lies unseen beyond it.
Eyes
watching me. The wind whistles through the bushes suddenly and I hear a cry
escape my lips. I imagine he is there standing, watching, taunting, but surely
I am alone. The wind bites at me, viciously, flushing my cheeks with it
strength. I am pelted suddenly with a barrage of water, blown from the trees
that hang over the path like a tunnel. My eyes flit to the left and I see the
graveyard illuminated in a sudden burst of light that makes my skin crawl with
terror. All around me he is watching, seeing what I am doing, hearing what my
thoughts are. I must return this chalice or be forever condemned. And still the
weather punishes me, screaming rebukes at me.
***
“I
don’t think we should be here, Rob,” I said, softly, my eyes darting around the
crypt. Rob paused long enough to glare at me, and then turned his attention
back to the box.
“Just
hold the torch steady, Jo,” he said, from gritted teeth. I tried to stop the
trembling that convulsed my body and prevented me from doing what he asked,
focusing my attention on his hands as they worked swiftly with his little
tools to break the lock.
Rob
was the boss of our gang; he always had been, from the days when we terrorised
our nursery by taking toys from other children and hiding them. He was one of
the most intelligent people I had ever met, but he was also one of the coldest.
He felt nothing, ever. Even now, breaking the lock on a box held in the vaults
of the chapel, he felt nothing; or if he did he kept it well hidden from me. I
shivered, making the torch jolt violently and he glared up at me again, getting
to his feet.
“Just
hold it still will you?” he snapped. I took a step back, but we were
interrupted by Jake, who was standing watch on the door.
“Hurry
up Rob,” he said. “There’s a guy wandering around. I reckon he’s putting
flowers down, but he might come here afterwards. If you can’t get into it, just
bring the whole thing.”
“Don’t
be ridiculous,” said Rob. “It weighs a ton and I don’t need the whole thing. I
just want what’s mine. Now, Jo, hold that damned torch steady and then we can
get this done and get out of here.”
“Sooner
the better, mate. This place is really beginning to creep me out,” said Jake,
with a shudder.
“Idiot,”
muttered Rob, as Jake headed back to the door. He knelt back beside the box and
I held the torch obligingly in place. Rob gave a cry of triumph as the lock
suddenly sprung back and he opened the lid. I looked over his shoulder,
curiously, to see a mishmash of objects, old robes wrapped around a variety of
gold and silver items. There were jewelled chalices, crosses and other such
artifacts. Rob’s fingers touched them all. He searched until he came upon a
small bundle. He took it out and unwrapped it, revealing a tiny gold cross hung
on a chain. I stared at it wordlessly; it was so simple, yet so beautiful.
“It
belonged to my great grandmother,” said Rob. “My Nan
always said the church stole it from her before she was buried, even told me
where it was, but I never really believed it until that priest was talking
about this box the other week at school.”
I
recalled the wizened figure of the old priest standing in the hall, as we sat
restlessly at sixth form assembly, bored as he rambled on about the history of
the chapel. Rob must have paid more attention than I had.
“Can
we go now, Rob?” I asked. Rob looked up at me, a smile on his face. I smiled
back, tentatively, as he got to his feet. He slipped an arm round my shoulders
and laughed.
“This
place worry you, Jo?” he asked. I nodded and held my breath until he let go of
me, kneeling once again to close the box. He pushed it back against the wall
and then strode past me to the tiny staircase we had come in through. As we got
to the bottom though, I heard Jake, coughing loudly. That was the signal that
we should not come back upstairs. Rob grabbed my arm and pulled me back into
the shadows, bringing a finger to his lips. I felt a rush of fear. Now that he
had what he was looking for, I wanted to get out of here. The adrenaline rush
of breaking into this place was gone, replaced with irrational fear at the
thought of sharing the depths of the earth with the corpses that were buried
all around us. Rob kept his eyes on the stairs, a slight smile on his face. I
was sure he knew I was afraid and did not care. His eyes suddenly shifted to the
box. He crossed the room, silently, taking the torch from me. He shone it on
the box again and opened the lid. He took the chalice from the top; a silver
one with a gemstone decoration along its base. He held it to the light and
smirked, then nodded. I shook my head, desperately, but he ignored me. When he
reached my side I went to speak, but he grabbed my arm and shook his head.
Silent tears filled my eyes. This was wrong; taking back his great
grandmother’s cross was different somehow.
From
outside, I heard a crash of thunder, as if the heavens themselves rebuked us
for what he had done. I felt suddenly as if a huge weight had fixed itself to
my heart. I met Rob’s arrogant smile with a glare, suddenly angry at him for
putting us both in this position.
“Alright,
guys, up you come,” called Jake. I shook Rob’s hand from me and stormed up the
stairs ahead of him.
“What’s
her problem?” I heard Jake ask.
“I
don’t know; time of the month?” suggested Rob. He laughed out loud as he showed
Jake the chalice. I headed out of the chapel door, straight into the storm.
Lightning flashed overhead, lighting up the graveyard, eerily. Thunder rumbled,
darkly, as if condemning what we had done. I shivered, involuntarily and
stepped back, straight into a solid mass of flesh. I gave a cry of fear, but
then heard Rob’s laugh.
“Come
on, Jo,” he said. “It’s only me. Calm down, will you? Let’s go.”
He
led the way out of the graveyard. I looked back just once and saw the man who
had disturbed us in the chapel standing, watching. Even from a distance, it
seemed his eyes accused us; knew what we had done. Superstition welled up
within me; it was surely wrong to steal from a chapel.
Three
days later there was an article in the paper, briefly describing a break in at
the chapel; a box opened and a chalice taken. There was no mention of the
cross, so tiny that it probably lay forgotten about for years before we took
it. The chalice though was more important. It had been the gift of a wealthy
landlord over a hundred years ago, said to have been donated because he had
been condemned to hang for the murder of one of his workers and he wanted to
make peace with God. We had stolen that peace.
***
The
storm continues to rage around me, complaining loudly. Tears are streaming
freely down my cheeks, as I find the gate to the cemetery. I push the gate open
and try to swallow my terror. The chalice is tucked in my coat, protected from
the elements. Rob and Jake don’t know; they would be furious. The chapel door
is already unlocked, banging in the wind. I force myself to enter, to approach
the altar. In the shadows, I feel his
eyes watching me. Oddly, I no longer feel threatened by the figure I can sense
rather than see standing in the corner, just beyond the altar, watching my
every move. I stand before it and take
the chalice from my coat. I hold it out before me and place it on the altar,
before the crucifix.
“I’m
sorry,” I whisper, to no one in particular. Outside the storm dies down and
within me my own tempest is calmed. The shadowy figure, standing at the altar
fades away and I step back, out into the moonlit night, suddenly clear and
cool, the clouds broken and parted as if they never were. I pull down my hood
and a lightness touches my soul, as I leave the cemetery and the ghosts of the
past behind me.
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