Story 1184: The Sea Beneath the Church

The villagers never spoke of the old church on Hollow Hill.

Not because of its crumbling steeple or the faded stain-glass eyes that seemed to watch you.

But because at night, the pews whispered… and if you listened long enough,

you could hear the ocean beneath the floorboards.

Father Aldric had returned to tend the church after twenty years in exile.

He had once been its priest. Before the storm. Before the flood. Before the drowning.

The church was meant to be built on sacred stone, but that was a lie.

It was built on salt. On bones. On a sea that had no surface—just a mouth, waiting beneath.

He lit the lanterns out of habit, though the shadows were wrong.

They rippled. Moved. Waved.

A strange brine-slick wind stirred the air, and each flame flickered in rhythm—as if something far below was breathing.

Father Aldric tried to pray.

But his voice echoed back… wet.

That night, he walked barefoot down the aisle.