Chapter 1: The Unsettling Confession

Chapter 1: The Unsettling Confession v2

The church was empty.

Father Daniel sat alone in the dim candlelight, the scent of incense still lingering in the air. Outside, the rain tapped against the stained-glass windows, a slow, rhythmic pattern like impatient fingers.

It was late. Too late for confessions.

He ran a hand through his graying hair, exhaling slowly. The weight of the day pressed down on him, heavier than usual. He had already locked the doors.

Then—

The soft creak of the confessional booth.

Daniel stiffened.

No one should be here.

The wooden divider between them trembled slightly as a shadowed figure stepped inside. Heavy, uneven breathing filled the tiny space. The air shifted, carrying the scent of rain… and something metallic.

Blood. Or rust.

A silence stretched between them—thick, uneasy.

Daniel cleared his throat, steadying himself. "May the Lord be in your heart and help you to confess your sins with true sorrow."

For a moment, nothing.

Then, a voice. Low. Shaky. Haunted.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

Daniel leaned forward. The man's voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried an unsettling weight.

"What troubles you, my son?"

The silence pulsed.

Then the words that would unravel everything:

"I killed a man."

Daniel's breath caught.

He had heard many confessions—of infidelity, of anger, of betrayals whispered in the dark—but this was different.

This wasn't guilt.

It was certainty.

A promise.

Daniel forced his voice to remain steady. "When did this happen?"

Another pause.

Then:

"It hasn't yet."

The candlelight flickered. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the booth's lattice.

A chill coiled around Daniel's spine.

"But it will," the man continued. "He's already dead. You'll see."

Daniel's grip tightened on the edge of his stole. He had counseled many lost souls, guided them back from the brink of darkness, but this… this was different.

"Who?" he asked, his throat suddenly dry.

The man exhaled, breath shuddering. "I don't know his name."

"And where?"

"The old chapel. He's waiting there."

Daniel's fingers curled into his palm.

"Why are you telling me this?"

The man let out a sharp breath, almost a sob. "Because I forget. And I need someone to remember."

Daniel frowned. "Forget?"

The man let out a shaky, humorless laugh.

"It keeps happening, Father. Over and over. I remember long enough to confess… then it's gone."

His voice cracked. Splintered like old wood under pressure.

Then—

"You won't remember this either."

Daniel's pulse hammered. "What do you mean?"

But the man was already moving. A dark shape against the booth's lattice.

Daniel reached out instinctively. "Wait—"

Too late.

The door creaked open. A shadow slipped out.

Daniel sat frozen. The space where the man had been felt colder.

Outside, the rain grew heavier, pounding against the stained glass like muffled screams.

A gust of wind swept through the church, flickering the candles.

The silence that followed was not normal silence.

It was thick. Heavy.

Waiting.

Daniel Stares into the Dark

Daniel remained in the booth, fingers still curled against the wooden divider. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

It was a prank, he told himself. Some disturbed soul looking for attention.

Yet, deep down, he didn't believe that.

There was something in the way the man had spoken. That hollow certainty. The weight behind his words.

Daniel had spent decades listening to confessions. He knew when a sinner was merely seeking forgiveness… and when they were running from something darker.

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to move. His muscles felt stiff, as if they had been frozen in place.

He stepped out of the confessional booth and scanned the empty church. The wooden pews stood silent, their polished surfaces reflecting the dim candlelight.

No sign of the man.

The heavy doors at the entrance remained closed. No footsteps echoed through the stone corridors.

It was as if he had never been here at all.

Yet, something lingered.

A presence.

A weight in the air.

Daniel turned toward the altar, where the statue of Christ loomed in the candlelight. The flickering flames cast shifting shadows across the figure's face, making it seem almost… watchful.

Judging.

His gaze dropped to his own hands—still trembling.

The Decision

Daniel should have walked away.

He should have locked up and left, dismissing the confession as a cruel joke.

But the words gnawed at him.

"The old chapel. He's waiting there."

That chapel had been abandoned for years. No one went there anymore—not since the fire.

His mind warred against itself.

If he went, and there was nothing… he would have wasted his time.

But if he didn't go, and the man had told the truth…

Daniel exhaled sharply.

He couldn't ignore it.

Even if it was nothing, he had to be sure.

He reached for his coat, slipping it over his shoulders as he made his way toward the exit.

Outside, the storm raged. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and distant lightning.

Daniel stepped into the night, the cold rain seeping into his skin.

The path to the old chapel was long and winding, a forgotten stretch of road swallowed by trees.

As he walked, an eerie thought took root in his mind—

What if the man was right?

What if, by morning, he forgot this conversation ever happened?

The thought sent ice crawling down his spine.

He quickened his pace.

The old chapel was waiting.

And so was the truth.