chapter 3: The Eyes in The Dark

Chapter 3: The Eyes in the Dark

The candle beside him flickered out.

The darkness swallowed the chapel whole.

For a moment, Daniel stood frozen, his breath shallow. The silence pressed against his ears, thick and suffocating. The storm still raged outside, but inside, it was too quiet.

Someone else was here.

He could feel it.

A presence, just beyond his sight. Watching. Waiting.

Slowly, his fingers curled into fists. He was a rational man. He had spent his life dealing with people's sins, comforting the grieving, confronting the broken. He had seen suffering, death, even cruelty. But he had never felt this.

This creeping, unnatural sense that reality was bending—warping around him like an old film reel burning at the edges.

And then—

A whisper.

Soft. Barely there.

"Father."

The voice came from behind him.

Daniel's pulse slammed against his ribs. The hairs on his arms stood on end.

He turned, slow and deliberate, scanning the chapel's shadowed interior. The candlelight from the altar flickered, casting eerie shapes across the pews. The old wood groaned as the wind outside howled against the broken windows.

Nothing.

His gaze swept over the darkened rows of pews, the forgotten altar, the shattered glass strewn across the floor. No one was there.

And yet—

The presence remained.

The Body That Watches

A gust of wind blew through the open doorway, kicking up dust and the scent of damp decay. Daniel swallowed hard, forcing himself to turn back to the body.

But when he looked down—

The victim's eyes were open.

Daniel staggered back. His stomach twisted.

They had been closed before. He was certain.

Weren't they?

He clenched his jaw, willing his pulse to slow. Maybe the wind had shifted the body. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. Maybe—

Then the corpse blinked.

Daniel's breath caught in his throat.

No. That wasn't possible.

The victim's face was still, pale, and lifeless—except for the eyes.

Wide. Watching. Unblinking.

His mouth went dry. He knew he should move, should turn away, should do something—but he couldn't.

A memory—faint, blurred—pushed at the edges of his mind.

Hadn't he seen those eyes before?

A sharp pain lanced through his skull. His vision swam.

Flashes of—

A shadowed figure standing over him.

A whisper he couldn't quite hear.

The cold weight of a gun in his hand.

Daniel staggered, gripping the edge of a broken pew to steady himself. His mind was lying to him. Or maybe it was trying to tell the truth.

He didn't know anymore.

The Moving Shadow

A creak.

Not from the body. From the far side of the chapel.

Daniel's head snapped up. His eyes locked onto the darkness beyond the altar.

Something was there.

He could barely make out the outline—a shifting, almost fluid silhouette nestled between the ruined pews. It wasn't moving toward him. It was just… standing there. Watching.

His chest tightened.

Say something.

"Who's there?"

No answer.

The shadow didn't move. But somehow, he knew—it was listening.

Daniel took a cautious step forward. The floor beneath him groaned in protest.

The moment his foot touched the ground—

The shadow moved.

Not walked. Not ran. Slid.

A sudden blur, a shift from one place to another without crossing the space between.

Daniel's breath hitched. No. That wasn't possible. It had been by the altar. Now it was near the back row of pews.

Too far. Too fast.

The air grew thick, pressing down on his chest like invisible hands. His pulse pounded in his ears.

He had to get out. Now.

He turned toward the exit—

And then—

"Father."

The whisper came from right behind him.

The Thing That Knows His Name

Daniel spun, his back slamming against a pew.

No one was there.

But the air was different now—charged, humming with something unseen. The feeling of being watched intensified, crawling under his skin like ants.

His legs felt stiff, unwilling to move.

The chapel seemed… different.

He couldn't explain it. The air felt heavier. The space between the pews looked narrower. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed deeper, stretched longer than they should be.

His eyes flicked back to the body on the floor.

The eyes were closed again.

A sharp chill ran down his spine.

Something was playing with him.

He forced a slow breath, his fingers gripping the wooden pew beside him. He had to get out. He could come back later—with someone else. Someone who could verify that he wasn't—

The candles on the altar blew out.

The darkness swallowed the room completely.

Daniel's breath caught. His hands trembled. He couldn't see. He couldn't move.

Then—

Soft. Barely there. Right against his ear.

"Father."

Cliffhanger: The Wrong Memory

Light.

A flash of lightning illuminated the chapel for a split second—

And Daniel saw it.

A reflection. Not his own.

A mirror, cracked and covered in dust, leaning against the wall near the altar.

For a moment, just as the lightning struck—

He saw himself.

Except… it wasn't him.

The face staring back was his—but younger. Colder. And covered in blood.

Daniel blinked. The mirror was empty.

And then—

Darkness.