Jude Jelicic The Chapel of Death

by Jude Jelicic

A village, the first sign of civilisation I’d seen all night “finally,” I thought to myself but as dark as the humble village was, I pushed my way through the crops and fields of tall grass shrouding the village. Stumbling on every rock through the fields, an odour so maliciously pungent filled the air but I was persistent my eye lids were getting heavy and my body started to grow weary, legs shaking from fatigue. The closer to the houses I got the more of an instinct to call for help was beaten out of me, I soon found myself in the middle of the dirt roads and pathways dividing the sheds, shacks and poorly built wooden houses. The streets were dotted with the occasional horse drawn cart and wagons of hay; with every step I took through the village I felt observed.

The pungent and vulgar odour grew stronger robbing me of air. Light gleamed on the ground ahead of me, a drop of hope was returned to my helpless soul. Around the corner the only building with open arms appeared warmly glowing, a chapel, seeming to be Christian. In my situation I didn’t care, it was the only warm and welcoming looking building placed in the village. Approaching steadily I could feel my legs weakening further, was I just tired or was I scared?

All went quiet, the cricket chirps died out and the wind’s howls silenced, the gravel and dirt stopped crunching beneath my feet when abruptly the chapel a mere seven or so meters ahead illuminated in song, the beautifully eerie choir melodically serenaded me with a biblical song “amazing grace how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me, I once was lost, but now I'm found, Was blind but now I see.”

Paralysed I was, the evil odour leaked from the chapel. I knew that if I stepped through the big wooden doors of the building I’d see something so unrealistically evil I’d never be the same again, these were not holy grounds and I was not in a good situation.

My hands pressed up against the cracked water damaged doors of the hell turned chapel when the singing of the demonic choir halted, I mustered up the strength and swung the doors open with such might, the sudden realisation of my mistake on entering this graveyard of a village occurred to me. Greeted by the corrupted air and evil, the rafters of the chapel were lined with rotting, bloody bodies hanging from such mangled necks, intestines drooped from their lifeless carcases. Women and men, young and old the sight was of such malice than it disgusted me, I noticed my feet splashing in the puddles of stale blood that dampened the old wooden floor boards.

A deep and raspy male voice interrupted my gawking. “Sinners” the voice uttered, “they were the real sinners” the voice viciously hissed “they… they worshipped whom they call their god, a false idol, a coward and they paid the price with their worthless lives.” The bodies that loosely hung from the roof dropped to the floor, “you… are… a… filthy pig” growled the voice. Abruptly the corpses rose to their feet.

Missing twenty seven year old’s body found crucified in Autumn forest.