Prologue

The chill of autumn had arrived early this year, and its touch could be felt throughout the elements, the conditions, that defined the human world. It drained the green from the leaves. Undermined the heat of the sun. And throughout the mornings, its gusts of wind pricked at the flesh of the living.

They, the warm-blooded, endured its little chill, and minor adjustments were made to concede to summer’s end. Scarves became commonplace, jackets slightly thicker, and with that, the living walked under a darker sun; under the blackness of earlier nights and the fresh misery of cloudy mornings.

But what of the dead; the cold-blooded creatures? The remnants of humanity who no longer walked the earth, but were buried six feet under it? Could they not feel the chill? Did they not desire to return to the warmth of flesh? To escape the misery of damp soil that surrounded their remnants?

For there was so much to be had upon the surface. Such sights to revisit; such moments to relive. And would they not desire escape? To end their darkness, and return to the light? One would have to think that they would. And some more than others.

Chapter One

Shaun adjusted the crease in his leather jacket.

“This is the latest.”

And his hand stretched out its usual offerings; the thick laminated sheets of monochrome moments that captured the crux of his passion as only his camera could. He took a loud gulp of his beer, tapped his hands on the cheap wooden table.

“Have a good look,” he smiled. “I daresay I’ve outdone myself.”

Andrew gripped his glass of red wine, watching it gleam under the autumn sun. His eyes moved past it carefully, close to the cafe’s murky interior, and his foot tapped out an impatient rhythm upon the coldness of the ground.

“Another,” he said, more to himself than the pretty waitress that brushed past his eyes. But nevertheless, she caught his gaze; knew the signal of a thirsty customer. Another glass was before him before he could ask for her name, and with that she slipped back into the darkness of the cafe’s walls.

Andrew adjusted the frame of his sunglasses. Shaun’s gift was still floating before him.

“Hot off the press, huh?” he chuckled, laughing to himself as he yanked the photos out of his best friend’s hand. The usual playfulness of his tone caught sharply in the back of his throat.

“Just look,” Shaun insisted, his own smile widening. “Tell me what you think.” And before Andrew’s hand was even flicking through each image, he was ready to provide him with all the salient details.

“Black and white,” he said, “as usual. But more gothic. A cemetery this time.”

“Cemetery.” Andrew’s breath echoed the word as his eyes began to absorb the prints. This representation of the dead and their dwelling. “Interesting,” he said quietly. And it was. There was no doubt Shaun had a perceptive eye, reflected in the fruits of his work.

Each image revealed the residence of death. The sweet slumber of souls past and their surroundings. The church came first; the initial shadow that caught the eye, its ancient structure overlooking the necropolis, like a stretch of unknowable darkness. It stood in each image, the perennial guard of its ground, and under its shadow stood the thickness of tombstones; cold slabs of names, births and deaths.

A sudden chill made its way up Andrew’s spine.

“I know,” Shaun chuckled. “So cold, isn’t it? So…dreary, so lifeless.” He signalled the pretty blonde waitress for another beer. “Go to the last one,” he said now. “The last photo. I found something else among the gravestones.”

Andrew obliged, his fingers quickly finding the final image. His eyes moved closer to its offerings. There was the church. Its shadow. The darkness of the graves. And something else stood out among them all. A dark figure; a tangible form of some sort, hands clasped together as if in silent prayer.

“A statue?”

Shaun’s hands mimicked the figure’s own.

“An angel,” he whispered. “A saint carved in dark stone, placed like a protector among the dead.”

Andrew held the image up to the murky autumn light. A smile teased his lips.

“I know,” Shaun said. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” And he sank into his chair, fetched a cigarette from his inner pocket. “Death can be beautiful, you know.” The tobacco found its way into his mouth as he smiled. “Death and its associates offer something…different. A more interesting display.”

Andrew nodded, turned the photo around. And that smile of his still remained.

“There’s more,” he said softly. “More beauty, I mean.” His hand flicked fresh cigarette smoke away from his face. “Take another look,” he said now. “At the statue. There’s something more interesting than death to be had.”

Immediately, Shaun snatched the image back, and his eyes perused its offerings ever so carefully. There was the shadow of the church (that black reflection that watched over everything), then the thick dots of tombstones scattered within it. And the angel, of course. The dark, dark angel. Still clasping her hands together. Still praying.

But what of the blur within her shadow? A subtle stretch of faded white that he’d missed before. The angel covered her, protected her, but still her figure was apparent.

“A girl.”

“Just a blur, but at least something living. Human beauty, so to speak.”

Shaun’s finger stroked the vague figure that dwelled among the shadows.

“A little light among the darkness,” he whispered. And then, in the voice of a schoolboy: “I wonder if she’s pretty.”

Andrew laughed.

“I don’t know,” he said, smiling. “But never mind. You can ask her.”

“When?”

“Next time, of course. Next time you visit the cemetery.” He lifted his glass of red wine in a brief salute before sampling its offerings. “Next time,” he said again. “Let’s hope she’s there.”

—

She was; a solid figure among the darkness and the shadows. He observed her for a while, from a distance, watched how she kneeled so carefully before one of the graves. Words were whispered from her lips, laments, condolences that he could not hear, and as he continued to watch, he saw her touch the gravestone with her scarlet lips.

Her mouth pressed itself upon the stone, kissed its top with a sorrow all too fitting for the residence of death. The tears were upon her now; silent streams that flowed from the depths of her eyes, marred her pallid cheeks. And at this, Shaun’s heart sank.

Was it her husband she mourned? An old lover her heart still clung to? For though her sobs were silent, he could see her pain. How she basked in sadness. How her face was defined by sorrow. And how beautiful her suffering. How pretty her countenance as she cried.

He moved himself closer to the cemetery, away from the low wall where he’d crouched and toward the gate. Its bars of shadow covered him almost immediately, and here he felt safe. Closer to her, but nonetheless sheltered, for such lines of darkness would not let him go discovered.

Here he stayed. Here he watched. Until she relinquished her hold upon the grave. Until she moved.

From the gate he observed the sea of shadowed grass and tombstones, and now he expected her to come to him; to navigate her way through this field of souls past and return to the world of the living.

But she did not. She moved further into the darkness. Past the last scattered lines of cracked tombstones and toward the greater shadows.

“The church, perhaps,” he said to himself. Yes, the church. Perhaps she was not as innocent as she seemed. Perhaps the deed of death lingered on her mind, the grave she’d kissed a guilty reminder of a past transgression. And now, she wished to be free. To enter the church, confess, and find salvation.

The church’s shadow was now swallowing her own; a petite grey spectre that mimicked the swaying of her arms as she moved forward, and it was as the mouth of the church began to eat her shadow that she stopped. Her eyes met that of the angel’s and she looked up at its height, how the thickness of grey stone seemed untouched by the darkness. Shaun watched as she stepped closer, her figure slipping into its own stretch of shadow. And how beautiful the pair looked. The saint and the sinner, side by side. Perhaps this would be her saviour; the forgiving figure upon which she would unburden her sins. If only her lips would move. If only the words would be brought forth, so that he didn’t have to come closer…

But he was out of his hiding place now, the gate closing silently behind him, and with fascination he watched, moved surreptitiously through the maze of grass and graves.

Surely she would speak. Surely she would notice. But only her shadow stirred; a black splotch, now captured by the angel’s own darkness.

And he could only observe for so long.

Shaun was careful not to sneak up on her. He was close enough now for her beauty to be discernible, and for a moment he did indeed stop, fascinated by the contrast before him. The pallor of her skin. The blackness of her shadow. A beauty that appeared almost fragile.

He walked steadily toward the statue, making sure to keep appropriate distance, and once his own flesh and blood stood under its shadow he allowed his eyes to examine its offerings. Up close its features were not so benign; not ones conforming to the protector or saint. It was beautiful, yes, perhaps even moving. A depiction set in stone that could strike one as a beauty of pure innocence when days were bright. Under the autumn sun, however, things took on a more somber appearance.

The eyes were sunken, set deep into the stone, so that shadows seeped deep into their sockets, and each wing was carved with a sharp tip too defined for his liking. He imagined how easy it would be to pierce flesh under such instruments. How effortlessly such tips could spill the blood of the living. And then, as if tempting fate, he reached out to touch them.

“No,” the girl said suddenly, her pink lips barely moving. “No.”

They faced each other now, and Shaun tried not to stare too openly at her countenance.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. His tone was defensive, but amicable enough.

“You’ll get hurt,” she replied, “if the tips cut you.” Her tone was firmer now, a little louder, and the accent escaping her lips gave a certain authority to her words.

“A little cut means nothing. How dangerous can it be?”

But she did not smile at the playfulness in his tone. Instead she moved closer (much to his delight), and now her slender fingers were listing all the things that could go wrong.

“You could get dirt trapped in your wound. There could be bacteria…illnesses clinging to such an old, unkempt thing that would leave you infected. And with God knows what.” Her voice rose ever so slightly at this notion, and as if aware of how she sounded, she looked away from him and brought her gaze toward the statue.

Shaun followed suit, his hand falling against his knee, and together the two gazed upon its beauty in mutual silence. The sun’s light had shifted during their conversation, and its cool warmth was being strangled by the greyness of the clouds, its meager glow threatening to retreat. The angel’s darkness seemed to bask in this, for the blackness in its eyes grew thicker, and now it seemed to stretch out in almost solid strips of shadow that crawled from both sockets to the edge of its chin.

“It’s cold,” the girl whispered. “Cold. Beautiful, but cold.”

Shaun nodded, and not knowing what else to do, carefully stretched out his hand.

“Shaun.”

“Eve.” And a smile was brought forth from her lips. She gripped the warmth of his flesh eagerly enough. “I like coming here,” she explained. “It’s so peaceful. So quiet. There’s nothing so quiet as death.”

His own smile faltered at this, and for a moment the two stared at each other with equal unease. Before them, the angel’s shadow was thickening in celebration of the fading sun, and as its darkness spilled onto them, Eve gave a small, almost childish laugh that did wonders to ease Shaun’s sudden discomfort. He smiled at her again, and now he too was laughing.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t mean to come across as macabre.”

But she didn’t. At least not to him. Strange, yes; still somewhat mysterious. But beautiful. Warm. And he wanted to understand her.

“I’ve always liked this place,” she continued, and her hand swept across the shadowed gravestones that dotted the field. “Where else can you find such silence? Such peace?” Her head nodded toward the outside world. “Out there nothing is quiet; at least not for long. But here, there is nothing else.” Her eyes closed at the notion, and a small sigh seemed to escape from her lips. “Sometimes, silence is all I need.”

Shaun nodded as he pulled his jacket tighter round his flesh, hugging himself with its warmth. A gust of wind was disturbing their peace now, its trail kicking at the grass and the fallen leaves that lay so crumpled in its path.

“It’s getting chilly,” he said, almost to himself. “Typical autumn weather.”

Eve hugged herself as the wind drew closer. Her stance mimicked his own.

“As cold as the grave,” she laughed. “And too cold.”

She stretched out her hand.

“I must go,” she said as they exchanged their farewells. “But perhaps I’ll see you again. I’m here often, you see, so chances are if you visit, I’ll be here.”

They smiled at one another, and Shaun nodded with subtle delight.
“Nice meeting you,” he said.

“You too.”

She walked away from him, out of the shadows. And only the angel was left for him to admire.

—

The small apartment at 21 Kensington Street was still waiting for his return. Its offerings were sparse; almost paltry when compared to adjacent dwellings, but nevertheless, cozy enough to come home to. Behind the door there was no entrance hall; no dedicated space for the reception of guests, or the occasional midnight lover. Instead, the door gave way to the small stretch of the living room, where Shaun spent most of his time.

There was the cheap sofa (which he’d assembled himself), and the small coffee table where he kept his books and magazines on photography. A small television graced the living room’s left corner, and as the clouds outside shifted, the shadows upon it moved, gently slid off the top of its frame. And how generous the sunlight that spilled in. And how kind of the clouds to permit its golden glow. The large window was quickly absorbing its warmth, and by the time Shaun’s key turned in the lock, the soft light had spread like a curtain, the room bathed in its shade.

Shaun admired the sunlight for as long as he could, smiling as if this were a gift; a presentation of love or compassion, prepared by the hands of an old friend. He sat himself on the couch, his feet resting on the table as he struggled out of his jacket. With a smile he watched the sunlight.

All good things must come to an end, he thought. Even beauty.

And soon the chill of autumn brought a tangible truth to his words, and he watched with unsurprised disappointment as the sun began to fade. Its light retreated, returned to the source, and the glowing orb was forced behind a curtain of clouds. The performance over, Shaun crossed to the window and drew the blinds shut.

As he lit his cigarette and flicked through the TV’s offerings, he allowed his mind to drift. Back to the cemetery. Back to the angel. Back to Eve. He inhaled sharply as the day’s images returned to him, and he wondered just how much beauty his lens could capture. For the graveyard was truly beautiful, and the shadows that dwelled within did not disgust him in the slightest. They too were of interest; they too were beautiful. But darker. Less tangible. And troubling, in their own way.

In his mind’s eye, he saw them, how they covered everything, and the darkness revealed what had been hidden before. For his memory recalled the gravestones; the maze of cracked stones declaring the end of life, the beginning of death, and now the shadows upon them moved, shifted without aid from the sun that struggled to escape the clouds. He sighed as the images continued, and a strong sense of unease pervaded him. Why hadn’t he noticed such movement before? Why had his eyes not witnessed such shifting darkness, as his mind now recalled?

Shaun shook his head, and now his eyes closed, letting the world of his memory take over. The stretches of shadow were retreating, and he was outside the cemetery, just behind the gate. Watching it all happen. Watching Eve. Her lips were leaving their mark on one of the gravestones, and the darkness was retreating, each stretch of shadow relinquishing its hold upon the field; upon grass and grave alike. Now the strips of darkness moved backward until they reached the last row of stones, and as Eve moved away from her loved one’s marker, the shadows slithered around her, back the way they’d come. The mouth of the church was ready to receive them, its doors open. And so too was the angel.

Only when the heat of the cigarette reached his lips did Shaun finally awake. He bolted upright and spat the thing down upon the floor, silently cursing as his hands brushed the ash from his lips, and the stubble upon his chin. He cleared his throat loudly as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

“Shit.” The word escaped heavily from his lips, and now he rose, walked toward the window, and drew open the blinds. The faint misery of late autumn evening greeted his eyes. Behind the thickness of sullen grey clouds, the sun was struggling to light the remains of the day, its dull glow feeding only the shadows it hid behind, making them all the more discernible.

“Shit,” he said again. “What a day.”

And it had been a strange day, hadn’t it? Certainly not uneventful. He’d met Eve; the beautiful, mysterious Eve, with the invitation to see her again. That had been the day’s greatest gift, and indeed more than he’d hoped for.

I’m here often, she’d said. Perhaps I’ll see you again.

And she would see him again. The day after tomorrow, perhaps. He’d show her his camera, his hobby, and the places, the moments, his passion had allowed him to capture. Perhaps it would interest her. Perhaps she’d allow him to take a picture. He smiled at the thought, and now he reached for his backpack, which he’d placed just under the coffee table before dozing off.

The cool black of the Nikon found its way into his hands, its viewfinder wanting him to see the world through its eyes, to capture moments before they were gone.

“Later,” he said, referring to the scattered ash and the cigarette that still littered the floor. He pointed the camera at the clouds.

He would clear up the mess, of course. But for now, he allowed himself to snap away. To capture the last moments of the gloomy sun, and the shadows that shifted in the clouds.

Chapter Two

Andrew cut his steak further, smiling as the blade sank in. The tender section of meat began to blossom red. He swabbed the new piece around his plate, so that the meat soaked up its own scarlet juices.

“So you met her?” he said, still smiling.

“We chatted,” Shaun replied. “Introduced ourselves. That was it.” He wiped at a piece of spaghetti that clung to his mouth.

“So how is she?” Andrew prodded. “What’s she like?”

“Eve’s her name. And she’s mysterious; comes off as a bit strange.” Shaun laughed a little as he remembered their encounter. “Our conversation was brief, so I don’t know that much about her.”

“Okay,” Andrew said through mouthfuls of steak. “Well, what do you know?” He laughed to himself, tapped his fork on the edge of his soon empty plate. “She’s beautiful, right? Very pretty, like in the photo you showed me. But, what else?” he said playfully, teasingly. “What else?”

Shaun smiled. “She likes the cemetery; says it’s the most peaceful place she knows. And she’s there often.”

Andrew shook his head facetiously.

“A girl who likes cemeteries, eh? Now some guys might find that a little strange.” He shoved the last piece of steak into his mouth with a chuckle. “So how often is she there, then?”

“Often enough. Often enough for me to see her again.” Shaun leaned further back into his chair. “I like her. I find her…engaging, and I’d like to get to know her better.”

Andrew signaled the brunette waitress; the same one who’d obviated his advances two days before. “So when will you see her again?” he asked as the brunette took their plates.

“Tomorrow, I hope. She should be there. And this time I’ll bring my camera; take more photos of the place.” Shaun leaned forward, elbows resting on the edge of the table. “It’s a strange place, Andrew. A dark place. It’s beautiful, somewhat gothic, as you’d expect most cemeteries to be. But then there’s more. Something else.” And his mind returned to the shadows. To the angel, and the mouth of the church.

Shaun cleared his throat.

“I can’t explain it,” he said eventually. “But the place seems to draw just enough light to create the darkest of shadows. And I’ve never seen anything like it.” He slapped his knee abruptly, as if wanting to suddenly cease all talk of angels and darkness. “Never mind,” he said. “I’ll take some pictures of the place tomorrow, and show them to you. Maybe then, you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

Andrew made a positive gesture with the now empty beer glass he held in his hand.

“Good idea,” he replied cheerfully, and a sly smile creased his lips.

“What?”

“Speaking of pictures, I want more of that mysterious beauty.”

And the pair laughed together as they ordered more drinks.

—

He visited the cemetery sometime in the afternoon, and of course she was there, as he’d hoped. But this time he did not approach her. Like before, he remained outside. Like before, he observed. Her lips were once again upon the coldness of a grave; the same one, no doubt, that he’d seen her embrace the first day of their encounter.

The shadows hid her well, the angel’s darkness spreading to join blackness that flowed from the graves onto the field. But through his lens, she could not hide from his gaze, and as he zoomed in he was privy to the state of her being.

Her thin flesh, always innocently pallid, had grown red, the shade deepening as his eyes gazed up toward her cheeks. Here the shade soured, blurred by the streams that rolled gently upon them. For she was crying now, as her lips pulled away, her gentle fingers finding a crack upon this marker of a soul now lost. Her teeth chattered as she sobbed, small whispers of gentle sorrow sighing through her lips.

Shaun inhaled sharply, and soon his finger came to rest upon a most familiar button. The button that froze time, stole moments from its domain to be forever displayed. And he began to snap away, and each click of the shutter was a small miracle being sealed within the camera’s eye. For was her beauty not worthy of observance? Was her sorrow not a paragon of innocent suffering? Her mystery, of course, remained; for tears could not reveal the fruit of a person’s character. But such beauty. Such heartbreaking beauty. And how he longed for its sweetness to be his alone.

As he continued to capture this moment, he felt his heart stir, his own eyes threaten to glisten. So sharp was the heat of his emotions, and he imagined holding her, licking the tears away from her face, and that the pleasure of her sorrow was his alone. His to command. His to apprehend. And what greater power could be found than to be master of such innocent beauty.

The shame of what he’d done; of what his body felt toward her tears, did not come until a few minutes after, and with that he tucked his camera away, and left his Eve to her own devices.

Perhaps next time he’d go to her. Perhaps next time he’d comfort her. But for now, his new photos would have to suffice.

For the next few days he stayed away from the cemetery, wanting a break from its darkness. He dined frequently with Andrew; breakfast and lunch, at least, and in the evening, when the day was soon to die, he remained in his room, eyes feasting on the photos he’d taken. The guilt he felt, the shame of capturing such vulnerability without his subject’s permission, remained strong, but was not enough to mar his enjoyment.

He would stare at their offerings, like a dreamer stares into the clouds, and sometimes he too would weep (if only for a moment) like the beauty he was gazing upon. With the photos in his arm he would fall asleep, the monochrome moments giving way to such vivacious dreams. And in them, all suffering was tasteful.

The next time he visited, she was again in tears, and this time he did not exploit her sorrow. He opened the gate and went to her, gently made his presence known, and soon the poor girl was sobbing into his shoulder.

He held her close, breathed in her tears, and when his fingers dabbed at her cheeks she did not pull away.

“Sometimes it’s so cold,” she sighed through her sorrow. “So cold in this place. Too peaceful. Too quiet.” Her eyes slowly drifted toward the object of her mourning.

“Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder if this is it. If there is no better place, only the darkness.” Her tears were slowing now, and she looked up at him. “How can we ever truly know our loved ones are watching us? How can we ever truly know they are at peace?”

Shaun smiled as best he could, and his finger laid its warmth upon her lips.

“I don’t think we can know,” he admitted softly. “It’s all beyond us; part of what we’ll never understand. But we must believe. We must believe that there is peace. That there is some form of existence after death.” He glanced deeper into her eyes. “We must believe that faith can be rewarded.”

Eve cast her gaze downward.

“I believe in the soul, at least. Perhaps that is enough.” And she broke gently away from his hold and began adjusting the tangled mess of her dark hair. A small smile found its way to her lips. “I…feel better now,” she said. “Thank you.”

Before Shaun could reply she caught hold of his hand, and was now guiding him further into the shadows; toward the mouth of the church, and the angel that stood forever guarding its sacrosanct walls.

Shaun gazed into its face, its calm features marred by the sky’s dark misery. And how the shadows seemed to play within its eyes!

“Come,” Eve said with new found joy. “Let’s look at the angel.” She pinched his cheek playfully, and like a good boy he complied, letting her hand guide his gait.

Eve laughed as he began to blush.

“Feeling warm, are we?” she asked, and then laughed again as her hand relinquished its grip upon his. She stood in front of the angel now, and let its shadow bathe her flesh. And how deep the eyes as it gazed upon her. How sunken and black with its own darkness.

Shaun stopped behind her, and his eyes found a way to observe her through the shadows. He focused on the whiteness of her flesh as much as he could, and how the tears had dried up with not a mark upon her cheeks.

“Take a picture of me,” she said suddenly, turning to face him. “Take a picture of me and the angel.”

Shaun’s head snapped toward her.

“You have a camera,” she laughed, “don’t you?”

For the first time, Shaun felt the weight hanging from his neck.
“You—you don’t mind?”

Eve smiled at him.

“Of course not, silly. Why else would I ask?”

And when, after a protracted moment, Shaun still stood there, dumbfounded, she went toward him, grabbing the camera that hung snugly across his chest. She placed it in his hands.

“Go ahead,” she smiled, returning to the darkness of the statue. “Snap away.”

Shaun’s fingers brought the camera up to his face, and with the happiest heart, he complied.

“So, how old is this place?” Shaun asked as they went in.

“God knows; not too old, I suspect. It has, perhaps, a hundred years to its name.”

They had left the angel behind and, at Eve’s suggestion, ventured into the church itself to explore its arcane offerings.

It was cold inside, Shaun noticed. Cold and dark. Despite its apparent tender age, there was much erosion to be found within its walls. Everything was carved of stone, the greyness a bare, desolate shade that defined the floor, walls, and ceiling, and only carpets of dust graced the stretch of distance past the pews that led to the altar. There were items to be found upon this altar; old, useless things that could have once passed for ostentatious trinkets. But it had been long since this church had preached, no doubt. Long since devout hands had shared its offerings. Only the dust, it seemed, was content to touch this display of holy apparatus.

Eve coughed as the thickness of the air hit her; the musty stench of old stone, wood, and neglect.

“Look at this place,” she whispered. “It’s like a shepherd without a flock.” Her hand brushed clumps of dust away from her face; motes of thick greyness that stirred with sudden activity at their arrival. The air was thick with their darkness. A holy welcome, indeed!

They made their way toward the altar, fighting the cold and the dust that seemed to catch at their eyes and faces, wanting to get under their skin.

Shaun coughed brutally.

“Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.” And with a nervous smile he laughed at his own joke.

Eve blew at the swirls of dust before her, her hands leaning on the wooden altar as she smiled.

“Such lovely trinkets,” she said, and her hand began to sift through the altar’s neglected offerings. Goblets and crosses that time had stripped of any glory they may have once possessed. There were books, too, under the mess of brass and silver, leather-bound copies of the Lord’s words that had not been read in a lifetime. And underneath it all, underneath these copies of God’s will, and items of His glory that had seen better days, there was one final offering. One final leather-bound edition that no amount of dust had dared mar.

Shaun glanced over Eve’s shoulder as her hands picked it up. The Latin inscription upon the book’s cover stared gloomily back upon his gaze, each letter of dull gold set deep into the blackness of the leather.

“What is it?” Shaun asked.

“A book; a bible. From a time when even benign religions were extreme.”

Shaun gazed closer, trying to read the inscription.

“What’s it say?”

Eve returned the book to the mess upon the altar.

“It says: No rest for the wicked.”

And with that, she moved on, while Shaun’s eyes lingered on the book’s solid blackness.

“Our last stop, now,” Eve announced as they walked slowly on. “The final highlight of today’s little tour.”

They’d ventured down a small corridor just to the right of the altar, and now its offerings were coming into focus.

Shaun blinked. “A confessional booth; a large one.”

Eve smiled. “Not a bad idea, huh? A larger booth means more space. And space makes people more comfortable.”

She took his hand.

“Come on,” she laughed, and together they went in, she closing the stiff wooden panel behind them.

Inside it was dark; darker than the church itself, but as Shaun’s eyes adjusted to the gloom he quickly absorbed the interior around him.

There was a seat of red fabric, its length stretched out as if made to accommodate the sins of two. Or perhaps the confessor could lie down, like a patient at a psychiatrist’s office. As he examined the bench further, he wondered if this was indeed the case, for at the end of its stretch lay a thick pillow, clearly ruffled, clearly worn.

He shook his head at the notion; that religion had preceded the reclining couches of Doctor Phil, and as he sat down upon its warped fabric, it was all he could do to keep himself from laughing aloud.

Eve remained standing, her eyes gazing down upon his grin.

“Lie back,” she smiled. “Make yourself comfortable.”

He did as he was told. And she lay herself on top of him.

“Now,” she said softly before Shaun could protest, “I think it’s time for a little confession.”

He frowned as her breasts poked at the shape of his camera.

“I don’t understand.”

Her smile stiffened. She slapped him. Hard.

“Oh yes, you do,” she cooed. “You do. You do.”

She removed the camera from around his neck, cast it to the ground.

“You’ve been watching me,” she said, her hands pinching the thickness of his cheeks.

Shaun closed his eyes.

“Well?”

“Yes.”

A sigh found its way from Eve’s lips.

“You took pictures, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You watched me cry.”

“Yes!”

And now Shaun began to struggle against her, tried to place his feet on the ground, but she was adamant, and her hands were soon at his throat to pin him down. He gasped at the firmness of her fingers. Tears began to form in his eyes.

“Now, now,” she whispered. “You had your turn. Now let me have mine.”

Her hands brushed at the streams upon his cheeks, and she took him in her arms, brought his face to the softness of her breasts.

“Eve…”

“Hush now.”

“I—I’m sorry.”

Shaun’s breath came in gasps. His face began to flush.

“I’m not angry at you,” Eve assured him. “Not in the slightest.” She stopped rocking him, pulled his face close to her own. “I just wanted you to be honest. Do you understand?”

Shaun nodded, and his breath began to calm.

“Honesty is so important,” she continued, and a teasing smile found its way to her lips. “Now, it is time for my confession.”

Shaun closed his eyes, and felt his head returned to the pillow. Eve’s hands floated down to his hips.

“I knew,” she whispered, unbuckling his belt. “I knew you were watching me. I knew you wanted to watch.”

Shaun felt his jeans loosen.

“And I watched you,” she smiled, her hands finding his erection. “I watched you, as you were watching me. Through my tears I could see you. I could desire you.”

Shaun opened his eyes. The tears had faded from their depths.

“You—you want me?” His voice was raised; high-pitched, like that of a schoolboy’s.

“I want you, Shaun. More than you know.” And her giggle echoed for so long before fading into the darkness.

They fucked, and with such passion, he pounding into her again and again while she goaded him on with lustful whispers that made the sex seem all the more sensual. All the more satisfactory. Only the emptiness of the church heard their cries, and its walls returned their lust in sharp echoes that lingered for the longest of moments before finally fading away.

Throughout it all, Shaun could feel how intense she was; how close he came to releasing his seed inside her. But she, with her playful smile, would allow no such thing, and instead she forced him to contain his pleasure; brought him to the brink of his limit without release.

And so they went on, until the evening gave in to night, the cemetery’s shadow absorbed by its omnipresent curtain. Like a plague the blackness permeated all, until nothing was discernible. They saw none of their pleasures, or how they clung to the scent of each other’s flesh.

And only in this darkness, did she finally allow him his release. And the warmth of his seed was so wonderful a gift to have inside her.

—

As the slivers of spring began to blossom, so too did Shaun and Eve’s intense romance. Their trysts became a nightly affair, each evening with the same walk among the graves, among the angel, and concluding with the taking of each other’s flesh, while the carvings of the church’s forgotten saints looked on.

Sometimes their lust would be released among the pews, the couple moving from one to the other as they experimented with each other’s bodies. More often than not, however, the confessional would be their home, and they would make love in every which way until the darkness of night smothered them.

With the presence of spring the misery of autumn was gone, and each night brought a new freshness; a welcome chill that cooled warm flesh, that made everything feel more alive. And of course, during the day, the sun was out in the fullness of its glory, for all to bask in, for all to see. All creatures, all existence, seemed to feed on its benign shade, and the cemetery was no exception.

But whereas all other forms seemed to welcome the light, the graveyard did not. For its shadows remained, and under the light, the darkness thickened. And so black the gravestones became. And so deep the eyes of the angel, as if now it was alive, and weeping the shadows of tears.

No one noticed this change, of course; at least not consciously. But the few passersby, and even fewer morning visitors, seemed to vanish. The cemetery’s beauty, it seemed, was a thing of the past.

The unfelt fear, whatever it was, did not spread to Shaun or his beloved Eve, and by mid-spring, they were the cemetery’s only living occupants. And how wonderful it was to be alone! To be among the dead! Among the truest form of silence, with no curious visitor to intrude upon their space. To them, the arcane graveyard had become almost sacrosanct. A peace, given to them by the dead.

Chapter Three

Shaun laughed, almost childishly, his hands eager to catch up with her.

“I can see you,” he smiled. “I can see you now!”

Eve giggled as she continued her path among the gravestones, jumping from one shadowed slab to the other. She turned around, briefly, to make sure he was following. And his hands took advantage of her error.

“Got you!”

“Shaun! Shaun!”

He nibbled at her neck, so pleased at how she feigned anger, despair, over being caught, and thus ending their little game.

“No hiding from me now, Eve. No, no.”

Eve pushed his head away, her fingers combing through the thickness of his hair.

“Let’s play again, then,” she laughed. “I want to play again.”

She tried to control his eagerness now, to gently stop the flow of his hands as they caressed her.

“Stop.”

“I want my prize.”

“Okay, stop!”

And together, the pair fell down into the shadows, and there, among the graves, they shared the heat of each other’s lips while the dead looked on.

The sun had risen early this morning, in an unusual fury, and all manner of shadows deepened, fed further upon its light. An ocean of darkness covered the dead and their residence.

“So,” Shaun smiled. “Breakfast?”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

The couple rose from the ground and walked further through the cemetery, picking a patch of shadowed grass on which to place themselves.

Shaun slung his bag upon the grass, and proceeded to empty its contents one by one. The offerings of their morning meal were quickly revealed.

There was the tall thermos of black coffee, the flask of earl grey tea; next to those, two full cartons of semi-skimmed milk. Two croissants, still warm, were followed by freshly made sandwiches, and for the meal’s conclusion, a healthy serving of strawberries with thick cream.

As he laid all the items before them, Eve licked her lips, and Shaun laughed as he heard her stomach growl.

“Hungry,” he smiled, as he handed her a plate.”Hungry, hungry girl.”

They ate slowly and heartily, enjoying the morning’s edible wonders, and though their stomachs were growling and their mouths were dry, they still allowed themselves to play with each other.

Their tongues, so firmly intertwined, fed the taste of milk and coffee from one to the other, and even the food became a creative part of their little game, for they would eat out of each other’s hands, or off more intimate parts of their bodies.

And once the physical hunger had been satisfied, they could finally turn to their lust; yield to their greatest temptation, the greatest desires of the flesh. They indulged as much as they wanted, in the rapture of sweat and body and fluids, and to hell with any sudden witnesses, be they living or dead.

The picnic and its remnants were brushed aside, all leftovers discarded to the thickness of the grass, and with that they stripped the remaining clothes from the heat of each other’s bodies.

Shaun said nothing as he drove himself into her, the smile on his face widening as he watched his Eve gasp. She yelped loudly as he continued, biting her lip as she waited for the pain to subside, for the pleasure to bury her in its waves of glory. It came, of course, after only a moment’s suffering, and how good it was to satisfy this hunger. To yield to the moment of lust so fully.

Their fingers touched as closely as the sweat upon their flesh, and Shaun moaned as he felt himself sucked deep into her wetness.

“I love you,” he sighed, the words barely escaping his lips. “Eve, I love you.” And his eyes rolled back into his head.

Eve panted as he thrust himself further into her, unable to reply.

“I love you, Eve,” Shaun managed to say again.

She held him close to her now, hands tightly wrapped around his back. Her nails dug into him.

“So warm,” she sighed. “So warm you are.”

Her face began to twitch.

“I want your warmth. I want your warmth, my love.”

And at that, Shaun could control himself no more.

He clenched his teeth, and now his frame began to shudder as he poured his lust into her.

“Eve…”

And with a smile she gladly accepted the warmth of his passion.

—

After licking the juices clean off each other’s bodies, and making sure that the dead were indeed the sole observers of their passion, the couple dressed before packing away the scattered leftovers, and Eve took Shaun tightly by the hand.

“Come,” she said to him, knowing full well he would always follow.

“There is one last thing to see.” She smiled to herself. “I want to show you that not everything here is dead.”

Shaun walked quickly to keep up with her gait.

“Do you mean there are other people? Other people who come here, like us?” He let his finger brush against the edge of a close gravestone. “This place always feels empty, if you ask me.”

“No,” Eve said quickly, “I’m not talking about that,” and as they ventured further toward the shadows, she turned to face him.

“This place is never quite empty,” she smiled, her voice a soft whisper. “It never has been. Never will be.”

She dragged him past the last row of rusted gravestones. The church and its guardian lay directly ahead.

Shaun frowned as they came closer.

“But you’ve shown me this before. The angel…”

“Oh no; no I haven’t.” And she stopped so suddenly that he bumped right into her.

“S-sorry.”

She stroked his cheek.

“The last highlight of our little tour. The last life of this place; the last secret.”

She tugged his arm, led him into the shadow of the angel.

“Doesn’t it look different?” she said as they walked. “Doesn’t it look more alive?”

She dragged him as close to the statue as she could. And then she knelt, as if ready to pray.

Shaun quickly followed her stance.

“What are we looking for?” he asked. His voice was barely a whisper.

“You’ll see,” Eve smiled. “Just look. It feels different, doesn’t it? Stronger.”

She pointed up at the statue, and Shaun followed the command of her finger. His eyes squinted, focused as much as they could.

“Do you see?”

“…Yes.”

His eyes widened to this sight of new familiarity. For how right Eve was! The angel did seem changed, in a way that Shaun could not understand. The shadows still played upon its cold frame, and of course, the age of its stone remained as weary as always, but it appeared, somehow, to have a greater presence. A more tangible state that imposed heavily upon the graves and the field.

The shadows no longer obscured but defined its features. The stone appeared all the more solid, and the eyes, those great black eyes, how different they now seemed. It was as if the blackness of their shadows had grown deeper, yet underneath something new lingered. A gaze of sharp intent; of hunger. And now the shadows seemed to grab hold of him, pull his own curious stare deep into its eyes.

“Shaun?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, his dim thoughts understood that Eve was calling his name, that her hand was on his shoulder. But everything else was darkness. The cemetery and its residents were fading, the sun too, forced out of the day, until only the shadows and the angel remained.

He cleared his throat, and found himself unable to speak. Unable to scream or cry out for help. Only his eyes were free of such sharp constraint, and how desperately they darted around the darkness, longing, panicking, for a glimpse of the day’s light. But the shadows, he knew, had him locked in their prison, the angel their only offering.

He stared into its eyes, the shadows seeping out of its gaze like blackened blood.

“Please,” he said. He could barely hear himself speak. “Please, let me go.” Whether he was speaking to the shadows or the angel, even he could not tell. All he knew was that the darkness was draining him, tugging, pulling, at his flesh, wanting him to come closer. To embrace the angel’s cold stone.

He inhaled deeply. Clenched the stiffness of his fists.

“What do you want from me?” His gaze burned into the statue.”What do you want?”

But no reply came from its lips; only the same cold expression. A face of elegant sorrow that looked so real set in stone. A depiction of emotion so beautiful as to be without a sliver of warmth.

Shaun rubbed his eyes, and from between his fingers, the shadows subtly shifted. Enough for some light to grace the angel’s countenance. Enough for the gaze in her eyes to change.

“What…do you want?” he asked again.

But the shadows gripped him all the tighter, pushed him further toward the stone.

“Stop,” he said suddenly. “Stop all this. Stop!”

And his voice screeched like the curdling blood in his ears.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!”

His whole body was trembling, his eyes shaking, unfocused. But even so, the angel’s crooked lips were evident. The statue was smiling, wasn’t it? Smiling at his suffering.

“Enough,” he was saying now, “enough,” barely understanding, barely conscious, of his own words. “Let me go.”

There was a moment’s pause, it seemed, in the darkness, all movement suddenly suspended. And then the suffering upon his flesh was pulled back into the blackness.

“Let me go. Let me go.”

And then, like a fickle mind, the shadows retreated. Away from his flesh they went, away from his pleas. And now the grass of the graveyard was at his feet, the sun gracing the thick sweat upon his forehead. He blinked as awareness rushed into him, his head cradled gently in Eve’s welcome arms.

“Shaun? Are you awake? Shaun; talk to me.”

He brushed her fears aside with a deep moan of positive response.

She helped him up to his feet carefully.

“I’m fine,” he sighed, almost breathlessly. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

He passed the warmth of his hand into hers.

“I’m fine.”

For some time they simply stood in each other’s company, hand in hand, not a word daring to pass between them. Eve gazed intently at him, while his own eyes seemed to scan the field afresh, absorbing the shadows, the graves, the statue, as if for the first time. His eyes hesitated when they came to the angel, his hand gripping the comfort of Eve’s flesh just that little bit tighter. But the statue did not return his gaze nor match its intensity in any other fashion. There were no sluggish shadows hidden behind its eyes, no thick darkness dancing down the curve of its wings. It was nothing more than cold, dead stone.

Shaun almost felt himself relax. His gaze cast itself downward.

“Hey,” Eve cooed, her face rubbing gently against his cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay? Are you?”

Shaun held her closer.

“What happened?”

“You collapsed, darling. You fainted, and I couldn’t wake you up.” She kissed him on the forehead. “It’s okay,” she smiled. “You’re awake now.”

Shaun turned his gaze toward her.

“How long was I out?”

“Oh, a few minutes, I think.”

His eyes pulled away from hers; returned to the presence of the statue. He stared into its gaze.

“Shaun, what’s the matter?”

“I must have dreamt,” he said eventually. I must have had a nightmare.

—

Not too long after gazing into the angel’s eyes, Shaun became ill. The sickness was no more than a discomfort at first; its nascent stages giving him muscular aches, making his head spin. Indeed, compared to the flu or the common cold, such superficial suffering was almost benign, and Shaun allowed himself to live his life as if nothing plagued him. He went to work. He had lunches with Andrew. And of course, he continued to visit the cemetery. He and Eve would have their trysts in the mornings, more often than not; pleasant picnics outside before indulging in the pleasures of each other’s bodies.

Despite the gentle misery of his condition, the enjoyment was still intact, and every part of his flesh responded eagerly to her touch. She would tease him so as to make him erect, stroking his manhood this way and that until he demanded to be inside her, and then she’d smile as his bloodshot organ was swallowed by her sex.

On the fifth day, however, his body began to grow weaker. He could feel his head pounding, as if wanting to escape from the rest of his frame, and every muscle seemed to ache from even the slightest voluntary movement; sharp, stabbing pain that came from everywhere and nowhere.

This new suffering he managed to hide from all he encountered, and so believable was his performance of good health, that even his own mind began to doubt the presence of his pain. Only by the end of the week, did his concern take any solid root, when the symptoms of his illness began to affect more intimate functions. He discovered this, of course, during one of his picnics with Eve; how his erection was failing him, turning into a strip of soft tissue. And this suffering was the most painful of all.

“Fuck. Fuck!”

Eve tugged at his manhood again; kissed its head deeply.

He groaned.

“You feel it?”

“Yes; but it doesn’t help.”

She stroked it gently as they talked, her thumb teasing his balls.

“Shaun, what’s wrong? You’re angry.”

“Of course I’m fucking angry.” He stared at his snail of a penis. “Just look at me!”

“I am,” she replied, gently. “I am, and I can tell that something’s bothering you.”

She released his organ and brought her hands close to his face.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t there?” she sighed. “Something’s wrong.”

He nodded slowly, let her lips come home to his.

“Let’s talk about it. Come on.”

Shaun swallowed hard, and his flesh sank deep into the bench, his head rubbing into the thickness of the pillow.

“I’m ill,” he said, finally.

“Ill?”

“It started a few days ago. Pain. Aches in my muscles, fatigue.” He coughed sharply. “Then, the dizziness in my head.”

Eve nodded, her fingers playing with his hair. “The flu?” she suggested. “Or a bad cold?”

“No, not with this.” And he nodded to his flaccid member, his hand slapping it back and forth. “What is this?” he sighed, his jaw clenched bitterly tight. “Just what is this?”

“It’s temporary,” Eve countered smoothly. “Frustrating, but nothing more.” And before he could reply she put her finger to the warmth of his lips.

“It’ll be all right,” she cooed. “You’ll see. All sickness, all pain, can pass.” She rubbed her nose into his cheek, like an eager puppy, and her hand went to his sex once more. “Be patient,” she whispered. “Just be patient, and you’ll see.”

Reluctantly, he nodded.

“I’ll try, but for how long?”

“As long as it takes.” She tugged him gently, stroked his organ back and forth, and smiled as he began to gasp.

“You see? The lust will always be there. Nothing takes that away.”

“Eve…”

“Just trust me. Be as patient as you can. Soon, my love, it’ll all go away. And then you’ll be healthy again.

By the end of the week, Shaun’s condition had worsened, and it was clear to him that this sickness, whatever it was, had no intention of giving him a moment’s peace. It clung to him so tightly now, pressing its pain upon his chest, and his coughs sprinkled blood in small rainfalls that dotted his chin, and the white of the bed sheets.

He remained in his bed for the duration of the day, his breathing shallow, his head weak, and only when the sun began to set did he find the strength to arise. Something strange was happening to him, he knew; something horrible. He could ignore its effects no longer.

He called Doctor Brien first thing the next morning, struggling, between coughs, to secure the earliest appointment.

“So what’s the problem?” the receptionist said again. He heard her fingers clattering on the keyboard.

Shaun tried to clear his throat.

“I need an appointment as soon as he’s available.”

“You’re unwell,” the receptionist stupidly guessed.

“Yes, I am. I’m down with something, and I’ve got to see him, do you understand?”

From the other end of the line he heard the typing stop. “Sir, I’m not deaf,” she replied with a quick snort. “There’s no need for such a tone.”

Shaun coughed, swallowed hard.

“Sorry.”

The typing resumed.

“The next available appointment would be this afternoon. Two o’clock.”

“Perfect.”

“I’ll write you down. Name?”

“Shaun Paris.”

“P-a-r-i-s?”

“Yes.”

There was a moment’s pause as she typed in the necessary details, and Shaun allowed his hand to let go of the phone. He sighed, his muscles relaxing as much as they could, and the phone slid down his chest until bumping against his blanketed waist.

“Christ,” he said to himself. His eyes closed.

“Mr Paris? Sir?” The phone’s shouts hummed against his stomach, and with a groan he reached forward, his fingers snatching it up.

“Yes, I’m here,” he said quickly.

“Your appointment’s been booked.”

“Two o’clock?”

“Two o’clock. Oh, and sir?”

“Yes?”

“Do be on time. Doctor Brien is a busy man.”

As Shaun coughed into his pillow the line went dead, and he allowed the phone to slip gratefully from his fingers.

Chapter Four

Shaun slept until late morning, when his stomach stirred, forcing him out of bed and straight into the kitchen. Throughout his meal of sandwiches and milk his body continued to ache; and how hard it was to keep his eyes from closing once more. It scared him now, how heavy his eyelids had become; how surely they wished to shut him out of the world. As he kept them flickering open, he felt the heaviness of their burden weigh upon him. They wanted more than sleep, he suspected. Something much more permanent.

He took a caffeine pill upon finishing breakfast, and enjoyed the sudden rush it gave him. That familiar, pressing force of artificial energy that helped to block out the threat of darkness. Under its influence, he was able to dress quickly, ignore the pain of his flesh, and with that he was rushing out the front door like a man in perfect health.

His newfound joy of the world would not last, he knew. For the sickness could be contained for only so long. Even as he walked in his new, energetic state, the darkness was pushing against him, the pain, the weakness, demanding to be let into his mind. He fought it, of course, as best he could, and when, ten minutes from the hospital, his energy ran out, he found himself unable to cope any longer.

The sickness was winning, forcing him back into its darkness, and now his stomach was lurching as he realized the error of his planned route. The quickest way to the hospital was not without its drawbacks, and in his state of pure energy he’d failed to notice its traps.

There before him, of course, was the cemetery, in all its shadowed glory. And each gravestone, it seemed, had shifted from its position, so that as he walked unsteadily past its gates, the tombs were pointing directly at him, their tall shadows stretching outside of their own domain.

Shaun rubbed his eyes and viciously cursed his own negligence. But even so, his gaze could not help but linger upon its offerings; the church and all that dwelled within its walls, and now he found himself stopping dead in his tracks, venturing close to the bars of the open gate.

His fingers touched its chill as he leaned upon it, his breath quickening.

“Hello?” The words came from his lips so softly. “Is anyone there? Eve?” Her name was louder than his previous words; enough, no doubt, for any life in the vicinity to stir from the tremor of his sound.

“Eve?” he said again. “Eve?”

But of course, she was nowhere to be found. Not this late in the day’s precious hours; not when the sun was so high and its heat so sharp.

He blew out his frustration in a sharp ball of breath, knowing full well how desperately his muscles ached; how his weakness begged to be away from this place, and in the arms of the good doctor’s care.

“Fuck…”

His eyes closed.

Perhaps he could rest here for just a few minutes. Let himself lean against the comfort of the iron gate. Perhaps he’d even forget about his appointment. Perhaps he’d fall asleep.

Perhaps…

The dull tolling of the bell snapped his eyes open, its call humming like the melody of a bitter drone. Shaun frowned, stared straight at the church.

“I don’t understand,” he said aloud. “I don’t understand any of this.”

What was the source of this insistent sound? This sharp beat that was quickly invading his mind, making his head throb?

The church was devoid of the traditional bell tower.

And yet…

And yet, where else could the sound be coming from? Where else could this mighty call lie, but inside the most sacrosanct structure, inviting its followers to step through its doors?

Shaun swallowed hard, bitterness filling his mouth. His eyes squinted.

Through the shadows, he could see the church’s doors, each one wide open, offering the darkness that seemed to dwell within its walls. The bell’s melody was growing louder now; more firm, more insistent, and how painful the grasp it had upon him! And of course, the pain was one thing to endure, the endless sharp throbs, but now there was more. He could feel the inside of his skull twitching, growing soft and then trembling like gelatine.

His fingers massaged his temples as he tried to step back, to move away from the gate and what lay behind its bars. And the bell, of course, followed, its wail increasing, every step of retreat yielding more of its wrath, until Shaun’s feet gave way to the hard ground beneath.

He panted, sweat trickling down his face.

The bell continued its mournful toll.

Shaun’s lips split themselves apart, drawing on the thickness of the air. He struggled to breathe.

“No more,” he gasped. “No more.”

He crawled back to the gate.

“Stop,” he begged. “Please.” And to prove his compliance, he pushed the gate gently open.

The sharp tolling of the bell was suddenly gone, replaced by the drone of a more benign calling. So soft the bell was now. So peaceful.

Shaun got to his feet, the dull remnants of pain fading into the back of his head. Ahead of him, the rows of graves seemed bathed in gentle darkness, the shadows seeming to lift from their lengths of old stone. He could read the inscriptions on some of them as he ventured through the gate; solid Christian names that promised a perennial anonymity to its owners.

There were surnames such as Smith; Christian; Wilson; each one preceded by an Apostle (John, Mathew, James). So common, these names were. So conforming…

He looked down upon the ground, not wanting to see anymore, and the clearness of the bell continued to sing so benignly, like a light among the shadows.

Like a good disciple, he followed its sound, knowing, of course, that the church was somehow the source of its melody. He walked through the shadows, the wind chasing him with its endless whispers, and only as familiar darkness swallowed him did he dare look up.

He stared into the angel’s eyes, his upper lip twitching. “Bitch,” he muttered. “Fucking bitch.” And he grinned at its sorrowful beauty; the shaped sadness of its stare, his arrogant smile almost daring it to reply.

“Well,” he seethed, “what are you? Are you living? Are you dead? Or perhaps a bit of fucking both!?”

The angel’s response startled him.

“A bit of fucking both?” Its gentle voice brought such civility to the echoing of his words.

Shaun stood frozen to the spot.

“A bit of fucking both?” the angel said again, and this time Shaun saw how the lips moved, revealing a mouth that harboured only darkness. No tongue dwelled within its smile; no teeth, either, for that matter. Yet it conversed with him in the most educated accent he’d ever heard.

“You want to know what I am, don’t you?” the angel asked politely.

Shaun did not reply.

“Well?”

“I…how can you talk?” It was all his trembling lips could manage.

“I am dead, Shaun; and have been for more years than I care to remember. But at least I have not had to share my suffering alone.”

Shaun rubbed his eyes. Something, it seemed, was happening to the statue as it spoke. The shadows were flowing away from its figure, and wisps of harsh smoke were slowly rising from the depth of its mouth.

Shaun felt his headache returning. He put his hands to his temples.

“No. You’re just a statue; a statue!”

The angel laughed.

“I am a spirit, Shaun; a ghost. And the statue is my shell. I rest within its cold stone so that I may heal. You see, the statue attracts the shadows; the darkness that is food for the dead, our energy. Without it, I’d be unable to walk in the daylight. Without it, I’d never be given my chance to live.”

“What are you talking about?”

Shaun’s breath caught in his throat.

“No,” he seethed suddenly. “To hell with this. I don’t want to know what you are, or what’s happening. I want all this to end!” And without warning he lunged at the angel’s smile, his thick fist throwing itself forward.

“Leave me alone!”

His punch connected firmly with the angel’s left cheek, the sound of the impact cracking like a whip.

There was a moment’s pause as Shaun examined the fruits of his anger; how the shadows had moved to absorb the details of the damaged cheek. And then the darkness came for him.

He had no time to react to their response, and soon the shadows were reaching for him in thick, twisted strings of black, taking hold of his flesh, tugging at his arms and legs. He fell to his knees. His limbs were bent like a ragdoll.

“Do you want to know what I am?” said the drifting voice. A soft whisper of the spirit within the angel. “Do you want to know who I am?”

Shaun’s neck twitched. How cold the shadows around him were. How clammy, in their hold upon him.

The angel’s breath rasped. Smoke continued to rise from its mouth.

“I shall show you my beauty,” the spirit said. “Show you death’s true form.”

It sighed, and the angel’s mouth suddenly widened, and the thickness of the smoke seemed to increase accordingly, pouring out, not just from the mouth now, but from ears, eyes, nostrils. The smoke spread itself out before him, its thick curls of grey hiding the statue from sight. And now, it began to reveal its true form.

A slender figure began to take shape, forcing the mist out of its obscurity. Fingers and toes sprouted from the ends of newly formed limbs, and now the shadows adorned this strange creation, their coldness retreating from Shaun’s tender flesh. He leaned forward, head bowed toward the ground, wanting all this to end. But his eyes looked up, hungry to witness the spectacle, and as the figure found tangible flesh, their gaze widened.

“No…”

Eve smiled at him.

“Hello Shaun,” she said. “My dear Shaun.”

Immediately, he was on his feet.

“S-stay away from me,” he cried. “Just stay away!”

Eve slowly shook her head. She stood naked before him, her pallid flesh tinged red.

“What’s wrong, Shaun? Don’t you want me anymore?” And slowly, she began to move toward him.

Shaun stayed where he was, unable to retreat.

“What…what are you? What have I done?”

Eve curled her lips sweetly, her smile reaching out to him.

“You have yielded to me, Shaun. You’ve surrendered to me. And now you’re mine.”

She did not lunge for him now, as he’d expected. For what was the use? Her poor little lover was glued to the spot, frozen unless she said otherwise. He was hers to control.

“What do you want?” Shaun panted. “What’s going on?”

Eve looked toward the church.

“Do you remember what I showed you?” she asked quietly. “The things in the church.”

And before he could reply she’d walked toward him, her hand gripping him by the collar of his shirt, hauling him up to his feet.

“No! Leave me alone!”

“Of course you remember,” she said, ignoring his protests. “You remember all too well.”

Her grip upon him tightened, and she was dragging him toward the church’s doors, smiling gleefully as they entered.

“We had fun here, didn’t we? Oh yes, we did. But this place is more to me than a simple lover’s corner, my dear.”

“Eve, let me go!”

“Shush,” she seethed suddenly, her free hand pushing against his mouth. “You want to know what’s going on? Well, I’m about to tell you, darling.”

Shaun struggled under her hold, his vain efforts earning him a push across the torso that made his chest burn.

“Stop,” she warned him, “or I’ll be forced to bruise you.” And she tightened her fingers so as to help him understand what it meant to be bruised.

Shaun ceased his struggles immediately.

“Good,” she cooed. “Good boy.”

She relaxed her grip and tugged playfully at his sleeve, as if the two were innocent and in love again.

“Come,” she urged him, “let’s go to the altar.”

Her grip tightened upon him once more, just in case he would refuse, and with that, she began to drag him after her.

“I want to show you something, Shaun; I want to explain.”

“Explain what?” he sobbed.

She pushed him in front of her.

“I’m going to show you what I am. And why I need you.” She nodded to the ancient trinkets that lay before them, her eyes scanning their dullness with sudden intensity. Her hand patted Shaun on the shoulder, as if to soothe him, but he found no comfort in her apparent show of affection. His eyes closed, and he began to pray, his lips mumbling fragments of The Lord’s Prayer.

His voice annoyed her. It was shrill (no doubt from fear), and his whispers came like intermittent buzzing in her ear. But she would at least grant him the freedom to beg for mercy; to attempt to consult a higher power, and will the realization of a divine intervention. After all, was this not the place for prayer? And had she too not prayed for miracles, long after her death?

She gazed at him briefly, shaking her head.

God did not grant miracles. But the angel did.

Her fingers dug deep under dust and forgotten things, and now a smile was upon her. She had found what she was looking for.

“Remember this, Shaun?” she asked, as her fingers returned from the grave of the altar. She clasped the book firmly in her grip, waved it close to his face.

Shaun opened his eyes.

“Remember this?” she said again. “What was it I told you about this?”

“No…no rest for the wicked. That’s the title, isn’t it?”

Eve smiled and threw the leather-bound pages back upon the altar’s ancient junk.

“It’s true, you know,” she said quietly. “It’s all so true.”

She gazed at the altar, at the pews standing before them like an obedient crowd.

“This church is older than you’d think,” she whispered, as if confessing a murderous secret. “And did you know it was the largest church of its kind.”

She laughed now; a quick, almost nervous laugh, that could have come from fear as much as from humour, and very slowly she started to walk in circles, going round her clueless lover in small, quiet steps, while he watched her performance in utter silence.

“You see, we were happy. We had a church; a god we could pray to. And that’s all we ever wanted.”

She stopped suddenly, and her eyes narrowed, remembering the pains of the past.

“Another church came along. Another religion. And they decided that their god was greater than ours. They claimed our angel was the devil’s work, maybe even a mark; a fragment of Satan himself. And they demanded we embrace their god, his son, their holy ghost.”

Eve kicked at the altar, the force of her fury making it creak.

“Pick up the book, Shaun.”

“What?”

“Pick up the book.”

The sound of her voice made him obey, and very quickly, he grasped the leather-bound pages between the sweat of his fingers.

“Open it.”

He hesitated.

“Open it, Shaun. So I can finish my story.”

Shaun pressed his thumb underneath the cover and peeled it open, the stiff leather yielding to his touch almost reluctantly. Before him were the yellowed pages, their edges curled, and now he began to leaf through them ever so slowly.

Eve smiled at his fascination.

“By all means,” she said earnestly, “explore. See if anything strikes you as familiar.”

He ran his finger down the list of Latin characters. His brow stiffened.

“I’ve seen these names before. On the gravestones in the field.”

“No doubt you have. They belong to the dead. The dead among us, under the earth of this cemetery, stuck in their graves.”

Shaun glanced up toward her, trying to ignore her nakedness. The smile upon her lips sent chills running down his spine.

“You see, Shaun,” Eve said, gently, “no one wanted to embrace a new religion. We didn’t care about God’s son, or his holy little ghost. All we cared about was our angel.”

And now she grabbed his chin, lifting it high to be certain he was looking at her, certain he was listening.

“We were happy with the way things were, happy with our own beliefs, and we saw no reason to embrace anything else.”

She laughed bitterly.

“We refused their god, and politely enough. And for that, we were condemned. They rounded us up, Shaun; gave us one last chance to accept. The things they did,” she seethed. “The things they did to tempt us.” Eve closed her eyes for a moment. A small tear trickled down her cheek.

Shaun finally understood.

“They killed you, didn’t they?” His words were a strangled whisper. “You refused to give in, and for that they killed you.”

Eve sighed heavily.

“I…can’t remember how I died. But I remember the others who came before me. We were forced to watch, you see; that was the ultimate punishment. To see loved ones killed, to understand that their blood was being spilled, all in the name of a god we refused to obey.”

She drew in a tremulous breath.

“We were all in a line; one following the other. And I remember the young girl standing in front of me. How scared she was, how much she could understand, even at her tender age.”

Shaun swallowed slowly, part of him wanting to hear no more. No more of the dead and their secrets, no more about this place. He was sweating now, panting, and she knew he was weak; giving in to the part of him that wanted her to stop.

“Have you had enough, Shaun?”

Of course, he could not reply.

“Does it disturb you, the cruelness of one god’s will? Yes, Shaun, this is the god so many pray to, perhaps even you. His divine will ordered that poor girl to be cut up; that her broken remains be buried, discarded, and left to the earth.”

Her voice was getting stronger now, sharper. He knew he could not endure much longer.

“They buried us all, Shaun; everyone. And they claimed the church for themselves.”

Shaun sucked in a breath of sharp air.

“The angel,” he gasped, trying to change this talk of death. “What about the angel?”

Eve smiled.

“Oh, they tried to claim it, as they did the church. They tried to strip it of its purpose, make it subservient to their own. But of course, the angel did not yield to their efforts. To such petty faith.”

She released his chin now, and walked back to the altar, her eyes alight with a new chill of passion.

“You see, Shaun, we always had a direct link with our god. The statue has never been a mere image of our idol; it is our idol. Our beloved being. And when under attack it can protect itself, you see. It can take revenge.”

Eve smiled to herself.

“Such terrors it must have shown them. Such wonderful terrors. Their deaths were certainly not uneventful”. She giggled. “I could hear them, even from the bottom of my grave. The sound of their pleas, the sickening gasps for breath.”

She snapped her fingers, the sound making her listener jump.

“And then, silence. Nothing more. It was the most golden moment, the most beautiful moment, of silence I’d ever heard. And how happy it made me!”

She closed her eyes, licking her lips as she relished the memory; the sweetness of revenge.

“W-what happened?” Shaun whispered. “After they died, after you died, what then?”

Eve snatched the book from him.

“Time passed,” she sighed. “More time than I care to remember. Our enemies were dead, but so were we.”

She thumbed through the pages, going back and forth, listlessly playing with the stiffness of the paper.

“Death is not what you think, Shaun. There is nothing beyond it. No Heaven. No Hell. Only darkness.”

She slammed the book shut.

“But, what about the angel,” Shaun began. “Surely—”

“The angel, for all its blessings, is far from perfect, my dear. Far from all powerful. It could not help us, after it had dealt with God’s servants; too much energy had been used. So, like us, it was forced to wait. To regain enough energy, so that we could be granted a miracle.”

She cast her eyes to the chill of the floor.

“There is always darkness, Shaun,” she smiled. “Darkness dwells everywhere. And that is what our angel fed on. During the day, when the sun was high, it drew the shadows toward itself. All the shadows nearby that stretched from tombstones across the green of the field. And at night; oh, at night, it basked in blackness! It could feed upon the darkness of the world!”

Her lips quivered as she closed her eyes.

“How wonderful it must have been, to be surrounded by night’s endless shadows. To feast upon its darkness until the first light of dawn.”

Shaun cursed under his breath, his voice sudden, sharp.

“You believe me, Shaun, even if you don’t want to. You know it’s true. And I am the proof of the angel’s miracle!”

Eve spread her legs, her tongue flicking in and out of her mouth.

“You’ve enjoyed me, Shaun; you’ve enjoyed my body. And now, I’m going to tell you why.”

She moved close to him now, as if wanting to hold him. Shaun felt his whole body stiffen. Fear and arousal were running through his veins in equal measure.

“Please,” he cried, “don’t touch me.”

Eve giggled. “So shy, all of a sudden?” She laughed again, and took his hand into hers, her cold flesh numbing his fingers, making it impossible to struggle. Her other hand reached for the book, and now it balanced upon her palm, and she flicked its cover open with her thumb. “The last remnant of our tormentors,” she explained. “The last evidence of their mark upon us. This book was created by them, Shaun; created to document us. The book of the sinners.”

She sighed to herself.

“We’re all in here. Everyone who was killed. Everyone whose body belongs to the earth.”

She smiled gleefully, and with that, began to read aloud the names deeply etched into the pages. Names that sounded so much like the callings of good Christians.

“John Smith…Luke Wilson…”

And now, as her lips continued to move, so too did the outside shadows. Bars of darkness began to seep in, the meagre light of the windows quickly snuffed by their shade, and as the last flicker of light yielded to its curtain, the deep tolling of the bell began once more. The drone of its rhythm offered no tolerable melody; its sharp hum was a brutal calling that dug deep into the earth. And the grass began to whisper. And the soil began to shift. And from their tombs, the dead rose, ready to witness the miracle.

Chapter Five

They came eagerly enough, their shadows preceding the sight of their festering flesh. Strings, long strips of solid black, poured forth into the walls of the angel’s glory, this place of worship that so many had missed.

The shadows of lost souls connected, bled into each other, until their darkness defined the chill of the church’s interior. Walls, floor, ceiling, all were covered. All belonged to the shadows of the dead. And with the darkness settled, their flesh followed. The remnants of men, women, children, all came in, all greeted one another. Their conditions of decay varied, with some being almost nothing but bare bones, while others sported full lengths of flesh and deep curls of tangled hair to match. So similar to the living, some of them were, despite the pallor, despite the yellow of their eyes as they gazed in his direction.

“Jesus,” he seethed and his fingers shot to his temples, began to massage them desperately. The pain was returning.

“So,” Eve smiled. “Here we all are. The dead” – she turned to Shaun “- and, of course, the living.”

With that, she gripped his hand in the winter of her fingers.

“It’s time for me to finish my story, Shaun. The last chapter before bedtime.”

There was laughter at this; a great cackling that rose from the mouths of the dead. They all stared at him, all smiled, as if this was nothing more than a spectacular performance. A Grand Guignol play, soon to reveal its greatest terrors.

“The angel couldn’t bring us all back. At least, not at once. For all its powers, it did not possess the gift of life in unlimited abundance.” She grabbed his chin, forced him to look at her. “It had waited, Shaun, conserved its energy for so long, but only one of us could be brought back. Only one of us could be given the miracle.”

She smiled, her grin widening as the dead moved closer, their pallid flesh circling around them until even the shadows were forced from view. Nothing more to be seen than flesh and bone.

Shaun’s eyes began to flicker, scanning desperately for even the tiniest gap, the tiniest chance of escape. And the yellow eyes glared back at him; deep, yellow eyes so excited at what they were about to witness.

Eve laughed as the fear in his face began to show.

“My little fool,” she smiled. “My little gate to the world of the living.”

Shaun clenched his teeth, his breath giving way to panicked gasps.

“What—what are you talking about?” he cried. “Why me?”

Eve licked her lips, and with firm countenance, raised her hand into the air.

Immediately, the dead stopped their advance.

“The last story has not been finished,” she declared. “Let me tell you how it all ends, Shaun. Why you will be sacrificed.”

Her audience nodded at this, their glares widening as Eve tugged at his collar. “Come with me,” she smiled, her hand lifting him up into the air.

“Stop!” Shaun cried. “Please, stop!”

“No, silly,” she giggled, “I want to have some fun.” And with that her hand lifted him higher, his struggles drawing deep waves of laughter from the eager crowd.

“Well. Let’s continue, why don’t we?”

The crowd nodded.

“As I was saying, only one of us could be granted the miracle. And the angel chose me. But I had to prove myself, you see; I had to show that death was truly too much to bear.”

She lowered him slightly; close enough to steal a kiss from his lips.

“Every day, I visited my own grave. From the moment I was granted a tangible form, a more physical existence, I knelt before my tombstone, and I wept. I cried, I spilled tears, for the right to live again, and each drop brought me closer to proving my worth. Eventually, the angel saw it fit to grant me a chance, and it presented me a gift. You.”

She licked her lips now, and her eyes burned deep into his.

“It was no accident that we found each other. And how easy it was for me to lead you on! You desired me, desired my body, and I let you have it all. And in exchange, I yielded your unknowing enslavement.”

Shaun shook his head violently, not wanting to hear anymore. He kicked at his captor, ignoring the cackles of mock despair the dead gave for his efforts.

“I found you,” he sobbed. “I loved you. But…but it wasn’t forced upon me! I could have stopped!” he cried so uselessly. “I could have stopped at any time I wished!”

“In the beginning, of course,” Eve smiled. “You could have refused my beauty; refused what we shared. But with each kiss, Shaun, our bond grew stronger. And each time we made love, we came closer. I closer to the living. You closer to the dead.”

“No…”

“You see, the…illness you’ve been experiencing; the fatigue; the dizziness; that is what it is like for us.” She spread her hand toward the crowd. “That is how we define death.”

She released him from her grip, smiling as he collapsed on his knees.

“It is almost complete. And you and I are going to trade places.”

Shaun couldn’t look up. His teeth began to dig into his tongue.

“No…”

“Oh yes, my love. We are. And you cannot free yourself of it.”

She licked her lips, and as if on cue, the dead began to advance once more, ready to witness the miracle.

“You are trapped, Shaun.”

“N-no!”

“You were trapped the moment we first kissed; the moment we first fucked. Your body has given itself to my will. And my will, my spirit, is so much stronger than yours.”

As she brought him close to her, his head turned, refusing to let his lips become locked with hers. His teeth clenched as he looked around him, at the dead, at how they licked their lips. Some even appeared to be drooling at the event before them, saliva dripping in silver shades of translucence from their mouths.

“The death of life,” Eve whispered. “And the life of death.”

And with that, she forced Shaun’s lips against hers.

He struggled, of course, against her strength, and despite it may have succeeded, may have escaped. But she, the receiver of the miracle, had the dead on her side; the strength of bitterness, rage, all the resolve death bequeathed.

Soon his mouth was opening against hers, his screams muffled by the clamminess of her tongue. And the dead, their hands were upon him, holding his head in place. And the dead were winning. Oh yes, they were winning. For how weak he felt now; how sharp the giddiness within his head. Darkness was entering his vision, corrupting his view of the world, and around him the dead were opening their arms, spreading the chill of their fingers.

Soon, you will be one of us. Soon.

His last breaths were painfully drawn through the slits of his nose. Long, agonizing snorts that gave only enough for him to stay awake. Enough for him to witness the beginning of his end. As his eyes closed, the spirits around him began to chant, their hollow voices ringing with the sound of a long awaited prayer.

The death of life. The life of death. The birth of the miracle. The power of the angel.

And it was her face he saw as the darkness finally took him to his grave.

—

There is silence now, as the remains of summer draw to an end. And in this silence dwells a world within a world, shadows within shadows. The angel stands, guarding her flock as they slumber, and in the darkness she smiles. For she has given birth to the life of death; she has performed the promised miracle, and her child is a warm-blooded being, once more a creature of true flesh. A creature more real than life itself. Her spirit wanders in its new shell, with such treasures, such delights, to discover. And underneath the thickness of the earth, a new soul dwells. Restless, struggling, as they all do.

Perhaps one day, he shall witness the miracle; even be given the chance to be part of it. But for now, the darkness is his only companion, the dead his only friends. Eventually, he will yield. He will accept the inhuman condition, and bow down to her world of shadows.

Perhaps this is the greatest miracle of all.