Creeping Terror by Justin Richards Read Free Book Online

Maria told him.
    ‘Tommy’s dad was driving a modern car,’ Gemma said. ‘And they saw more than we have.’
    ‘There must be a way to trigger it,’ Maria said thoughtfully.
    ‘It was worth a try, fitting in as best we couldwith 1943, but there’s equipment in the car … things we’ll need. And I’d like to be able to leave in a hurry if we need to,’ Knight said. ‘Still, we’ll look at the church first.’
    *
    Maria kept her eyes focused on the church doors. All through the graveyard she looked neither left nor right. She knew what she would see. Sometimes she wished her powers would fade more quickly. But then she realised that would simply mean she couldn’t see what was really happening all round her. She knew how Knight must feel – knowing he couldn’t see whether demons were creeping up on him, possibly about to attack.
    The church was in a similar state to the pub. A rat scurried away when Knight pushed open what was left of the door. The wooden pews were rotting and the floor was scattered with plaster and stone. A grinning gargoyle from the roof lay on its broken back and stared up at Maria as she followed Growl along the nave.
    ‘It’s like the pub,’ Gemma said.
    ‘There are echoes and ghosts from the past,’ Maria agreed. ‘But nothing that’s unusual for a church.’
    ‘If there are any records, they will likely be in the vestry,’ Growl said.
    On the wall above a huge archway there was a painting. It was faded, the paint peeling away and the plaster turning to powder. All Maria could see was a confused mess of figures apparently lying in heaps. A river snaked between them. Flaking angels looked down from above. A devil with a pitchfork had lost half its face and one of its horns.
    ‘What is it?’ Gemma asked, following Maria’s gaze.
    ‘A doom painting,’ Growl said, looking up. ‘Probably very fine in its day. It shows the Last Judgement. Demons and angels separating the wheat from the chaff, the Christians from the sinners.’
    Maria found it more unsettling than the ghosts she had seen in the pub. She quickly followed Growl and Knight.
    The roof of the vestry was still in place and it seemed like a room in a different building. Everything was layered in dust and cobwebs hung from the window and walls, but the structure seemed intact.
    A plain, dark wooden desk stood against a wall with an upright chair beside it. The whitewash on the wall above was peeling away in large sheets like paper. Flakes of white were scattered across the desktop and the floor. The tattered remains of a curtain hung from a tarnished rail across analcove. Behind it, several cassocks and surplices were rotting.
    ‘The choir has long since stopped singing,’ Growl said quietly as he examined them.
    There was a safe in the corner of the room. The door was ajar and Maria pulled it open. She stood back to let them all see that it was empty.
    Gemma was checking the drawers of the desk. The first was empty. The next contained a pile of leather-bound books.
    ‘Parish registers,’ Growl exclaimed as Gemma lifted the books out and put them on the desk. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Old and fragile, but mercifully not too damp. Now we’re getting somewhere. Anything else, my girl?’
    In the last drawer was another book. It was less impressive than the registers – little more than a notebook with a stiff cardboard cover. Gemma opened it.
    ‘Parishioners of Templeton – February 1943,’ she read out loud.
    She turned the page. There was a simple list of names down one side, written in bold capital letters. Against each was a neat address, followed by a signature. Some of the names had been signed simply with an ‘X’.
    ‘All the villagers who were evacuated,’ Knight said as he looked over Gemma’s shoulder.
    ‘Why the X?’ Maria asked. ‘Did they die or something?’
    ‘Either they couldn’t write or they were too young to sign for themselves, I imagine,’ Growl told her.
    ‘The names