Chapter Text
October 20, 1982
Rain pelted the ground in torrential, angry bursts. Harsh winds threatened to blow a disheveled child off of his feet as he struggled helplessly through what—to him—could only have been a devastating hurricane. Typically, on days such as these, his mother would have picked him up from school. She’d park as close to the awning as possible to avoid his uniform getting soaked, wrapping him in her woolen sweater once he’d gotten to the car, then grabbing him and blowing raspberries on his cheeks while he’d try (unsuccessfully) to push her grinning face away, giggling and squealing.
Today was different, though, for some reason or another. Hours went by before he’d decided to brave the weather, clutching a hefty backpack above his head for cover and wading through domineering gusts of numbing cold as the wistful beginnings of hail bit at his cheeks. He wondered if this was some form of punishment, if he’d done something by accident that even his mom, typically the forgiving type, saw fit for consequences. Or, perhaps, it was a test; a plan put in place by Father to determine if he was old enough to walk home by himself, the notion of which made him steel his face and puff out his chest, trying to walk proudly like the soldiers he’d seen on the box at home. This charade didn’t last very long (unfortunately), as a soaked piece of newspaper flew into his face with a wet SMACK, sending him careening backwards; dropping his bag and wildly flailing his arms in an attempt to right himself before falling unceremoniously onto his butt.
Larry would have laughed at him for a good 15 minutes if he were there, he thought, which quelled the fear and shock from such an event. Mrs. Johnson had offered to drive him home when she picked Larry up from after-school care, but he hadn’t yet clocked that his mother wouldn’t show, so refused. He gathered his bearings and scrambled to his feet before continuing the trek, deeply regretting the choice to turn down such a kind offer, cussing to himself before immediately pinching his arm and praying to God to forgive such a misdemeanor.
After roughly half-an-hour of walking, the boy’s legs having since grown tired and dragging behind him with each step, he came into view of the church; a grandiose, ethereal monolith that made him feel rather small. Beside the downtrodden gravel path sat a bright yellow sign that read,
“BEWARE / THE TEMPTATION / OF ALL / HALLOW’S EVE”.
His eyes lit up. He wasn’t home , per se, but he could take a moment to rest in the pews before making the last half-hour to the house. He didn’t mind an excuse to visit the spider who’d recently laid eggs in one of the stained windows, either. With newfound vigor he bolted down the path, kicking up small pebbles and dirt behind him all the way to the double doors, grabbing onto the ornate gold-painted handles and—
That was strange, the doors wouldn’t budge. Normally the church would be open for confessions around then, right? Pressing his ear up to the heavy wooden entrance, he could hear faint, garbled chants and mutterings. While he certainly could have just taken residence at the side of the building from the ever-intensifying downpour, a new source of motivation crept up his back and tugged at his rationale: Curiosity .
Slipping his arms once more through the loops of his backpack, he veered around to the East side where he knew there would be a window with a broken lock; an exploit he’d previously used on several failed attempts to run away from home. He pushed the glass inward as much as his short arms would allow, scrambling up the wall and—with all the grace of a sack of potatoes—tumbling into the building head-first and managing a butchered somersault on the way down,
The nave was completely empty, though a door to the right of Christ’s stone body rested ever-so-slightly ajar, a faint red glow emanating from the opening along with the sounds of prayer and chatter growing louder as he approached. Unfortunately, peeking inside provided no answers, as there was a long staircase waiting temptingly behind the door. He faltered, stepping back a moment and biting his lip. He wasn’t supposed to go into the basement. Father typically kept it under lock and key to avoid this exact thing from happening, but that itching feeling at the base of his skull beckoned him forward.
Hands trembling, he pulled on the brass knob just enough to shimmy inside, tiptoeing down into the ministry's ominous depths while gripping a shifty railing. As he descended, a metallic scent filled his nose and sat uncomfortably in the back of his throat, growing stronger and more nauseating the closer he was to the bottom.
When the seemingly endless staircase finally tapered off into flat ground, the boy found himself in an open hallway, facing a stone archway that led into a room full of black garbs and odd silhouettes. The smell now clawed at his senses and made his gut roil, loud chanting ringing in his ears as his vision spun. An intangible sight sat shifting and warping in front of him; blurry, pulsating, impossible to make out as though a thick wall of running water sat between him and whatever it was.
Mom?