The procession marched on through the cold snow. The dead trees moaned a warning as they trudged into the graveyard. Fallen headstones lay as silent testament to the decay of the once magnificent place. What remained of the main structure loomed eerily above, silhouetted by the light of the moon. A gust of wind from behind the group seemed to draw them invitingly towards the old stone archway where the door used to be. Murmurs of apprehension rippled through the men but were quickly silenced by a glance from their leader. Whatever nefarious purposes this place had once stood for were mere shadows in the night compared to what they had planned that night. Somewhere nearby a wolf howled a solemn note. There was no reply.
“What’s going on?” whispered a voice by his ear.
“I don’t know. Some kind of incantation.” He replied.
They had stopped just short of the doorway and the leader had begun chanting under his breath. As the chants progressed the wind which had blown towards the door seemed to change direction – and they soon noticed that it was gaining in strength. Suddenly the wind rose to a fever pitch causing the black robes to billow and flap. Amidst the sombre colours of his companions he could have sworn he had seen a flash of colour; red, maybe. The trees around them screamed in protest as the wind whipped through their branches until, just as they thought they might be blown away, there was silence. It seemed to him then, just for a second, that it was more than just an absence of sound in that moment of silence. It was more akin to the opposite of sound – an anti-sound. He shivered.
They were moving again towards the doorway in a huddled group; a sense of dread had fallen upon them all. As he stepped through the broken archway he felt warmer, as one might feel stepping in from the cold. He looked up. The stained glass windows shone in shades of red and the magnificent candelabras swayed gently from the rafters high above. Candles were alight everywhere and the walls, which moments ago he could have sworn had not existed, were painted by dancing shadows.
“That’s… impossible!” stammered his companion.
It was impossible. They were inside the church. There were no ruins to be seen, no indication of any decay – everything looked brand new. And the reality of what was about to happen that night struck him completely. Every sense of his being compelled him to turn and leave that place, his very soul screamed for him to flee, but still he walked on – destiny awaited.