The Crowing Shadows of St. Hektor’s

The air was thick with the scent of dust and the faint echo of a distant bell. Eliza stood at the threshold of St. Hektor’s, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum. The old church had been her great-aunt’s legacy, a Gothic monstrosity of stone and spire that had loomed over the village like a silent specter for generations. Eliza had never set foot inside, but the day she received the letter, she knew her life was about to change.

The church’s exterior was a maze of ivy and lichen, a natural armor that had shielded it from the eyes of time. As she pushed open the heavy wooden door, the scent of decay and something else, something much more sinister, enveloped her. She had been warned about the church’s history, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality.

The interior was a labyrinth of shadow and light. Eliza moved cautiously, her eyes adjusting to the dimness. The walls were adorned with faded frescoes, depicting scenes of saints and crucifixions that seemed to shift and morph with the flickering candlelight. In the center of the nave stood an altar, its surface cracked and worn, a testament to the years of neglect.

Suddenly, a sound like the crow of a rooster echoed through the church, and Eliza jumped. She spun around, but there was no rooster in sight. The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once, and it sent a chill down her spine. She had read the village legends, tales of a rooster that had been seen perched on the spire, its crow heralding the church’s dark secrets.

As she continued to explore, Eliza found a narrow, winding staircase leading up to the bell tower. The climb was treacherous, and she had to grip the iron railings tightly to steady herself. The bell tower was small and narrow, and as she stepped inside, she was greeted by the sight of a rooster statue perched atop the bell, its eyes carved in a disturbingly lifelike manner.

Eliza approached the statue, her fingers tracing the carvings on its neck. The sound of the rooster’s crow returned, this time louder and more insistent. She turned, only to see the shadow of a figure standing at the bottom of the staircase. She gasped, but the figure was gone before she could react.

Determined to uncover the truth, Eliza spent the next few days in the church, delving into the old ledgers and documents she found in the crypt. The church had been a place of worship for centuries, but it had also been a sanctuary for the outcasts and sinners of the village. She discovered tales of forbidden rituals, sacrifices, and a sect known as the Rooster Cult, a group that believed the rooster was a sacred creature, a conduit to the dark forces that lurked in the shadows.

As Eliza read, she felt the presence of the rooster’s crow grow stronger, more insistent. It was as if the church itself was trying to communicate with her, to draw her into its dark embrace. One night, as she sat by the flickering candlelight, she heard a whisper, a voice that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

“The rooster has chosen you,” it said, its tone cold and menacing. Eliza shivered, but she refused to be cowed. She had come too far, had uncovered too much, to back down now.

The next day, Eliza returned to the bell tower, determined to confront whatever was waiting for her. As she stepped onto the narrow walkway, she heard the rooster crow once more. She turned to see a figure standing at the edge of the walkway, a rooster’s head perched atop a man’s shoulders. The man’s eyes were wide with terror, his face twisted in a grotesque mask of fear.

“Eliza,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You must not go on. You will not survive this.”

Eliza stepped closer, her heart pounding in her chest. “What do you mean? What am I supposed to do?”

The man’s eyes met hers, and she saw something that made her blood run cold. The eyes were not his, but those of the rooster, deep and hollow and full of malice. “The rooster has chosen you to be its next sacrifice,” he said. “You will join us, or you will die.”

Before Eliza could respond, the figure lunged at her, his rooster head clacking against the stone. She dodged, but he was relentless, his movements swift and agile. Eliza turned to run, but the bell tower was too narrow to escape. She turned back, her mind racing, searching for a way to save herself.

Suddenly, she remembered the rooster statue in the tower. She grabbed it and hurled it at the figure. The statue hit the man, sending him sprawling to the ground. Eliza seized the moment, and with a cry of defiance, she charged at him.

The man rose to his feet, but it was too late. Eliza’s blows were relentless, her determination to survive fueling her every move. The fight ended with the man lying motionless at her feet, his eyes wide with shock.

Eliza took a deep breath, her heart still racing. She looked up at the rooster statue, its eyes now lifeless. She had won, but at what cost? The church was still silent, still haunting, and the rooster’s crow lingered in her mind.

As she made her way back down the stairs, she realized that the church was not just a place of worship, but a place of darkness and fear. It had chosen her, and she had chosen to fight back. But what lay ahead? Would the church’s dark secrets ever be fully revealed, or would they continue to haunt her forever?

Eliza stepped out of the church, the cold night air wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. She had survived, but the battle was far from over. The church of St. Hektor’s had chosen her, and she was determined to face whatever lay ahead.