"Are You Locked In?" Part 1 of a Hallowe'en ghost story
A ghost story in three parts leading up to Hallowe'en.
“Are You Locked In?” - Part 1
When I heard the resounding boom of heavy doors closing, I knew I was locked in. Moving faster than I ever had before, I dragged the headphones from my head and threw them. The sponge ear pieces and trailing wires hit, then slid along the pew, echoing like a low rippling laugh. ‘How could they have forgotten me?’ the words inside my head demanded as my throat thickened and chest tightened.
“Wait!” My croaking voice reverberated around the vast church nave, and when I crashed my hip into the end of the pew and slid on the stone floor, the childlike whimper I uttered, intensified the din. Such was my horror at the thought of being trapped overnight in this playground for the dead, I felt no relief that the trolley holding the expensive laptops had survived my panic. The cables linking the cameras and sensors positioned around the nave and altar had also somehow remained untouched.
My legs motored at the speed of a TV cartoon character, but it felt, just like them, I made no progress. Eventually, I reached the end of the dark, empty aisle, launched myself through the archway and smacked into the solid oak doors just in time to hear the muffled engine of Brett and Angie’s car as it drove away. My fist thumped the unyielding wood to no avail more than once in frustration, anger and fear.
I turned and listened. The deathly silence that hung like a thick veil was a catalyst for my mischievous imagination to start playing. It cared little that I had a calm, analytical, scientific mind that refused to accept anything other than that which could be proved. That’s why I was here, to pour cold water over the nonsense many people professed to be true, that this church was the most haunted building this side of hell.
Part 2 follows in three days.
“Are You Locked In?” - Part 1
When I heard the resounding boom of heavy doors closing, I knew I was locked in. Moving faster than I ever had before, I dragged the headphones from my head and threw them. The sponge ear pieces and trailing wires hit, then slid along the pew, echoing like a low rippling laugh. ‘How could they have forgotten me?’ the words inside my head demanded as my throat thickened and chest tightened.
“Wait!” My croaking voice reverberated around the vast church nave, and when I crashed my hip into the end of the pew and slid on the stone floor, the childlike whimper I uttered, intensified the din. Such was my horror at the thought of being trapped overnight in this playground for the dead, I felt no relief that the trolley holding the expensive laptops had survived my panic. The cables linking the cameras and sensors positioned around the nave and altar had also somehow remained untouched.
My legs motored at the speed of a TV cartoon character, but it felt, just like them, I made no progress. Eventually, I reached the end of the dark, empty aisle, launched myself through the archway and smacked into the solid oak doors just in time to hear the muffled engine of Brett and Angie’s car as it drove away. My fist thumped the unyielding wood to no avail more than once in frustration, anger and fear.
I turned and listened. The deathly silence that hung like a thick veil was a catalyst for my mischievous imagination to start playing. It cared little that I had a calm, analytical, scientific mind that refused to accept anything other than that which could be proved. That’s why I was here, to pour cold water over the nonsense many people professed to be true, that this church was the most haunted building this side of hell.
Part 2 follows in three days.
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