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Old Scarston Church
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Crowley gently massaged his knuckles as they walked along the narrow path towards the ruins of Old Scarston Church. He hated to admit it, but he had greatly enjoyed the opportunity to lay waste to some drunken fools. The exercise and the release of tension made his nerves sing, but he figured he’d do well not to let Morgan notice. He was a respectable teacher now, after all, thanks to a few strings pulled. While he might still enjoy some of the old, less respectable, activities, he couldn’t let on about it.
They reached the end of the lane and the ruins stood before them, still impressive despite their disrepair. The building retained an imposing air, a sense of purpose. The stones of its construction, rounded by time and weather, were thick and heavy. In places where the walls had fallen, some loose individual stones lay scattered among the long grass and weeds. Stone window frames hinted at the colored stained glass they once contained, now skeletal in silhouette in the moonlight.
“I can see why people come here after dark to give themselves a fright,” Morgan said, hugging herself tightly.
“It’s just a fallen down old building on the edge of some woods,” Crowley said. “What’s frightening about that?”
“A church? A cemetery? At night? You don’t find that even slightly spooky?”
Crowley shrugged. It was just stone and trees. “Not really. The only people here other than us are dead, and long dead at that. Nothing can hurt us. Those drunk idiots in the street were more dangerous than anything here, assuming a wall doesn’t fall on you.”
“You’re not scared the dead might be restless?” Morgan wore an expression of amusement, but Crowley saw a genuine measure of fear underneath it. She was actually spooked by this place.
“I’m no believer in the supernatural,” he said. “I’ve learned we have a lot more to fear from other people than anything our imagination can conjure up.”
Morgan laughed. “You’d be surprised to learn how many of the villagers around here are superstitious. Which can be a frightening thing in its own right, when you think about it.”
Crowley couldn’t argue with that. He produced a flashlight and shined it around the ruins. Morgan frowned at him, somehow annoyed at his preparedness. She dug in her pocket and pulled out a phone, fired up its flashlight and began looking around too. Crowley smirked, but thought it best not to comment.
The grass and weeds were heavily overgrown, not giving much away. Crowley spotted a couple of places among the old, crooked headstones where it looked like people had sat or lain down. Teenagers enjoying each other’s company no doubt. But nothing much could be learned by that. A few beer cans lay scattered in one spot and they seemed shiny and unweathered. Maybe the ones Tommy and his friends had left in their panic earlier. They moved inside the church, shining their lights over the uneven flagstones of the floor. The old altar still stood, cigarette butts and half empty beer cans scattered atop it.
“Bloody hell,” Morgan said, half under her breath. “Spoiled rich kids with no respect.”
Crowley chuckled.
“You think it’s funny?” she asked.
Crowley shook his head. He related, that was all. “It’s hard to explain,” he said. “Let’s look out there on the far side of the cemetery.”
Wondering if he’d missed something near the fresh cans he’d spotted before, Crowley went for another look. Something had crashed through the trees, they’d been told earlier. He turned in a half circle, wondering which way the kids might have bolted. He took a few steps in the direction he thought best and soon came to a gap between more trees where the grass wasn’t so thick. He found a jumble of fresh footprints in the soft earth.
“Here, look.” He shone his torch for Morgan to see. “They were running, heading that way.”
“You can’t possibly know that,” Morgan said, her tone dismissive.
Crowley frowned. Perhaps she needed taking down a peg or two. He understood that she didn’t trust him, and he knew her reasons why. They were well-founded, if he were honest. But while his appointment and his history had strings attached, his expertise wasn’t up for question, nor were his intentions. “Look at the distance between the prints,” he said. “And imagine running compared to walking. Now look at how each impression has a deep toeprint, and faint to no heelprints. That’s what tells me they were running. The direction is self-evident. They’re clearly fresher than any other marks around here, even the grass still pressed down into a few of them. It hasn’t sprung back up yet, which makes these a few hours old at most. If that.” He looked at Morgan, one eyebrow raised, challenging her to disagree.
She pursed her lips, then grudgingly nodded. “Yes, fair enough.”
“Shall we follow them?”
Morgan couldn’t help a half smile tugging at her lips. She was softening to him, perhaps. “Lead on,” she said.
They followed the tracks into the forest. It wasn’t too hard to see where they went, but soon the way became confused. A jumble of prints told Crowley that the group had paused for a moment, moved back and forth. A single set took off in one direction while the others appeared to double back towards Church Lane.
Crowley pointed it out to Morgan. “I think they realized here they were panicking and headed back towards civilization. But this single set, heading the other way around this dense copse of trees, I’ll bet that’s Tommy, getting separated from the others.”
Morgan grimaced even as she nodded, as if the very act of agreeing with Crowley pained her. He inwardly grinned.
They followed the lone prints deeper into the forest, then out from the gloom of the trees and into the open of rolling fields. With the grass growing again, they lost the trail. The pair traversed the general area, looking for a sign. Finally, Crowley found another footprint.
“Here,” he said. He pointed out across the field. “And still running, that way.”
They kept moving, sticking to a general direction. Crowley hoped they’d find more prints, because the boy could have veered off in any direction and they might go wildly astray without further clues. Morgan froze, then gasped.
“What is it?” Crowley asked.
She pointed down at the ground. The circle of her phone light wavered as she directed it down onto a patch of soft mud. Crowley moved in and knelt for a better look. He blinked and looked again. It was a giant canine pawprint, pressed deep into the dark mud. Nerves rippled through him. It was the biggest paw print he had ever seen!