CHAPTER 2
The decline of St John the Evangelist Church on Ball Haye Road, Leek had taken years. Diminishing congregations and the financial challenges of maintaining the crumbling two-hundred-year-old architecture led it to fall into disrepair and finally sealed its fate in 1985.
Fibreglass panels boarded over the stained-glass windows stopped even the brightest sun from fully illuminating the aisles. Inside, the forgotten sanctuary with dusty pews, loomed in silence. Shadows danced across the walls, where the only remaining semblance of reverence was a six-foot Christ effigy carved in hard wood. Its outstretched arms seemed to cast judgment over the once hallowed space.
In the dim glow of a flickering candle, a hooded figure stood before the wooden Christ. Clutched in gloved hands were ancient pages, worn by time and whispered prayers. Verses 35:16-17 from the King James Version and Deuteronomy 22:25-27 from the New International Version of the holy book resonated through the empty nave.
The figure's eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity as they read aloud the verses, their voice echoing in the hollow chamber. "And if he smite him with an instrument of iron, so that he die, he is a murderer: the murderer shall surely be put to death. And if he smite him with throwing a stone, wherewith he may die, and he die, he is a murderer: the murderer shall surely be put to death."
A malevolent smile curled on their lips as they pondered the verses, drawing connections between divine retribution and their sins. The carved Christ seemed to observe, the wooden gaze of his blue eyes, unwavering.
In the darkness, the voice whispered menacingly, "The blood of the guilty shall stain this sacred ground. Their sins, their transgressions, shall be met with the wrath they so rightfully deserve."
As the verses fuelled those dark thoughts, the figure began to connect these ancient words to those who’d committed heinous acts. A concealed vengeance unfolded in the twisted mind, weaving a web of retribution that would unravel the lives of those who’d committed such crimes.
Driven by a warped sense of divine justice, the figure closed the sacred book, slipped it back into a grey tote bag, and exited the church through a door behind the Chancel.