The Horror of Briarwych Church

  Copyright 2018 Amy Cross

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.

  Kindle edition

  First published: December 2018

  Seventy years ago, Briarwych Church was sealed for the second time. The great wooden door has remained shut and locked ever since. But now, in the present day, evil is stirring once more.

  Sent to live with new foster parents in Briarwych, Kerry and Mark soon set about exploring the village. When they're warned to stay away from the church, they naturally decide to go and take a closer look. And when the long-sealed door mysteriously swings open, they're drawn inside to meet a terrible fate.

  After seventy years, a policy of containment is no longer enough. A priest is sent to Briarwych, with the sole task of defeating the evil once and for all. But what really lurks in the shadows of Briarwych Church? Why did Judith Prendergast turn to evil? And by attempting to banish the ghost forever, is Father Liam Dermott actually walking straight into an ancient and deadly trap?

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  The Horror of Briarwych Church

  Chapter One

  Mark

  “Oh great, there's a church here. What a relief.”

  Turning, I look out the car window and see that Kerry's right. A church spire is rising up from behind the trees. As the car slowly navigates the tight bend in the heart of the village, I watch the spire for a moment before looking back down at my phone.

  “Hey dumb-ass, did you hear what I said?”

  Suddenly she punches me hard in the leg.

  “Stop that,” I mutter, pulling away slightly, even though I know there's no point. She can still easily reach me from the other side of Mrs. Trevor's back seat.

  “Well why didn't you answer?” Kerry asks. “It's rude not to answer someone when they talk to you, you know. Didn't your parents teach you any manners?”

  I turn and glare at her.

  “Oh right,” she adds with a grin, “I forgot about the whole orphan thing.” She leans over and nudges my shoulder with a closed fist. “We orphans have to stick together, right? I'm sure someone said something like that once, in one of those crappy motivational seminars they made us go to.”

  “You two aren't fighting back there, are you?” Mrs. Trevor asks from the driver's seat. “Please, tell me that two fifteen-year-olds can handle a two-hour car journey without resorting to fisticuffs.”

  “Mark started it,” Kerry replies brattily. “He was being rude.”

  “She hit me!” I point out.

  “He didn't reply to my comment about how beautiful Bumblewych looks,” Kerry adds, “so I thought maybe he was unconscious, or even that something was wrong. I wanted to wake him up, but only because I care. Really, I was being kind.”

  “We're about two minutes from the house,” Mrs. Trevor replies, sounding a little tired, “so let's just try to be in a good mood when we get there, yeah? And it's Briarwych, Kerry. Not Bumblewych. Your new home is called Briarwych.”

  ***

  “It smells funny here,” Kerry says as soon as she's out of the car. “It smells really weird. Mrs. Trevor, what's that weird smell?”

  “It's probably the lack of pollution,” Mrs. Trevor replies, forcing a smile as she slams her door shut. “Have you ever left the limits of the M25, Kerry?”

  “I think I like how pollution smells,” Kerry says, scrunching her nose. “All this fresh air smells like cows' arses to me. I saw some cows a few miles back, on the road coming here. Did you know that cows are constantly farting? They just shit and fart and -”

  “Quiet!” Mrs. Trevor hisses, turning to her. “We talked about this last night, you just have to get used to a different way of life out here, that's all. It's going to be a big change for both of you, but you're both more than capable of it. And believe it or not, you might actually grow to like the place if you approach your time here with the correct attitude.”

  “How many people get stabbed here each year?” Kerry asks.

  “That's not funny, Kerry.”

  “It's a serious question!”

  Sighing, I turn just as I hear a door opening nearby, and I spot a middle-aged woman coming out from one of the cottages, wearing an apron. I can immediately tell that she seems nervous. She smiles briefly at me as she wipes her hands on the apron's front, and then she fumbles to open the gate that opens out onto the street. Somehow she manages to miss the little bar that slides across. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so nervous in my whole life.

  “Is it more than ten a year?” Kerry asks, clearly still thinking that she's hilarious. “Is it less than ten?”

  “You must be Caroline Neill,” Mrs. Trevor says, walking over and shaking the nervous-looking woman's hand. “Maxine Trevor, we spoke on the phone.”

  “Welcome to Briarwych,” this Caroline Neill woman says, glancing briefly at me and at Kerry before turning to Mrs. Trevor again. “How was your journey?”

  “Long,” Mrs. Trevor says. “Traffic, you know?”

  As she speaks, a man emerges from the cottage. He looks a little older than the woman, but I think he's her husband. I don't know why, I just think they look like they go together well. You can tell that about people sometimes.

  “And let me introduce your two new arrivals,” Mrs. Trevor continues, turning and gesturing toward Kerry and Me. “Caroline and Brian Neill, please meet Ms. Kerry Lawrence and Mr. Mark Duffley.”

  “Do many people get stabbed to death here in Bowelwych?” Kerry asks them with a grin. “What about gang killings?”

  ***

  “Normal TV's shit,” Kerry says, sounding bored as she continues to flick through the channels, and as the others talk in the kitchen. “Why do they show so much shit?”

  Trying to ignore her, I stare out the window. Afternoon is slowly turning to evening and the tops of the trees are swaying slightly. Beyond the trees, the spire of the church stands silhouetted against the sky, looking very lonely as it towers above the rest of this little town. Or village, I suppose. Yeah, I guess Briarwych must be a village. And that church looks wrong somehow, like it's standing out from everything else. Almost like it's dead.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Kerry asks.

  Turning, I see that she's staring at me from the sofa. She's fiddling with a pack of post-it notes she found on the table, and she has her feet up on one of the arms, like she feels right at home already. Either that, or she's trying to make some stupid point.

  “Nothing,” I reply.

  “You look like a moron, the way you're looking out that window. There's literally nothing out there to look at.”

  “I was just looking at the church.”

  “Oh, so
now you have something to say about the church, after I pointed it out to you?”

  “I was just wondering why it's empty,” I tell her. “It seems weird to have a church and not to use it.”

  “Who says it's not used?”

  “It's abandoned,” I point out.

  “How the fuck do you know?”

  “Well...”

  Turning back to look at the spire, I suddenly realize that she's got a point. The spire is all I've seen of the church, but for some reason I just assumed that the building has been left abandoned and unused. I guess that's just the vibe I got from staring at the spire, but I'm probably wrong. It's probably used heaps. I always jump to conclusions like that about things, and about people too. I reckon I'm right about the church, though. Something about that spire just looks like no-one's been into that place for years. Maybe even decades.

  Suddenly I hear the kitchen door open, and Mr. and Mrs. Neill come through, followed by Mrs. Trevor. They've been laughing about something.

  “So, then,” Mrs. Trevor says with a faint smile, as she looks first at Kerry and then at me, “this is where I leave you guys, for now. I've told Caroline and Brian that you're both very good kids, and that you won't cause any trouble during this month-long trial residency. I've also told them that they're very brave for taking two of you on at once but, well, they're old-hands when it comes to fostering and I have no doubt that they'll manage just fine. You are, however, their first guests from London. They usually foster children from the local area, but I told them not to be scared of you two big-city high-rollers. Just try not to cause trouble, though, okay?”

  She turns to Kerry.

  “And be nice,” she adds.

  “It's so nice to meet you both,” Caroline says, stepping forward. She still seems nervous, and she's still wearing that apron. “I think you're really going to like Briarwych. It's probably a little different to what you're used to, but there's actually a lot to do around here. We're not quite as sleepy as we might look.”

  “Thank you for having us,” I reply, remembering what Gran used to tell me about being polite to strangers. “It looks really nice here.”

  I turn to Kerry.

  She's staring at the TV again, and after a moment she changes the channel.

  “Kerry,” Mrs. Trevor says, “do you have anything you'd like to say?”

  “Not particularly,” Kerry mutters as the images flash on the screen, casting a faint glow across her face.

  “The forest stretches out for miles and miles,” Brian Neill says, clearly trying to get a friendly conversation going. “I actually have a couple of unused BMX bikes that are in good condition, so I was thinking I could show you some parts of the local area. If either of you enjoy that kind of thing, there are some great tracks that are really worth exploring.”

  “That sounds cool,” I tell him, and to be honest I feel a little sorry for him. He's trying so hard. His wife is, too. I guess it's important to try to meet them halfway. “I'd like to go out on a bike some time.”

  “It's hilly,” he warns me. “You need to be in good shape.”

  “I reckon I am,” I reply, and I smile to try to let him know that I'm being friendly. “I'm up for a challenge, anyway.”

  “I told you you'd like it here,” Mrs. Trevor says. “Once we get the one-month trial residency out of the way, we can think about making it permanent if everyone's happy.”

  “Cool,” I say, nodding to show that I understand. I turn to Caroline Neill. “You have a really nice home here. It's just a bit different to what I'm used to in London, that's all.”

  “Hang on.” She steps closer and reaches past me, before removing a pink post-it note from my back.

  Sighing, I see that the word 'Wanker' has been scribbled on the note, and I turn to see that Kerry's grinning.

  “Well,” Caroline mutters, “I'm sure things will calm down soon enough.”

  “It smells of shit outside,” Kerry says suddenly, still staring at the screen as she flicks aimlessly from channel to channel. “How can anyone live in a place that smells of shit?”

  I don't know why she always has to be so snarky. Sometimes I look at Kerry and I really, honestly wonder what's going on inside her head.

  Chapter Two

  Kerry

  Holding my t-shirt up with my left hand, I use a finger on my right hand to trace the pale, rippled lines that criss-cross the side of my belly. As I do so, I stare at the reflection of the scar in the bathroom mirror, and I think back to that night.

  “Fucking bitch!” Carl yelled as he fell on me and forced the blade into my body. “How do you like that, you gobby fucking cow?”

  I remember the shock. After all the threats, which had been going on for weeks, he'd finally done it. Up until that moment, I thought it was all just banter, that he understood I was only winding him up for a laugh. And then he'd boiled over or something and he's lost it for a few seconds, and in those seconds he stabbed me eight times. What was it that the doctor said? That I was lucky to have survived? That I was about thirty seconds from death when the paramedics arrived?

  I didn't think I was going to make it, not at first. Carl ran away after realizing what he'd done, and I only made it because his mate Jack rang the ambulance anonymously. He ran too, though, and for a while I was just slumped on the ground in that alley, in complete darkness, unable to do anything except feel my blood soaking out into my jeans. For a few minutes there, I really, truly thought I was going to die. I swear, for the rest of my life I'll always remember that feeling of being on the ground and having my life drain away from me. I don't just mean the blood. It was as if my soul was just emptying itself. I was so weak, and so scared.

  Two years later, all that's left are these scars.

  “Fuck you, Carl,” I mutter under my breath. “I hope you're enjoying prison.”

  Suddenly someone tries to open the bathroom door, and I panic as I drop my t-shirt's front and look over my shoulder. Fortunately I remembered to lock the door, but the handle still turns a couple more times, as if someone out there doesn't quite understand the concept of privacy. Or locks.

  “Are you still in there?” Mark asks. “You've been in that bathroom for ages.”

  “I'll be out soon,” I tell him. “Go and piss in the garden if it's that urgent.”

  “How long will you be?”

  “Not long.” I wait for him to go away, but I can tell that he's still out there. “I'm having my period.”

  Again I wait, and this time I hear a sigh before he slinks back to his room.

  Good. I got rid of him.

  Turning back to look at the mirror, I lift my t-shirt again and take another look at the scars. I know I spend way too much time looking at them, but they're pretty mesmerizing. They look like roads from above, and I smile as I imagine tiny little people driving around and living their lives down there. I wonder what kind of people they'd be, living on streets made out of my scars? For some reason I imagine them being weird little lumpy clay people with no arms, wobbling around in a weird, fleshy city. And because they had no arms, they'd have to be nice to each other.

  ***

  “It must feel like you've moved to another planet.”

  Startled, I turn to see Caroline Neill standing in the doorway. Has she been watching me the whole time, while I've been getting myself a glass of water?

  “Dunno,” I reply, looking back down at the glass as I finish filling it and turn the tap off. “I've never moved to another planet, so I've got nothing to compare it to, have I?”

  “I've been to London three times in my life,” she continues, “and I got a migraine each time. I know that probably sounds pathetic to you, but a place like London is just too big and too crowded. There was so much noise, and when I blew my nose for days after I had all this black stuff come out. Soot, I suppose, or some particles from the air.”

  “Gross,” I say, and I can't help wondering why she's telling me this stuff. I pause, before drinking fr
om the glass.

  “Maxine tells me that you're into art,” Caroline continues, “but she didn't really tell me what you do.”

  “Nothing.”

  “She told me that you're really good at drawing.”

  I shrug my shoulders. Why is she asking this stuff?

  “I don't know what you like to draw,” she says, “but there's some very pretty scenery around here. If you're into landscapes, you can't go wrong if you head up to Mayford Hill and look at the view from there. It's out near the abandoned RAF base. Honestly, the light out there is exceptional.”

  “Right,” I mutter, as I put the glass back down and head to the door. “Night.”

  “Maybe we could take a walk out there tomorrow?” she suggests.

  “How far is it?”

  “About three miles.”

  “I'm not walking three miles.” I slip past her and head out into the hallway. “My legs'd fall off.”

  “Then maybe another -”

  “I'm just gonna chill tomorrow,” I add, turning to her. “Is that allowed? Are people allowed to chill in the countryside? I thought that was the whole point of coming out here?”

  “Of course. You need to adjust to your new surroundings, I understand that. Maybe you can explore with your friend.”

  “What friend?”

  “Well, Mark seems -”

  “Mark's not my friend,” I tell her. “I only met him a few weeks ago, when I got shifted to the new home before coming here. He's alright, I don't hate him or anything. He's a bit weird, but I don't really hang out with him. He does things like stare out the window at the pointy bits of churches, that sort of thing. Like I said, he's weird.”

  “Was he looking out at our church?” she asks.

  “He's a bit of a freak.”

  With that, I turn to go upstairs.

  “Actually,” Caroline says suddenly, “that's one place I wouldn't bother exploring.”

  I stop and glance back down at her.