Blood Harvest

71

HARRY OPENED THE DOOR TO THE CHURCH CRYPT. THE stale smell of things long since forgotten came stealing up towards him. He picked up the flashlight and the box of tools he’d brought from his car.
The darkness below seemed to have grown denser. Rushton and his team would be up here as soon as it was light. They’d be able to turn the church and the crypt upside-down. It would be stupid for him to do anything that might jeopardize that search. On the other hand, dawn was eleven hours away. Joe could be down there now.
But it had been so much easier to walk down those steps when it was daylight outside, when he hadn’t been alone and before the corpses of murdered children started turning up. Last time he’d stood here, evil hadn’t come close enough to stroke him on the back of the neck. He shone the torch down. It was a powerful beam, but even so he couldn’t see more than a dozen steps. He was still on the first.
The door key was in the lock. If he went down and left it there, someone could close the door softly, turn the key and … the key went into his pocket. He took a deep breath, pulled his shoulders back. This was ridiculous. He was a grown man. It was just a cellar. Was this to be the night he learned he was a coward?
In the beam of the torch the darkness seemed to be moving, as though gathering its forces, waiting for him to dare, knowing he probably wouldn’t. He was a man of God. In a church. Was this also to be the night he learned his faith was a sham?
‘Though I walk though the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,’ whispered Harry, and immediately felt worse. Anyone listening would know he was lying. He was very afraid. ‘I will fear no evil,’ he tried again, ‘for you are with me.’
He was still on the top step and Joe, tiny six-year-old Joe, could be below, cold and terrified, trapped in one of those stone chests.
‘For you are with me,’ repeated Harry. He hadn’t moved. ‘Oh, f*ck it,’ he said, and went down.