Day 742

England has this obsession with converting old churches into museums, you find the damn things everywhere. It's always the same story behind it too - no congregation, no money, no point and therefore it must change. They like to say that society is becoming less and less religious, that churches are expensive (regardless of size or willing volunteers - it's somehow too much to financially bear) and finally the conclude by reverting back to "who even goes to church any more?"

Reasons aside the church-museum hybrids are always popular with tourists, some even going so far as to offer overnight stays to further scrape as much money out of people's pockets as possible. Even our local natural history museum (formerly known as The Gathering of Piety under Our Sainted Margaret of Cortona) used to host educational night stays for youth groups until some of them started telling strange stories about the ornate stone graves still inside.

They were these great big monstrosities made from the finest marble of their time and carved with figures posed lying down in their final rest. A couple looked to be knights of some sort but most were local nobles. During the day they were regal and elegant reminders of a bygone way to mourn the dead but apparently when the sun set and the main doors were shut the coffin lids would lift up.

Though they were terrified to remember, every youth who'd slept over had heard or seen something unusual about the graves. Even the smaller carvings along the walls and ceilings would shift after sundown into these scuttling imps that nipped and scratched at anyone awake or stupid enough to move. They never noticed the still people, perhaps being unable to or thinking them statues as well.

From what the youth groups have said the smaller ones come out in between the larger ones, like vultures dodging a larger predator but still circling the same group of potential prey. They were the last thing to worry about, the full size statues were armed and harder to fool. It got to the point where regular youth groups would bring grey face paint with them to better disguise themselves while the newer members would come away with cuts and large bruises.

The worst ones for attacking were the twin statues of Lord and Lady Otingham. they stood at five foot four and five foot eight respectively, one guarding the entrance and the other guarding the exit (as was their typical positioning). They wandered about a lot faster then the stone figures, being made from mahogany made it easier for them to glide along rather than let their joints grind like their old marble-boned brethren.

They would begin at their posts, glancing about, watching the smaller statues with vague interest and craning their necks forward as the night progressed. Eventually their bodies would catch up to their heads and they would start to scrape forward, heads bent low and bodies lower still. A few youths recalled how they'd stumbled upon one of the pair round a corner, nearly falling over them as they crouch behind display cabinets.

They like to work in a pair, singling someone out and herding them to toe centre of the room where they simply rush in and fall onto the unfortunate teen. Once they had someone caught beneath them they would pummel them as much as they could, faces expressionless and arms almost a blur of rapid movement. Multiple broken bones, fractures and concussions were all too common though thankfully there were no fatalities in their short time there.

We cancelled our night stays but there are so many more all around the country.

I can't help but wonder what their figures do at night and how many deaths they've covered up.