The church was half full at the best of times and bare bones for the rest of the year.
It wasn't that the church was in a bad area, on the contrary it was situated in the heart of the town centre.
It wasn't that the townsfolk weren't religious any more, at least according to local surveys.
It wasn't even due to any kind of scandal or alleged haunting of the of church building.
It was that Reverend McCallahast was possessed and nobody knew quite what had hold of him.
All anybody knew was that they had to visit the church once year at least and Sundays had to have an audience.
They'd tried ignoring it but it used the Reverend to kill nine dogs, five horses and (allegedly) two hitchhikers.
Once a year was bearable to most people, anything more and the nightmares would begin.
In the beginning there was a solid group of six who braved this to sit there every Sunday without fail.
Their eyes all bloodshot, their bodies sagging and twitching in their seats as they clung to consciousness.
They were so very brave and so very foolish but they loved their Reverend and their church too much.
Only one of them is alive now, trying to train others to follow in his footsteps so the townsfolk don't have to.
It won't help the Reverend much, won't cast out whatever is possessing him.
It makes everyone else feel better though.
That's what counts, right?
It wasn't that the church was in a bad area, on the contrary it was situated in the heart of the town centre.
It wasn't that the townsfolk weren't religious any more, at least according to local surveys.
It wasn't even due to any kind of scandal or alleged haunting of the of church building.
It was that Reverend McCallahast was possessed and nobody knew quite what had hold of him.
All anybody knew was that they had to visit the church once year at least and Sundays had to have an audience.
They'd tried ignoring it but it used the Reverend to kill nine dogs, five horses and (allegedly) two hitchhikers.
Once a year was bearable to most people, anything more and the nightmares would begin.
In the beginning there was a solid group of six who braved this to sit there every Sunday without fail.
Their eyes all bloodshot, their bodies sagging and twitching in their seats as they clung to consciousness.
They were so very brave and so very foolish but they loved their Reverend and their church too much.
Only one of them is alive now, trying to train others to follow in his footsteps so the townsfolk don't have to.
It won't help the Reverend much, won't cast out whatever is possessing him.
It makes everyone else feel better though.
That's what counts, right?
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