Church Lights — A Christmas Ghost Story
Mist was the only blanket of white covering the English countryside on this mild Christmas Eve night. But the earth’s shroud did bring the temperature down several degrees as it hugged the fields and veiled the blackness from the road’s only driver.
The quiet engine was halted completely in the makeshift lay-by. The middle-aged man behind the wheel shut off the ignition and lights in the extension of the road which cut a space into the grass just long and wide enough for his Fiesta.
Alan had driven this road numerous times. And numerous times he had wondered about the church on the hill. Opposite the layby a black iron fence stood guard over a lush green hill which was the punctuation at the end of an unspoiled carpet of a seemingly perfect field of grass. All of this was of course disguised by the eerie grasp of the evening’s smoky air. Tonight, he had felt compelled to pull over. Festive fever had filled Alan’s veins and lights from the old religious building on the hill burned through the mist to illuminate the field and encroach on the unlit road. The traveller held a deep fascination for anything historic and had always wanted to take the narrow gravel path across the field to explore the building. He drove this route a couple of times a month when visiting a colleague to talk about classic rock and watch videos of bands who no longer existed.
He stood by his car as the door locked with the touch of a button. Alan’s eyes scanned the dark spears rising up from the ground on the other side of the road. Today, the fence spikes were mere shadows in the mist. His eyes managed to make out the edge of the brown ground beyond the fence to his right. That must be the path he deduced. He walked through the wet white air to see his prediction confirmed as his hand touched the cold iron on the gate producing a distinct shiver throughout his body.
The gate soundlessly opened as his trainer-clad feet crunched on the path. The gate swung shut behind him as the yellow lights from the building’s large windows lit his way. The gentle sounds of an indistinguishable carol invaded his ears as his eye fixated on the patches of brown leading the way ahead. The field and hill in front of the traveller spanned around a mile. In this weather it may have been twenty-seven miles such was his slow progress carefully choosing each step forward as his shuffled forward ghost-like through the pea souper between him and a dose of traditional festive fare ahead. It was 7pm, but it felt like midnight. The road was as deserted as it had been for the past three miles. The silence which surrounded the slow-moving figure added an ethereal atmosphere to the night. It was Christmas, but only the blazing orange in front of Alan and the piped organ and muffled voices forming a tune he vaguely recognised as a carol confirmed the festive season.
He looked back. Alan knew you should never look back. But in this instance, it made no difference at all as the only thing he could see was a veil of white air hiding the road, his car and the route he had taken. The path must have bent round as the amber flashes ahead were now a pair of blazing eyes. Their monstrous stare dared him to keep walking in the direction of the tiny church. His heart was audible as was his breaths. The exhaling air mixing with the mist as he ambled forward with a new feeling of trepidation.
Alan knew he must be halfway there by now. The solitude which surrounded him had become much more evident in the last few minutes. The damp air wasn’t the sole cause of the chill which ran through the walker’s veins as he felt the incline begin beneath his feet.
As his legs began to move uphill, he could make out the barest outline of the turrets atop the square tower of the compact light brown stone structure which was his destination. The human eyes which progressed slowly forward were constantly wiped as the mist matted the lids. The next song to hang in the air was distinct. He was definitely getting closer. The melody of Silent Night provided a slight relief that his journey was not going to be in vain. He was late. He knew that. On a whim, a compulsion which never propelled Alan Fortune to do anything, he had automatically stopped after the sideways glance had brought the amber lights and his eyes into an inevitable collision. Given the night and the knowledge that what stood proud at the top of the hill was a church, he knew it had to be a carol service.
That the church was even in use any more had surprised him. During his trips past the black fence, he had noticed the brown heritage signs on each occasion, but there were very few houses bringing life to the vicinity. In fact, it was more of a hamlet than a village. Alan hadn’t even thought about where the congregation had come from, but the voices which now infiltrated his ears proved there was indeed a choir of voices coming from the ancient monument.
The door looked like the door to a castle; this was the first thought to penetrate the traveller’s mind as he approached the heavy wooden entrance set into decorative stone. The number of gravestones which were scattered around his feet seemed relatively low. He was unable to distinguish any markers on individual weathered crosses and circular memorials. The gargoyles were small and the black iron handle stood out from the dark wood of the suddenly imposing door. The rounded handle felt cold to Alan’s touch. Its dampness gave him the shivers as he prepared to escape the thickening into the traditional festive warmth that lay beyond the ancient heavy gateway guardian.
The door moved more quickly than he had anticipated as he pushed inwards and eased aside to reveal a dimly lit service. The warmth of the occasion contrasted sharply with the coldness of the historic stone interior. The organ had just begun to pipe out the intro to Away in a Manger as he moved to a basic wooden pew at the back. The row was completely empty. There wasn’t even a hymn book to remind him of the words. However, that mattered not for he knew most of the classic carols which would fill the air of such an auspicious occasion. His eyes searched his surroundings. It was gloomy. The darkness seemed to be illuminated only by candles at the altar. It had certainly looked brighter from the outside — much brighter. How had he seen such dim lights from the road? The pews looked only long enough for five or six people. The shadows in front of him numbered around twenty-five as the priest occupied a pulpit above the congregation: a small wooden nest which was formed of thin arched sandalwood panels united around the tall, serious figure. The candles were not bright enough for the imposter to distinguish the church leader’s features, but in that way, he was not differentiated from the rest of the building’s occupants.
Nobody has noticed the stranger’s arrival. None of the heads looked up from their books. No eyes turned as he mouthed along the words, he thought he knew. Two or three hymns were played out, broken up by monologues from the priest which seemed utterly unremarkable. At least he thought that to be the case as the tangle of words just passed through his ears and failed to interact with his memory. However, O Little Town of Bethlehem and Hark! The Herald Angels Sing did at least make it feel like Christmas. His eyes moved around the cosy church, flicking by the small pillars and the lack of stained-glass windows and over the heads of the indistinguishable members of the congregation which were mere shapes in the gloom.
And then it was over. The organ music disappeared into the misty night beyond the rafters and silence held the church in an eerie grasp. Alan looked at his feet and pulled his coat tight against his body. Churches were always cold, but the chill in this particular house of worship was even harsher than usual. He did not know if to get up and leave first or wait for the priest to walk to the door. The priest? Where was he? Alan’s eyes moved to the pulpit. It was empty. He scanned the rows of pulpits. They were empty too. His chest thumped and his pupils widened. He gripped the pew hard and shuffled forward. What was going on? The church was empty. Dark and empty. It was silent and deserted but for one occupant. The smell of solitude told Alan that he had been the only person to enter the church at all on Christmas Eve.