The hymn didn't stop.
It climbed into Elena's skull like knives, vibrating through her teeth, scraping down her spine. She clutched her ears but it didn't help—because the sound wasn't only in the air. It was inside her.
Every corpse in the pews rocked in unison, bowing and rising as if to a rhythm only they knew. Their mouths stretched wider, veins snapping, jaws unhinging. Blood bubbled from their throats, spilling over their rotted cassocks.
Elena staggered down the aisle, her lantern casting broken shadows against the stone walls. She wanted to vomit. The air stank of blood and mold, so thick she could taste it.
And then she saw the pulpit.
A Bible rested there, massive and blackened, its leather swollen as though it were alive. The pages bulged and pulsed faintly.
Her hand trembled as she reached for it.
The moment she touched the cover, it was warm.
Not the warmth of paper or leather. But the warmth of flesh.
She gasped and pulled her hand back. The Bible quivered, as if laughing. Its cover split down the middle, and the pages peeled open on their own.
The words were carved into the parchment in dried blood:
"The choir sings until the end of days. Their throats are their instruments, their agony the hymn.To silence them is to silence life.To join them is to live forever.To ring the bell is to feed Him."
A drop of blood splattered onto the page. Elena looked up.
It wasn't her blood.
The corpse standing in the front pew had climbed onto the aisle, staggering toward her. Its throat was open from chin to chest, nothing inside but a dark cavity dripping thick red sludge. It reached out with skeletal fingers, jaw gaping.
Elena stumbled back—
The entire choir rose.
Dozens of corpses, snapping, twisting, spilling blood as they lurched from the pews. Some dragged broken legs behind them, bones scraping against the floor. Others clawed chunks of flesh from their own faces, smearing blood down their chests as they swayed to the hymn.
Elena ran.
Her lantern swung wildly, light bouncing off shattered stained glass. She bolted down the aisle, slipping on blood. Hands clawed at her cloak, nails slicing fabric, scraping her skin. One corpse caught her wrist and yanked—its grip so strong it nearly pulled her arm from the socket. Its jaw snapped shut inches from her face, teeth clattering like knives.
She tore free, slamming her lantern into its skull. The glass shattered, fire spilling across its rotted hair. The corpse shrieked as flames crawled down its face, and the hymn only grew louder, sharper, as if the entire choir screamed in rage.
Elena scrambled toward the altar.
She gripped the pulsing Bible and hurled it to the floor. It burst open, and beneath the parchment was no paper—only veins. Veins that writhed like worms, spraying black blood across the stones.
The hymn stopped.
For one breathless moment, the church was silent.
Then—
From the shadows behind the altar, something laughed.
Low. Deep. Inhuman.
Elena froze.
The choir fell to its knees in unison, their bloody mouths still open, as if worshiping.
From the darkness, a figure stepped forward.
A priest.
Or what was left of one.
His robes were rotted, eaten by mold. His face sagged, skin slipping from his skull like wax. His eyes burned faintly red, and from his lips dripped black worms that writhed down his chin. His voice, when it came, was not one voice—but many.
"You have touched the book," he rasped, every word vibrating in her bones."You are chosen."