The bell of St. Matthew's hadn't rung in seventeen years.
The last time it did, half of Maplewood gathered under the rain to bury their pastor — the same man who built the church brick by brick with his own hands.
But tonight, the bell tolled again.
The first clang came slow and heavy, cutting through the midnight silence.
Then came the second, sharper — like metal grinding against guilt.
By the third, every light in town had flickered on. Curtains shifted. Doors creaked. Faces peeked through glass.
"What in God's name…" old Mrs. Thompson murmured, clutching her rosary by the window.
Children stirred in their sleep. Dogs barked. Somewhere, a baby wailed as though sensing something ancient and wrong.
The bell tolled thirteen times.
Thirteen — not twelve.
An omen.
---
Daniel Cole stood at the edge of the churchyard, breath clouding in the cold air, his burned palms still trembling from what he'd done beneath the chapel.
Beside him, Seraphina stood barefoot in the frost, her hair dancing like smoke around her. Her golden eyes dimmed, now glowing faintly like dying embers.
"They'll know," she said softly. "Every one of them will feel it — the moment the seal broke."
He turned toward her. "You said they'll come. Who are they?"
Her gaze lifted to the dark steeple. "The ones who buried the truth. The ones who think they serve God but serve fear instead."
Thunder rumbled though the sky was clear. The earth under their feet seemed to breathe.
Inside the church, candles flared to life on their own. The altar cloth rippled though there was no wind. The old Bible lying there flipped open — its pages turning to a verse neither of them dared to read aloud.
Ezekiel felt his knees weaken. "I've unleashed something, haven't I?"
Seraphina looked at him, her face unreadable. "You didn't unleash it," she said. "You remembered it."
Her words hung heavy between them.
Suddenly, the front doors of the church burst open. Pastor Gregory stumbled out, his white collar stained with ash, his eyes wild with terror. Behind him, several men — deacons, elders — followed, clutching torches and wooden crosses.
"Daniel Cole!" the pastor shouted, his voice echoing through the graveyard. "You brought darkness into this house!"
The crowd swelled, more people running from their homes to see what had awakened the sacred bell. The air crackled with confusion and dread.
Daniel's chest tightened. "Pastor, listen—"
"Silence!" the pastor barked, pointing at Seraphina. "That thing beside you — it's not human!"
The murmurs grew louder. Faces Daniel had known all his life — men he'd worked beside, women who'd prayed with Rebecca, even children he'd once taught at Sunday school — now looked at him like he was a stranger.
Rebecca herself appeared among them, her shawl clutched tightly, her expression torn between horror and disbelief.
"Daniel," she whispered, her voice trembling. "What have you done?"
He wanted to explain. To tell her about the cellar, the chains, the whispers. About truth and forgiveness. But the words refused to form.
Because deep down, part of him wondered if the pastor was right.
Seraphina stepped forward, her bare feet silent on the gravel. "You chained truth and called it holy," she said softly. "And when it spoke, you called it a demon."
Her voice carried like wind through the crowd. The torches flickered. Shadows shifted across their faces.
Pastor Gregory raised his Bible high. "Do not listen to it! It speaks lies! It tempts the weak!"
Daniel clenched his fists, pain radiating from his palms. "No," he said, his voice breaking. "The lie is what we've all been living in."
The pastor's eyes narrowed. "Then you've chosen your side."
And from the church's darkened doorway, figures began to emerge — cloaked men and women, faces hidden, holding relics marked with the same glowing symbols that once bound Seraphina.
"The Order of Atonement," she whispered, fear flickering for the first time in her voice.
The air grew thick, heavy with something older than sin — something Maplewood had long forgotten.
And as the bell's final echo faded into silence, every light in town went out.