Chapter 11: Shadows at the Door
The church of Ashwood Hollow had always been a place of sanctuary. Its whitewashed steeple rose above the crooked rooftops, its bell tolling for weddings, funerals, and harvest prayers alike. Tonight, though, it felt more like a tomb.
Clara pressed her back to the heavy doors as Jonah slid the iron bar into place. The wood shuddered under each impact, the echoes of gunfire still ringing in her ears. The survivors crowded inside, their breath ragged, faces pale. Blood marked the snow outside, but at least here there was warmth, light, and—if only for a moment—walls to keep the monsters at bay.
Lanterns lined the pews, casting long shadows up the stone walls. The air reeked of sweat, smoke, and fear. Children whimpered against their mothers' skirts. Men gripped rifles with white knuckles.
And in the center of it all stood Elias.
His coat hung in tatters, his chest streaked with blood, his eyes still holding that eerie silver gleam that refused to fade. He looked less a savior now than the thing Marjorie had always claimed him to be.
"Keep him away from the children!" Marjorie's shrill voice split the silence. She shoved her way forward, shawl pulled tight, eyes blazing. "We've seen enough to know what he is. He brought this curse to our doors!"
Murmurs rose at once, fear feeding fear. "He fought like a beast…"
"His eyes—God help us, those eyes…"
"Maybe he's leading them."
Jonah slammed his rifle butt against the floor, silencing the room. "He's the only reason you're still breathing. If anyone thinks they can fight those things better, speak up."
No one did. But the suspicion didn't die. It lingered like smoke, curling toward Elias.
Clara forced herself forward, standing at his side though her own knees shook. "He's saved me—saved us—all night. If he wanted us dead, he wouldn't have to try very hard."
Marjorie spat on the floorboards. "That's what makes it worse. He's playing with us. Like a cat with a mouse. How long before he decides the game is over?"
Elias's gaze finally lifted. His voice, when it came, was low, controlled, carrying more weight than volume. "She's not wrong."
The words hit Clara like a blow. Her heart lurched. "Elias—"
He cut her off, eyes on the floor. "I carry the curse. I've hidden it for years. But tonight, you all saw what it does to me. I can fight it, but the more I bleed, the harder it is to hold back." His hands curled into fists, trembling. "I'm not like them. Not yet. But I'm close."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Jonah's face was carved from stone. "So you admit it. You're one of them."
"No." Elias's eyes flared silver as he looked up. "I'm what stands between you and them."
The silence that followed was heavier than the church walls. Some shifted uneasily, torn between fear and gratitude. Others clutched their rifles tighter.
Clara's voice wavered, but she forced it out. "Then we need him. Whether you trust him or not, we don't survive this night without him."
Her words planted no seeds of comfort—only division. Some nodded, desperate for any hope. Others glared at Elias like he was already a corpse waiting to turn.
---
Later, when the children finally slept and the murmuring quieted to uneasy silence, Clara slipped into the vestry. The small room smelled of candle wax and old hymnals, its single window cracked with cold.
Elias stood there, leaning against the wall, his torn shirt open over bloodied skin. The glow had faded from his eyes, but his hands still trembled faintly.
"You shouldn't be here," he said without looking at her.
"You've said that before," she answered softly. "And I'm still here."
He let out a dry, humorless laugh. "You don't understand how close I came tonight. How close I am now. Every breath feels like teeth pressing against the inside of my skin."
Clara's chest tightened. "Then let me help. You don't have to carry this alone."
His gaze finally met hers, and for a moment the mask of control slipped. He looked tired. Broken. A man balancing on the edge of a knife. "If you knew the things I've done… the things I might still do… you'd run from me and never look back."
She stepped closer, trembling but resolute. "Maybe I would. But right now, when I look at you, I don't see a monster. I see the man who saved me—twice. I see someone fighting harder than anyone else in this town to keep us alive."
For the first time that night, his expression softened. His hand lifted as though to touch her, then stopped mid-air, claws threatening to break through the skin. He pulled back sharply, fists clenched.
"I can't," he whispered. "Not with you."
Her heart ached, but before she could speak, a sound scraped against the window.
Both froze.
A long, slow claw dragged down the glass.
The howl that followed rattled the panes and sent screams rising in the nave beyond.
The beasts had found the church.
And dawn was still hours away.