The trio stalked through the night, to investigate the chapel's glow, They peeked through the colored glass to catch a hint and finally know Michael smirked as he tapped the glass. "See? The church is still in session." James leaned closer, his breath held quiet. "Midnight rites? That’s new tradition." The panes stood clear with colored saints, a fractured glimpse inside the hall. The town’s elite stood gathered, waiting, robed in red, all aligned in thrall. A whispered voice, a hand extended, something placed upon the shrine. Judith's pulse was quick, skin raised with bumps, a shiver ran down her spine. A single figure turned its head, though no words passed, they seemed to know. Their gaze was cold and grave, locked on hers, a proverbial deathblow. James exhaled and grabbed her sleeve. "Damn—let’s go. We’ve seen enough." Michael followed, steps uncertain—"I hope its nothing, just bad luck." They turned a corner, quick in stride, but froze at murmurs from the dark. A woman stood with fingers trembling, pressing tight against her heart. "You must leave. This is not your place." Her voice was brittle, near to death. "Turn back before they know you saw. Before they mark your steps in red." Judith shuddered, tried to reason. "This is wrong, we need to go." James just scoffed, "Relax, it’s nothing—small-town myths and eerie glow." Michael stood and shook his head. "We’ll leave in two days—what’s the fear?" Judith swallowed, met their faces, outvoted, her disappointment severe The hotel walls were old and aching, wind pushed branches in the night. Judith turned to draw the curtain, stopped—her throat went dry with fright. Three figures stood beyond the window, shrouded, still, with hollow stares. No breath, no movement, just their presence, watching, waiting, standing there.
