-{New England, 1843}-
They say the flames from the Convent were visible from as far away as the bay in Jamestown that night.
They curled upwards, as if outstretched to heaven, utterly consuming and unspeakably beautiful against the early dusk of the New England sky. A dreadful chimney of smoke churned around the spire. It peppered the air with flecks of smouldering ash and ember. Heat on the wind can be carried for miles, but it was their cries that reached the men in Jamestown first.
By the time they made it to the coast, the Convent was nothing more than a charred skeleton, creaking and groaning under the intensity of the heat. They forced themselves into that sacred space, scattering embers across the flagstone floor with their heavy boots and heavier hearts. They did not have to fight desperately against the crumbling barricades as the others had.
In the nave, the ancient crevices now rested soot-stained and hollow, sifting to dust as the men made their way to the altar. They knelt between the bodies, trailing their fearful eyes upwards through the smouldering rafters with sickening dread.
Above them, two lifeless silhouettes hung from the spire. They swayed in the wind like the weights of a great clock, pendulous and somber.
The awful silence was punctuated only by the sound of the last burnt beams cracking and popping. The harsh noise reverberated around that cavernous vault like a flinch. Unable to move, the men merely watched in horror as the two bodies turned on their ropes, tragically and unceremoniously suspended in the space between heaven and earth.
YOU ARE READING
The Spire
ParanormalIn the winter of 1924, Cecilia Atherton and her father move to Jamestown, Rhode Island. The traditional bay side town seems the perfect place to pursue profit and make connections, but when a dark presence threatens the safety of her father's develo...
