Pastor Michael Reed gripped the pulpit, his knuckles white. The church had been quiet lately - too quiet. Each Sunday, fewer congregants arrived, their eyes haunted, their spirits diminished.
Something was hunting them.
It started three months ago, when elderly Martha Jenkins claimed shadows moved between the pews during evening prayer meetings. Everyone dismissed her ramblings as senility. Then Martha disappeared, her Bible found open to Ephesians 6:12: "For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."
Michael knew the verses well. Too well.
The night Martha vanished, he'd heard them - whispers that slithered between scriptural verses, promises that twisted holy words into something grotesque. Promises of salvation through sacrifice. Promises that required blood.
Now, as he stood before his dwindling congregation, Michael realized the darkness was not outside, but within. Waiting. Watching.
And it was hungry.
