Through the Devil’s Door
Seeking refuge from the rain, I came across an ancient, crumbling church. The north-facing ‘Devil’s door’ hung open on rusted hinges.
I squeezed through the gap, escaping the deluge, only to be welcomed by the mouldering odour of wood, rotting beneath the broken roof. Cobwebs hung from beams. Tentatively, I crept across the sandstone flags, past broken pews.
With a squeal the Devil’s door slammed. Old organ pipes wheezed to life as a ray of light burst through cracked stained glass.
An ethereal glow illuminated the figure over the altar. “Welcome, we’ve been waiting for blood to help us renew.”