Chapter 2: The Pastor’s Warning

I was so terrified I screamed, right there in the funeral parlor.

It wasn’t just a scream—it was a guttural, ragged sound, torn from somewhere deep inside me. My hands flew to my mouth, as if I could shove the terror back in. I stumbled backward, nearly toppling a wobbly lamp by the door, its shade teetering on the edge.

My mother’s face turned grim as she hurried over. She gripped my shoulder and barked, "Don’t just stand there, Aubrey. Go get Pastor Ray—now."

Her tone was clipped and sharp, the same voice she’d used when Dad was late during a snowstorm. But this time, her fear felt heavier, more desperate. Her hand shook as she squeezed my shoulder, the chill from her skin passing into mine.

Pastor Ray was Maple Heights’ touchstone when things went wrong.

He was the person everyone turned to when marriages cracked, barns burned, or grief came knocking. Folks said he could see straight through to what hurt most, even when you tried to hide it.

I scrambled out the door, legs barely working as I sprinted down Oak Lane.

My sneakers slapped the uneven sidewalk, the streetlamps overhead flickering in the humid dark. Pastor Ray’s porch light glowed steady at the end of the block—a rare anchor on a night that felt colder than any winter I remembered.

Pastor Ray sat at his kitchen table, absently tapping an old coffee mug.

The kitchen smelled of burnt toast and day-old coffee. He stared into the chipped mug, knuckles white, the tick of the wall clock growing louder with every second. Silence stretched between us, thick enough to choke on.

"Aubrey, you should go home. What’s happening in your family is too serious—it’s beyond what I can handle."

He didn’t look up, but his voice was leaden, weighed down by something I didn’t understand. I’d never heard Pastor Ray sound lost before. It made my skin crawl.

I panicked, grabbing his worn hand. "Pastor Ray, you can’t just stand by and do nothing!"

My grip was fierce, nails digging into his calloused skin. Tears threatened, my voice raw. I felt like a child, begging for someone to chase away the dark.

He looked up at me, silent.

His eyes, deep-set and shadowed, pinned me in place. The hush between us was almost unbearable, my heart racing so loud it felt like thunder.

I dropped to my knees, hands clasped tight, tears running down my face. I begged him, voice hoarse, not caring how pathetic I sounded. My words tumbled out, desperate, each plea heavier than the last. Finally, Pastor Ray’s strong hands gripped my shoulders, hauling me upright. He pressed a dish towel to my forehead, whispering, “Enough, child. Enough.”