Blood Lust: A Supernatural Horror Read Online Free PDF Page B

fronted the monastery wall , their rampant vines awash with delicate pink and crimson blooms. Their strong fragrance masked a host of more disagreeable odors emanating from piles of feces, both human and animal, and the decaying corpse of a small animal, possibly a large dog.
    Inside the wall, signs of the monastery’s hasty abandon ment remained in spite of an effort by the church to clean up the compound. Broken statues and stone benches unceremoniously piled against the inside wall for later removal had been forgotten . Wais t- high weeds sprouted through the gravel pathway leading from the gaping entrance to the church steps . A second path broke off directing parish i oners to a side door of the building. A low brick curb lined both walkways in an effort to discourage worshippers from wandering the compound grounds. Someone had forced the side door . J udging from the graffiti, one of the local Latino gangs bore responsibility . The rusty doorknob lay discarded beside the path. The door opened onto an antechamber or sitting room stinking of urine, vomit and feces, some disgustingly human . There was no furniture, but t here was plenty of evidence of partying . Needles, syringes and broken beer bottles littered the filthy floor. A few grimy, stained mattresses lean ed against the wall.
    “Lovely spot,” Lew said with undisguised rancor .
    I kicked an empty quart beer bottle across the floor . “Yeah, one of the finer clubs.”
    A second door opened onto a long corridor that in turn led to the sanctuary. Sun filtered in through a dozen gaping holes in the roof and through the broken stained glass windows in the front and along the side of the building . O ur friendly neighborhood vandals had been hard at work . The pews, the altar and the statu ary were missing, long ago transferred to some other church, but oddly, a large crucifix of Christ remained, leaning against the rear of the apse rather than hanging from the wall . Dirt and litter formed small piles across the room . It looked as if someone had attempted to clean up the place but had stopped , as if daunted by the enormity of the task . The stink of pigeon crap only added to the oppressive smell of stale, musty air.
    “I was a choirboy once,” Lew confided , staring around the empty space.
    “Really?” I was surprised at this bit of information. He rarely spoke of his childhood.
    “Yeah, wore a white robe and everything.” He pointed to a spot along one wall. “That w ould have been the chancel where I sang.”
    I knew Lew did not attend church now. In fact, he never spoke about religion. It was one of the subjects we avoided. “What happened?”
    “Choirmaster tried to get a little too chummy with me. I kicked him in the balls and ran home. Never went back.”
    I laughed a t the image of an eight or nine -year old Lew kicking the Choirmaster in the nuts as I walked toward the rear of the church . He wore a size 12 shoe now. I bet he could deliver a good solid blow even back then. The sound of my footsteps echoed eerily , sounding out of place, like laughing in a cemetery . I stopped . Doors on each side of the apse at the rear of the nave were ajar.
    “Check out that door ,” I told Lew, pointing to the one on the left, “ and I’ll take this one.”
    A foul stench pervaded the church growing stronger the deeper we ventured . It rode on the motes of dust we kicked up with our footsteps like a bad memory . It went beyond stale , musty old building smell and old feces and urine odor. It reminded me of a petting zoo or a barnyard, an animal smell. Just beneath that smell, I detected a second, more subtle odor. It took me a minute to recognize it – ammonia, like on the roof. Not the ammonia smell of old urine , but purer, like ammonia out of the bottle or from one of those turn-of-the-century iceboxes I once saw on exhibit at a home show back when I was married to one or the other of my exes. It had leaked ammonia so badly t hey had to shut it