I’ve been busy packing for my impending move to Boston and saying goodbye over and over to the same people (you could say I’m in denial) but I really hope to read everyone’s submissions this week and maybe catch up on last week’s Friday Fictioneers as well.
The day was overcast, the sky hanging down like a sheet of lead. The scene only lacked a cawing rook and the wail of a ghost–or perhaps the glimpse of a face at the window, the madwoman of Thornfield. As eerie as the outside seemed, April knew that the inside would be worse.
She walked into the cathedral, ducking under the bright yellow tape. The blood ran down the aisle and across the front of the church: a crude cross. The butchered body of some poor soul would be found in the bell tower.
He grew bolder; April shivered.