Flux

graves casting large areas of shade across the grass and Iain wondered what sights they’d seen over their many years.
    The feeling of being watched intensified but Iain didn’t rush to leave, instead taking his time to pick his way between the tombs, trying to make out names and dates on lichen covered stones. Many were too weathered by age to be able to make out what writing once adorned them but by no means all.
    Iain found himself struck by how many children were buried there. Almost every grave contained someone under the age of ten, and many held several. He paused by a small statue of a cherub marking the final resting place of three children, aged three, five and seven and had to look away. Feeling a sense of urgency to leave the graves behind he turned to the church itself and walked along the old crooked flagstones to the door.
    The structure was old and made of huge sandstone blocks, worn down by centuries of wind and rain. Similarly weathered gargoyles jutted from the walls above his head and even though they were now mostly featureless, they still held the power to intimidate. Mounted directly above the sharply arched door was a carved depiction of a man in the swirling ancient style which Iain associated with the Celts. Impressed by the age and beauty, he stood to admire the carving for quite some time before trying the door itself.
    It opened easily.
    Crossing the threshold, the still atmosphere of outside intensified until tangible. His footfalls echoed on the stone floor as he walked forward towards the altar. The church, or at least the main part where acts of worship are enacted, was empty. Not wanting to venture all the way to the front, he sidled in between the pews a few rows back; wood creaking as it bore his weight.
    Touching his finger to the bible stashed in front of his seat, Iain did something he could never remember doing before. He closed his eyes and tilted his head forward so it almost touched the back of the pew in front, and prayed. He prayed for some insight on how to put his gift to use, for the strength to follow his convictions, for hope that he was doing the right thing.

    Sensing he was no longer alone, he opened his eyes. Turning slowly, he almost jumped right from his skin to see Eve sitting just two rows back.
    “Christ on a bike! I didn’t hear you come in.”
    “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
    “What are you doing here?” he asked, more than a little perplexed by her presence.
    “I was just passing and saw you come in the door.”
    Iain looked at her, trying to work out whether or not she told the truth. On the way in, he’d been struck by the lack of people in the village. She broke the deadlock just before he had chance to ask whether she was following him. “I didn’t take you for the religious type?” she asked.
    “I’m not really,” he responded. “I was just passing, like yourself, and churches are such peaceful places to sit and think.”
    “Sorry, do you want me to leave you alone?”
    “No, I was just leaving.”
    “Can I walk with you a while?”
    “Yes of course you can. That would be nice.” He meant it too, he would be glad of the company and a sympathetic ear.
    They both rose from the pews and made their way back up the church, to the heavy door, her heeled shoes echoing even more loudly than his; a click, click, click sound on the flags. The door swung silently on its hinges.
    Outside, something was amiss. It took Iain more than a few moments to realise what and when he did, his blood ran cold. The marble angel, which he was sure had been looking out towards the road, now had its stony stare fixed firmly on the door of the church where they were standing. He didn’t say a word to his companion lest he end up back in hospital before the end of the day, but kept his eyes firmly fixed on the statue as they made their way along the path and out of the gate.
    Then came another revelation; although sure he’d not been in the church long, possibly half an hour at most, parked cars dotted the street where before there had been none. He watched as a bald man came out of the pub, red in the face and saying goodbye loudly to someone unseen inside, the way someone would say goodbye after having their fill of ale over a number of hours. Impossible! He thought to himself, shaking his head.
    “What was that?” Eve asked. He must have spoken out loud.
    “Fancy a drink?” Iain asked.

    “I’ll get these,” she said, signalling towards