It was the church. The old one-room family church that had belonged to the original plantation. One of the only structures to survive the Civil War. It was supposed to have a trapdoor with a secret passage that led to the river where the Siward family could escape during Indian raids. Maybe Maria could hide behind the trapdoor.

She looked behind her. She couldn’t see the figure anymore, but it was still there. It had to be. The feeling was still pricking at the back of her neck. Maria reached the front of the church, panting, and ran from one end of the building to the other, looking for a way inside. The outside of the church was shabby, with old, peeling white paint. Most of the windowpanes were broken, showing a dark and dusty interior.

Finally she found a heavy, scarred door. There was no doorknob, so she pushed against the middle of the door. It swung open easily, its bottom scraping against the unpolished wood floor.

Maria ran across the threshold and shoved the door closed behind her, then darted to the nearest window. She peered out into the gray light of the woods. She couldn’t see the hung figure anymore.

Was it gone? Would she be safe in the church?

No. It didn’t work that way. Spirits didn’t care about shut doors or broken windows. Still, though, it felt better to have walls on all sides of her.

It was dark inside the church, despite the early morning light filtering through the trees. Maria groped around the doorframe for a light switch, but she didn’t expect to find one, and she didn’t. Instead she turned on her phone. She didn’t have a signal here, but the screen gave off a faint light. Maria held it up to illuminate the room.

The inside of the church felt smaller than it looked from the outside. Dust swirled in every direction, stinging Maria’s eyes and settling onto the gauzy black fabric of her dress. The brick floor was covered with a thick layer of dirt and dead insects that coated her feet and made her itch. The walls were gray and covered in dark shadows and smears. There were no pews, just a bare wood altar along the opposite wall holding a rusty bowl and a single candlestick. Maria walked toward it, holding up her phone to get a better look.

When she was a few feet from the altar, she felt it. The sensation under the soles of her feet had changed. She was standing on a cracked wooden square.

She crouched down to look. Dust flew up and she swept it aside, coughing. Her fingers wrapped around a metal handle.

The trapdoor.

Maria could sense warmth coming from it. Something on the other side of this door was humming at her, the way the Ouija board had that night.

LEAVE. NOW.

The words were strong and startling in her head.