Chapter 5: The Faces Behind the Veil

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I rubbed my eyes over and over, but those things were still there.

Dad and Grandpa's fists rained down on me again. This time, I didn't try to dodge. I just let them beat me.

"Just kill me. You guys are right. I don't deserve to live. I don't deserve to be loved by anyone!"

I closed my eyes in despair. At first, it was their fists. Then came all kinds of objects and tools.

"You should've died a long time ago. Why are you still here?"

"You should've ended your life before you ruined everyone else's!"

Their voices echoed through the dark vestry while I lay on the cold stone floor.

But beneath their shouting, I heard something else.

A faint humming sound.

It seemed to come from behind the altar.

I forced my swollen eyes open and looked toward the wall.

There were dozens of old photographs pinned beneath a layer of dust.

My blood ran cold.

Every photograph showed a woman standing inside the chapel.

Some were old enough to have faded into brown and gray. Others looked much newer.

But every woman had the same expression.

Fear.

And beside every woman stood a man from my family.

Dad.

Grandpa.

Bryan.

Claude.

My hands began to tremble.

"What is this?"

Dad stopped beating me.

For the first time since I'd entered the chapel, he looked genuinely afraid.

I crawled toward the photographs.

There were names written beneath them.

Women I had never heard of.

Women who had supposedly married into our village decades ago.

Some names had been crossed out.

Others had one word written beside them.

FAILED.

My breathing stopped.

Then I saw another photograph.

It was of my mother.

She was standing in the exact same spot as the other women.

Her face was pale, and her hands were clasped tightly in front of her.

But what terrified me most was the date written beneath the photograph.

It was three years before I was born.

"Mom came here?" I whispered.

Nobody answered.

I turned toward Dad.

"What happened to her?"

His face twisted with anger.

"Don't touch that photograph."

"What happened to Mom?" I shouted.

Grandpa suddenly stepped forward.

"Enough."

His voice was strangely calm.

"You wanted the truth. Now you've seen it."

"I haven't seen anything! You've spent my whole life telling me I'm cursed! Every woman I love comes out of here wanting me dead! Why?"

Grandpa stared at the photograph of my mother.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he whispered, "Because the chapel doesn't show women who you are."

I stared at him.

"Then what does it show?"

"What your family wants them to believe."

A chill ran through me.

Grandpa pointed toward the altar.

"Every woman who enters is shown a story. A story about you. About your mother. About what you supposedly did to this family."

"That's impossible."

"Is it?" Dad sneered.

He walked toward a wooden cabinet and unlocked it with a key hanging around his neck.

Inside were old notebooks, photographs, letters, and cassette tapes.

He pulled out one of the notebooks and threw it at my feet.

The cover was marked with a single name.

My mother's.

I opened it with shaking hands.

The first page contained a sentence written in my mother's handwriting.

"If Alex ever enters this chapel, make sure he learns the truth before his father kills him."

My entire body went numb.

Dad lunged forward and snatched the notebook away.

"You weren't supposed to see that."

"Why?" I whispered.

"Because your mother knew exactly what this place does."

Grandpa's face had gone pale.

For the first time, neither of them looked angry.

They looked terrified.

I slowly stood up.

"What did you do to my mother?"

Dad said nothing.

I looked at the photographs again.

Then I noticed something I had missed before.

Every woman in the photographs had entered the chapel with a man from our family.

But none of those women appeared in any photograph afterward.

They simply disappeared.

My voice shook.

"Where did all these women go?"

Grandpa closed his eyes.

"Some left the village."

"And the others?"

He didn't answer.

That silence told me everything.

Then a sound came from behind the altar.

Three slow knocks.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Dad immediately turned toward it.

His face drained of color.

"No..."

I stared at the altar.

Another three knocks echoed from beneath the floor.

Something—or someone—was trapped underneath the chapel.

And judging from the panic on Dad's face, whatever was down there had been waiting for me.