#failureintheflesh

The bright light from the cross illuminated Camp Alpine's chapel, casting long shadows across the wooden pews. At the front of the chapel, Mando paced back and forth across the stage. Every few steps he would stop, open his mouth as if to speak, only to continue pacing. A tense silence hung over the room, broken only by Mando’s footsteps and the soft creak of the floorboards beneath them.

To your left sat Gwen, sandwiched between you and Finney. Her hands clutching onto the blanket you had wrapped around her as she stared blankly at the stage. Further down the pew sat Finney. His slouched posture was an attempt to seem calm, but the relentless rhythm of his leg bouncing up and down was a small give away of his true emotion.

 Fear.

In psychology, there are several techniques used to alleviate anxiety, one of the most common being the 5-4-3-2-1 method. The science behind it is simple. Forcing the brain to focus on physical sensations it is forced to be anchored back down to reality, away from the mental stressor. Under normal circumstances, the technique is effective.

Unfortunately, what you had just experienced was anything but normal.

Watching your friend levitate several feet off the ground while an invisible force squeezed the air from her lungs shattered every logical explanation your mind desperately tried to recall. Seeing the stove door swing open on its own and reveal roaring flames defied reason. The memory replayed itself over and over in your head, each detail more impossible than the last.

Even worse was the evidence staring you in the face.

The rounded end of a ladle had somehow struck you hard enough to break the skin beneath your eye. The dried blood on your cheek and the sharp sting that still lingered around the wound served as undeniable proof that what happened had been real. This wasn't mass hysteria. It wasn't a trick of the mind or a shared hallucination brought on by fear.

Something had happened.

Something impossible.

And judging by the terrified expressions on the faces around you, everyone else knew it too.

"She's possessed."

The woman whose name you could never seem to remember spoke from a few rows behind you. Her voice cut through the silence like a knife.

"My God, Mando," she continued, shaking her head. "Isn't it obvious?"

"And the Bible also says to share each other's burdens," you shot back before you could stop yourself.

A snort of laughter echoed from the far side of the chapel.

Mustang.

The woman whipped around in her seat, her face twisting with outrage.

"You think this is funny, Mustang?"

"You getting your horns clipped?" She asked with a grin. "Yeah, I do."

The woman's eyes narrowed.

"Why don't you mind your own business?"

"And why don't you practice what you preach?" You fired back, sending the woman a glare so sharp it made your injured eye throb.

"Stop acting like this is the first creepy thing you've seen up here." Mustang said, eyes scanning the chapel. "Every single person in this camp has seen or heard something strange. Especially you, Barb."

Her jaw tightened.

"Barbra."

"Oh, for the love of—"

"Shut up. All of you." Mando's voice boomed through the chapel, silencing the argument instantly.

Everyone turned toward the stage.

Mando stood perfectly still now, his hands planted firmly on his hips. The anxious pacing had stopped, replaced by a look of pure exhaustion.

"We have enough problems right now without tearing each other apart."

-

Four things you can feel or touch.

The cold night air stung your bruised eye as you stepped outside the chapel. Despite everything that had happened, the weather was strangely calm. There were no violent gusts of wind rattling the trees, no swirling snowstorm like the one that had blanketed Camp Alpine the night before. If you didn't know any better, you'd have called it peaceful.

Standing near the chapel steps, you stared out at the frozen lake. Moonlight shimmered across its icy surface, turning it into a sheet of silver that stretched into the darkness. The camp had fallen quiet. Everyone had left long ago, some returning to their cabins for a few more hours of sleep, others simply desperate to escape the tension that still lingered inside the chapel.

You couldn't blame them.

The thought of spending the rest of the night alone in the girls' cabin made your stomach twist. Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow in the corner, every unexplained noise would have you lying awake until sunrise.

The gnawing feeling of dread worsened as you started down the path toward the cabins. Halfway there your gaze drifted back towards the lake, and that’s where you spotted him. Sitting alone on a log near the shoreline was Finney Blake, the orange ember at the end of whatever he was smoking glowed faintly in the dark.