A beacon lit up, an emotional searchlight blazing. Our scout crept through the trees, hugging a backroad. Black curves twisted and met and crossed against the grey of the asphalt. Along the edges, chunks had broken off.

Then it was onto a lane. This road was so overhung with trees that even the leafless branches pressed in tight. In the summertime it would be like a tunnel. A few buildings were connected to this road. A rundown barn slowly fell apart as the years passed. And near the intersection where the road met a chalky farm to market, a church.

Massive beams of darkly stained wood rose up so that the structure rivaled even the oldest trees. The front bowed out into a long outcropping.

The parking lot was nearly full. The sign identified the place as the Turning Point Baptist Church. Under this sign, a place for interchangeable letters. In this spot it read, “In good times and in bad, Christ is with you.”

Behind the church there were two sheds. One contained lawncare equipment. In the other, games and prizes for the various charity functions. Halloween decorations were stored away until they were brought out for the annual lock in. A trailer house had been converted into a firework stand. It had already been stuffed full of product to be sold near the end of the year.

The inside of the church was warm and clean. The faithful wore a mixture of business casual and work clothes. Haunting organ music droned as the fateful took their seats. 

Reverend Kimball frowned as he walked to the dais, frowned as he started the service, “Good evening, everyone. I would like to thank you for coming here this evening. Tonight, we will pass the donation plate around for the families of the victims of those kids that were killed in the woods. I ask you to give what you can. A lot of you are afraid. I understand. There’s a killer on the loose, a murderer somewhere out there in the woods. You would be crazy or stupid not to be scared. But I assure you, Christ is with us. Christ will always be with us.”

They answered this with many amens, each low and solemn. The collection plate went around.

“Now, Gavin Richards would like to say a few words,” the reverend informed them.

Gavin made his way to the podium. All eyes became affixed to him. Every face wore an expression of naked anticipation.

“Some people are too cowardly to attend this evening’s service. I see that the majority of you know that no matter what, Christ has your back.”

The congregation smiled and nodded in agreement. Comfort shone in their eyes.

“I would like to thank Reverend Kimball for allowing me to speak tonight. It is such a joy to speak about God and his gifts,” he moved his eyes around the room as he spoke, “It brings me joy because it is a good thing. This is true for everything that pleases the lord. It pleases us because it pleases him. We instinctively know it. It is tied to our souls, so that it comes naturally.”

Nearly every head nodded in agreement.

“I don’t know who killed those campers. But I do know what killed them. They were the victims of evil. And I know another thing: evil can be defeated. Even as we mourn their deaths, we know that they are in a better place. We know their killer will be brought to justice.”

More smiles and nodding.

“Evil can win the occasional victory. Evil can make gains, can take ground. Satan and his agents can win battles, and yet, they can never win the war!”

The main doors burst open, slamming against the wall. The parishioners jumped. A woman cried out. All heads turned away from Gavin.

The cause of the disturbance was a young man, wild fear dominating every part of him.

“What are you doing?” Reverend Kimball demanded, scandalized.

“The police,” he stammered.

“You want us to call the police?” the preacher asked, still outraged.

“No. No. Somebody. Something. It, it, killed them. It killed them all!”

A great wave of horror exploded out of the congregation. Our mistress was very pleased.