The gurgling, once-human screech of the nightmare priest pierced through to the very core of Zoe’s being, stunning her just long enough for the enormous creature to turn and take its first, ground-shaking step in her direction.

Her sense returned, however, as the monster’s staff struck the floor, and the apparently deaf congregation finally seemed to take note of her presence. Wailing in awful glee, some even tried in vain to wrench themselves from their cocoons at the mere sight of her.

She turned to flee, casting Kit’s treacherous phone aside as the hulking creature behind her began to pick up speed. It was faster than its size would have suggested, but thankfully not so fast that Zoe felt immediately outmatched. Perhaps the great, fur-covered wings that arched from its back produced enough drag to slow it down.

Skidding back into the moonlit corridor, Zoe set off at a sprint for the lighthouse’s cellar doors. There was no way the thing following her could fit through there in a rush, which should buy her more than enough time to escape. She could come back down when it was safe and try the other corridor. It might have to be another night now, but there wasn’t much she could do about that given what was chasing her.

Slow, but thunderous footfalls echoed harshly through the passageway from behind her. To her relief, though, a quick glance back proved that she was outpacing the priest creature quite handily. Whipping past the alcove where she had found Kit’s phone, she briefly considered skipping the cellar doors and heading straight for the other corridor. It was an option, given her lead, but she quickly dismissed the idea upon realising she couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t be running head first into a dead end.

As the doors came into clearer view at the end of the passageway, something shifted under Zoe’s feet, and her heart hammered in fright as she fought not to stumble. Regaining her balance, she made to push forward, but found that her legs would barely move.

That same, sickening sense of dread that she’d felt on the beach outside the lighthouse during yesterday’s dream settled in her stomach as the sensation of trying to wade through treacle returned to her. Worse still, the corridor ahead seemed to stretch and distort, the doors retreating farther and farther away every time she looked.

Dread turned to panic as she glanced back to see the nightmare creature behind her. Approaching at a heavy, victorious walk, the tips of its wings brushed against the vaulted ceiling high above. Had it not been so repulsive, it could almost have been majestic. Regal. A twisted, half-rotten corpse carrying itself with all the proud bearing of a resplendent saint.

She pinched her eyes shut as the priest’s taloned foot landed with a resounding thud. It was something she had been trying to avoid in case she lost her paradoxically wakeful state of mind, but in lieu of a doorway within reach, it was all she could think to do.

Continuing to push through the resistance at her feet, she thought back to the sandy beach above.

Thud.

That’s what was slowing her down, she thought. Sand. Not the predatory will of some great, profane creature, just wet sand.

Thud.

Yes, she could feel the nighttime breeze against her cheek, taste the salt on the air. She was on the beach, with the ocean to her left and the town to her right, Drey Island looming before her as she walked for the tidal bridge.

Thud.

The sound of waves crashing against the rocks. The rhythmic beat of the rising tide, white foam lapping at her shoes and filling in her footsteps as she approached the firmer shale…

She was there.

Silence.

Zoe opened her eyes, firmly expecting to see the nighttime seascape before her, much as she had done when stepping through her bedroom door and out through the entrance to the Mariner Café.

Her stomach lurched in shock as, despite having fully convinced herself that she was now standing before Drey Island, she was instead met with the sight of a long, moonlit corridor, lined on one side with stained glass, and the other with shadow-wreathed religious frescos.

Great black talons – chipped and battered yet visibly razor sharp – emerged from behind her and closed in from either side. She let out a terrified yelp, heart racing in primal fear as fur-matted hands the size of anchors wrapped around her body and lifted her effortlessly up into the air.

Wet, ragged breathing filled her ears from above as she was turned horizontally onto her back and held fast before the nightmare priest’s chest, trapped in a caged sarcophagus of sharp, ebony claws. She struggled, but to no avail, the dark talons sawing painfully into her flesh as she tried to twist from the creature’s grip.

It turned, and began to walk back in the direction of the cathedral, carrying her with its two uppermost arms whilst the other two carried its staff and made some kind of twisted sign of blessing over her respectively.

The fear of being prey trapped in a predator’s clutches was so intense that Zoe almost couldn’t believe that she hadn’t woken herself up. Realising as she thought about it that waking up might not be a terrible idea at this point, she did her best to relax in the creature’s grip and concentrate on doing exactly that.

It had never been a problem before, after all. She was actually quite good at waking herself up from nightmares. She just had to focus on her senses, remember she was actually safe, lying in her bed, and… open her eyes.

Opening already open eyes was a peculiar sensation, but it wasn’t the first time she’d experienced it. She felt a second set of sensations overlap with those of the cathedral corridor.

The warm air of her room that didn’t smell of time-scuffed stone. The mattress and sheets cradling her that didn’t sway in time with her captor’s gait. The sound of rain on the window…

Something was wrong.

She tried to move, picking her arm up to throw back the covers, but her limbs barely twitched. She tried to call out – to startle herself awake with noise – but her breathing remained steady and her vocal chords slack.

Even her eyes refused to open more than a crack.

A fresh wave of terror crashed over her as she realised she was paralysed. Trapped in her own body. The image of her brother lying in a hospital bed, asleep. Dreaming, even, just… unable to open his eyes.

She felt sick.

No amount of urgency would shift her sleeping form. No amount of panic would hasten her steady breaths.

Slowly, but surely, the sensations of the real world once more melted away, and all that was left when they were gone was the feeling of claws digging into her skin, the sway of an unhurried procession, and the stench of salt and rotten seaweed that rose from her captor’s rancid throat.

A tear of utter helplessness rolled down Zoe’s cheek. She couldn’t transport herself, and she couldn’t wake up. Something about this place had wrapped its tendrils around her without her even realising, and now it refused to give her up.

Any doubts she had had left that Kit was down here – likely having met with similar obstacles to his escape – had vanished from her mind. She’d been right. She knew it. Not that it mattered. Now she was as trapped as her brother, and, moreover, she was utterly at the mercy of her grotesque captor.

She pinched her eyes shut and let another tear roll down her cheek. What was her dad going to do when he found out he couldn’t wake his other child either…?

The chorus of feverishly airy voices returned as the nightmare priest ducked under the great archway that led back into the cathedral, and his congregation got to see that he had not returned empty-handed.

Zoe recoiled as best she could in the monster’s firm grip when the creatures affixed to the pews reached their emaciated, gangly arms out towards her as they passed. One even finally managed to tear itself free from its cocoon, collapsing to the stony floor with a sickly wet splat. Fortunately, even free of its restraints, the creature seemed too weak to so much as even drag itself in the priest’s direction. In the end, it managed little more than to allow Zoe a full, unwanted look at the writhing, grub-like tail that constituted its now-exposed lower half.

Only four more steps, and the priest was at the altar, turning back to the congregants and lifting Zoe high into the air, past its deformed, bird-like head and up level with the very highest point of its uppermost wings.

‘Sa… Sacrament…!’ ‘…oh f-forgive… us our… o-our…’ ‘B-Blessed gift of… a-angels…!’

‘…body… broken for us…’ ‘…b-blood spilled f… f-for us…’ ‘…b-be thine, o Lord…’

The clamouring voices reached fever pitch, with some of the disgusting creatures below her even beginning to sing in unintelligible, discordant harmony.

Zoe’s breaths came rapid and shallow, heart racing all the faster as the priest’s talons shifted, taking firm hold of her torso in one hand and legs in the other as if it meant to tear her in two. She cried out as she felt the claws of the creature’s thumbs press firmly into her back, slicing through the fabric of her clothes and threatening to pierce her skin as the pressure slowly but relentlessly built.

She gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, and braced for the worst. Somehow, even though every cell in her body was telling her that she was about to die, all she could think about was her family.

Her brother was still missing, and her dad was about to be left entirely on his own, all because of her arrogance in messing with things she had no understanding of whatsoever.

She let out a small whimper as the points of the talons pressed hard enough against her back to draw blood, followed by a short, tear-stained smile.

At the very least, she supposed, she might get to see her mum again soon. Even if that did mean explaining to her just how badly she’d let everyone else down.

And with that thought echoing in her mind, everything went cold and black.