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I got into my car and drove to the church. It was an old Gothic-style Catholic church with pointy, peaked roofs and a few gargoyles scattered in small alcoves. The church was built on a long hill with a small gravel road leading up from the street. On the hill and around the church lay a large, well-occupied cemetery. Towering gravestones with weeping angels stared down at visitors, and moss-covered headstones lay like blankets over the interred dead. There was even the occasional mausoleum, and scattered among the dead were large oak trees that dropped their nuts on the heads of stone faces. Hedges rose up around the stones and created a confusing maze of small, dark nooks and hidden crannies.
I hadn’t been to the church in a long time, not since a field trip in grade school, an
