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Weekly Contest #275
Celestine Addington sank into her chair, clutching her head in her hands. Her cheeks were damp, and she could feel her heart thudding, heavy and frantic as if she were standing at the edge of a cliff. But she wasn’t afraid—no, this was someone else’s dread pouring through her, an icy fear that had been clinging to her since she stepped into St. Elias Church that morning. The emotions had hit her like a tidal wave in that pew, sweeping over her again and again. First, there was the grief, sharp as broken glass, from a woman at the front, her ...
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