Page 104 of Horror and Chill

“Can I help you? I haven’t seen you here before.”

I drop my gaze, making myself smaller. “This is my first time.”

He sticks his hand out. “I’m Pastor Williams.”

“Garron.” I take his hand, let him feel the strength in my grip, but not too much. Just enough to make him think I respect him.

“What can we do for you, son? What are you looking to gain by joining us today?”

“Clarity,” I mutter. “I grew up close to here. Lately, I’ve been feeling lost. Something is missing.”

His smile grows. He looks like he’s just won a prize pig at the fair. “And what do you think is missing?”

I pause, pretending to struggle. “I’m not sure. But I worry if I search for it on my own, I’ll end up in sin.”

He pats my shoulder like he’s known me forever. “You’ve come to the right place, son. The Lord always welcomes the lost back into His fold.”

He guides me deeper into the basement. His voice swells until it fills the basement, echoing off the walls like a sermon. “The world out there is a disease. It tells men to kneel at a woman’s feet, to bow to her body, to feed her vanity. That is the devil’s whisper. God gave man the rod and the crown. A woman’s place is beneath him. She was made from Adam’s rib, carved from his side so she would remember her dependence. Not his equal. Never his equal.”

I nod, keeping my face blank, though my hands itch. My jaw aches from how hard I’m biting it. All I can think is that he’s talking about her. About Agatha. Like she should have been ground down to dust under some man’s boot. Like the fire in her eyes is a sin instead of the only honest thing I’ve ever seen. She wasn’t made to be beneath. She was made to stand over the ashes of men like him.

He doesn’t stop his monologue. “And children—especially the daughters—are born wild. Born sinful. They must be broken young, or else they grow sinfully. Sons can be guided, but daughters must be bent until their spines remember who they belong to. They are not to laugh louder than a man. They are not to question. They are to serve. That is their blessing and their burden.”

He stops at a doorway. Inside, Michael sits with a handful of men. Bibles open and pens scratching in notebooks. They look up when we enter.

“Brothers,” Pastor Williams says. “This is Garron. He’s come searching for clarity.”

The men murmur welcomes. Michael barely looks at me before turning back to the page.

I sit in the back. Williams starts the “study.” He doesn’t read; he lectures. “Vanity is a deadly sin. Lust eats the soul. Sex is not for a woman to enjoy. Sex is for a man to take and for bearing children. If a woman finds pleasure, then she is walking away from God, and that must be rooted out.”

My stomach tightens so hard it feels like a fist. The words sit heavy and slow in the room, and I watch the men as if through a film. They don’t even flinch, let alone argue. Some scrawl notes. Michael’s mouth is small when he smiles, a tight approval.

I want to do ugly things right where I am. I want to stand up and put my hands on him and test how wet his brain will be once met with a fist. I hold myself back because it’s not the right time yet. But it will be.

Williams continues, droning on about how girls must be groomed young, broken in spirit. “Teach them to serve,” he says. “Teach them to keep their mouths closed. If you do this, then the daughters will not grow in sin. They will wear meekness like a shawl and be proud to lay it on their shoulders,” he says. The men clap when he finishes as if he’s done them a kindness.

Finally, Williams closes. “That is all for tonight, brothers. Go home and guide your wives. Show them God’s hand through your hand.”

Michael is dismissed first. Williams pats his shoulder. “Show our new friend around.”

He leads me up the stairs. His boots are heavy on the wood. I follow, my fists shoved in my pockets so I don’t do something stupid.

“So, tell me about yourself,” I say casually.

He shrugs. “Not much to tell. My wife is Debra. We’ve been with the church since I was eleven. She was eight when her parents brought her.”

“You got kids?” I ask.

For a second, something flickers in his eyes. He smirks. “We had a daughter. But she’s gone now.”

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, keeping my tone soft. “That must have been hard. At least she’s with the Lord.”

Michael laughs. “She’s not dead. Just dead to us. And she won’t be getting into Heaven. She’s a sinning whore. I tried to raise her right, but the devil got inside her. The poison was too deep. Couldn’t break her no matter how hard I tried.”

My fingers curl tight, nails cutting into my palms. I want to smash his head against the wall.

“Sometimes they’re just born bad,” I manage to say, my voice even.