There was thrill of horror the moment that Molly realized the form above them was a woman hanging by a rope. But somewhere in the back of her mind she was asking: How did she even get up there? The discontinuity made her want to laugh.

“I was hoping to learn more about her by capturing her grief in clay,” The last vankraft said.“It was before I knew how to use subtlety of form. While the head buried in the crook of the arm is indicative of grief it is also almost cartoonish. It’s like someone who doesn’t know that they are overacting.The lack of hair is very abstract but is in conflict with the otherwise realistic style.” He stared at the sculpture. His eyes moved from point to point and he waved his free hand as he elaborated on the piece’s inadequacies. “And while nude is a traditional artistic form it really isn’t appropriate for a period piece from the late 1800’s.”

Molly tuned him out. The figure of Gloria Groder was still turning. Her hair hung around her face. One of her shoes was missing. The shadows kept turning. Molly tried to see where the rope went but the high ceiling was a mass of darkness.

“I don’t understand,” Billy’s voice broke into Molly’s concentration on the form of Gloria Groder. “How does this get us closer to an end for the curse?”

The last VanKraft looked up at the figure of Gloria for the first time since they had entered the church. “I don’t think there is a way to end the cure. Our family killed his child and his wife. John Groder wanted us to live miserable live that ended when we couldn’t take it anymore.”

Molly felt her blood boil. “Whatever you wanted to get from making this,” Molly waved at the sculpture, “All you actually got was bad statue. You never connected with Gloria and even now you talk more about high art then about how she felt. Look at her! She’s hanging there and all you can talk about is your project.”

The last Vankraft was about to respond when his eyes traveled past Molly and went wide. He just stared. Molly couldn’t help herself and turned to see what had caught his attention. Out of the darkness a form was moving towards them. It was the figure of a man. At first Molly thought he was middle aged, his face was lined with pain and deep circles sat under his eyes.

“Who is that?” Molly asked. She couldn’t bring herself to look away from forlorn figure moving towards them.

“I’ve never seen him before,” the last VanKraftfaltered. “But I think that he’s John Groder.”

When the shadow stood in front of the first pew he looked up at the turning form of Gloria Groder. A dark line traced down his cheek.