“Let’s keep moving,” Molly said. She didn’t want to stay near the angry phantoms.
“If you insist.”
The last VanKraft walked towards the ghosts, the light from his lantern dimming them from sight. He marched up the stairs to the rotting wood door and slipped through a hole. With the light gone, the mob reappeared. They appeared more solid than before. Molly and Billy found themselves in the middle of a swarm of angry faces. The figure mulled from side to side, muttering silently to each other, mouthing words of hate.
Billy took a step forward. The shadows didn’t move out of the way but they didn’t hinder him either. He took another step forward. He was now standing in front of a stout man with a beard that Molly had only seen on old portraits of presidents. The man frowned down at Billy. The teen took a deep breath and stepped through the man. He shuddered but turned back to Molly from the other side.
“They’re still insubstantial. We can walk right through them.”
Molly looked at the haggard woman standing in front of her. The woman clutched a child to her chest but her other hand hung lame at her side. The lame hand was scared, fingers bent away from each other at sickening angles. When she met the woman’s gaze, she saw more than just anger and hate. Her face was etched with deep lines of sorrow.
“What did our family do to these people?” Molly asked. The question was addressed to the night more than to Billy.
“I know they weren’t paid well,” Billy said. “But labor laws were different back then. And a lot of the rich people abused the individuals who worked for them. I wouldn’t be surprised if our family did terrible things or let terrible events happen.” To Molly it sounded like a hollow answer. It didn’t tell her what actually happened.
Molly looked down at her feet and mounted the stairs. The cold of the phantoms chilled her to the bone but she kept walking until she was able to climb through the hole in the door.
Inside the church, Molly could see the last VanKraft standing at the far end of the church, past the railing that separated where the normal people stood and the space where the priest did his holy workings. In place of an altar, there was a statue of a weeping woman.
Molly and Billy walked down the aisle to where the last VanKraft stood.
“After all of the ghosts outside, I was expecting to see something really horrific in here,” Billy said.
“In a way, you are,” the man said. “This statue represents Gloria Groder. I carved it myself when I was only a little older than you. At the time I couldn’t see the shadows, or I would have made an exact likeness of her.”
“What do you mean? Does she have a ghost too?” Molly asked.
“Look up,” the last VanKraft said.
Turning slowly above them was the shadowed figure of a woman. Her face was a mask of sorrow and pain.
