Creepypasta #1369: Say Op
TRIGGER WARNING: IMPLICATION OF CHILD ABUSE AND SUICIDE
Back in the summer of 2013 I travelled to Norway for 3 months as part of a work project. My employer’s sister company over there was in need of Welders to install a new piece of equipment in some Government buildings, it paid well and I’d never been to any of the Scandinavian countries so I volunteered myself.
The only problem was that I had to stay in a little cottage, in a pretty remote village on the outskirts of Bergen. It was a beautiful place, but dreadfully boring at nights, with nothing much to do except sit around watching television. I shared the house with a couple of other guys, but they were a good bit older than I was, so we never had much to speak about. They were both Norwegian natives, hailing from Oslo, and seemed to take a disliking to me just for being there. In their minds I was over there to “teach” them how to do their jobs; they were no doubt insulted that my company sent some scrawny kid.
To pass the time at nights I’d take walks around the village, which was made up of beautiful cobbled paths that led into little side streets and alleys. The soft, summer rain would trickle down the old buildings and that smell of wet brick put a smile on my face as I wandered around those streets. The place was a ghost town after 10pm, the only bar in the village shut early and after that the locals would disperse home. It was serene.
I’d take these walks nightly. Even after the sun set and darkness took over, I felt safe in that little place. It was like a child’s picture book, it was as if nothing bad had ever happened there. Boy, was I wrong.
I had passed by the old church nearly every night on my walks, but never thought to look inside. That night though, the door was slightly ajar and I swore I could hear a soft chanting from inside. I remember looking at my watch and seeing that it was a few minutes after the stroke of midnight, I figured it was some sort of late night mass. That soft summer rain had developed into a much fiercer one, so I figured I could sneak in and take shelter.
I craned my neck around the corner of the heavy, wooden door and the chanting seemed to stop abruptly. The church was around 50 feet long but very narrow, the ceiling towered way above my head and a dozen pews were lined up facing an alter lit by several flickering candles.
“Hello?” I called out, my clothes dripping as I stepped inside.
The only sound in there was the tapping of the rain against the stained glass windows. I stepped forward, inspecting the surroundings for a sign of life. “Hello?” I called out once more “Is there anyone in here?”
Surely the priest must have been there?
I approached the candles on the altar. The wicks hadn’t been burning the wax down for long, someone had to have lit them recently. I realised that there were no other doors in that old church, no adjoining buildings or rooms which shot off from the hall where I stood. The only way in and out was that heavy wooden door. Had I imagined that chanting?
That’s when I heard the voices.
jacobvanloon
discoholicmusic
vaporwave
izzy806
andulkaphoto
origamiaround
ellievsbear
