Last Rites

"The Lord will not allow me to leave until this house has been cleansed of sin."
Tidy your room. Then go downstairs and say goodbye to your grandmother before she passes.
That is all anyone asked of you tonight.
A priest came to read her last rites. Before the night is over you will wish you had stayed in your room.
He is patient, until he is not
Father Aldous searches at a walk - unhurried, certain - murmuring prayer the whole time, so you always know roughly where he is in the house. It is not mercy. It is a man who believes this is God's work and sees no reason to rush it.
Then he sees you, and he runs.
He opens doors. A closed door buys you seconds, not safety.

He listens. Running carries. A dropped toy carries. A door swinging shut carries.

Lose him and he goes to the last place he saw you, and searches.

He never loses interest. He simply keeps walking the house.

Hiding works. He is also aware that hiding works.

Ten years old
No weapon. No phone. No one to call. A small body, a house you know by heart, and somewhere dark to get under.
Cheap videotape horror
Low-poly, warping textures, dithered dark.