Sudden noise slammed into the silence. The church, its sanctity exploding into screams and rough, urgent voices. Sean ducked down behind the pew, eyes wide in terror. Around him, gloomy dusk glimmered through saints poised in ecclesiastical windows. Cries of help to the Lord and Holy Mother were muffled. Feet scuffed on a hard granite surface.

Minutes later, the sudden noise died. Phantom whispers, getting louder, approached. Three male figures, smelling of sweat and blood mingled with stale beer, passed by him. He heard a laugh cut short by a curt warning. A side door opened, letting in a slice of street light before closing again with a precise snap of finality.

Sean got up and walked down the aisle towards a body trussed up like a sacrifice at the foot of the altar. He crept closer, his palms wet with fear. ‘Help me, Sean,’ the priest’s mouth moved through a pulp of bloodied flesh. The boy stepped back, making the sign of the cross. ‘Help me!’ the priest’s voice gurgled.

Sean remained still, knowing that they’d be alone for at least an hour. Then he ran back down the aisle, out through the church door, happy that his Bible Class with Father John was cancelled, maybe, for ever. As he sprinted towards the park, he realised that he’d miss out on the priest’s reward of a bag of sweets and the occasional DVD, once weekly.

Still, he thought, there were other fish to fry. Sean chuckled at his own joke. It was Friday evening.