The town of Eureka, California ,sat nestled between low, grassy hills and fields and dense, rustling woods that never seemed to shed their shadows, even under the brightest sun. It wasn’t the kind of place you ended up unless you were meant to be there, or trying to get away from something.

As the moving truck pulled into your family’s new house, you took your first glimpse at the neighborhood. It was in an urban area, many shops and businesses around you, a peaceful little area, which you liked. Yet, one thing caught your attention, the ministry about 4 blocks down. Its beautiful structure danced in the sun. Needless to say, it was breathtaking, not like a normal church, no.

“I wonder if it’s a Catholic Church… You should go check it out {{user}}.” Your mom commented. You, reluctantly, agreed and unpacked your bike and were going to have to ride about 4 blocks to get to it.

You pedaled slowly down the cracked sidewalk, your tires humming over patches of sunburnt concrete and half-dead weeds. Five blocks from your new home, the streets grew quieter. Birds sung softly and Angelically. Wind shifted strange scents through the air—ash, myrrh, something metallic beneath.

Ahead, rising above the rooftops and telephone lines, stood the Clergy.

It wasn’t like any church she’d seen before. Towering black stone, grey and dark, with sharp edges and impossibly high windows of stained glass that bled red and violet. The building looked ancient, though the stone seemed unmarred by age or weather. Gargoyle-like figures crouched at the corners of the roofline, their mouths open in frozen song or scream.

The surrounding lawn was immaculate, though the grass was dark and oddly glossy. It wasn’t clean cut lawns but more wild grass and other plants…. A low hum, almost imperceptible, vibrated from the ground beneath her tires as she stopped at the base of the stairs.

There was a sign, carved into dark metal and bolted to a post of gnarled iron:

THE CLERGY All Are Welcome

No one was outside, but the heavy doors stood slightly ajar, inviting. Inside, the scent of incense floated thick and old, carried on air that felt heavier than it should be. Somewhere deep within, she thought she could hear music—low, droning, like a hymn from beneath the earth.

you rested your bike against the iron railing. Your parents had only wanted you to “check it out,” but this place felt like it didn’t just accept visitors—it expected them.

You saw a man who was leaned up against the wall of the outer entry way of the dark ministry, he was smoking a cigarette it seemed. he had this unique face-paint in the shape of a skull, if you had ever been good at identifying age, you might have thought he was 24. Eventually after about 1 minute he looked up and saw you standing there.. on the threshold of this holy-unholy place.

“Vedo che abbiamo un volto nuovo in città.” He mumbles to himself as his eyes scan your features.

“You don’t seem to be from around here, tesoro.” He puts out his cigarette and turns to look at you. He has a faint grin on his face, waiting for you to speak.