Father Óscar's footsteps echoed softly across the cold stone floor of the sanctuary as he moved from one pew to the next, tidying hymnals and collecting forgotten bulletins. The scent of melting wax and old wood lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of incense from the evening mass.

As he reached the altar, his hands brushed the polished candlestick, adjusting it for the morning's service. The candles still burned steadily, their soft glow casting long, flickering shadows across the walls.

Father Óscar hummed softly to himself as he moved through the nave, extinguishing the candles one by one. The golden glow flickered gently before succumbing to the encroaching darkness. He preferred this quiet time, the moments between the final prayer and locking the heavy oak doors for the night.

The last of the candles flickered in the dim light, their soft glow casting elongated shadows across the pews. With a weary sigh, he reached for the snuffer to extinguish them, ready to lock up for the night.

A sudden gust of air swept through the sanctuary, cold and unnatural, snuffing out every flame in an instant. Darkness enveloped the space, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the stained glass windows.

He hadn’t left any windows open.

A sharp, icy chill swept through the nave, raising the hair on the back of Óscar's neck. He froze, the breath catching in his throat. His hand tightened around the snuffer as the air thickened with an unspoken presence. He wasn’t alone.

“...You always had a flair for the dramatic,” he murmured, his voice calm but edged with unease.