Free Dead Gorgeous (Gay Halloween Paranormal Short Story) by Daniel deLoite Page A

too—”
    “Honest? Law abiding?”
    “Boring.” He laughed again and dragged me along. “How
do you fancy a fuck on the altar?”
    “You’re perverse.”
    “I know.”
    “And anyway, how do you know there is still an altar
in there? And the place has been deconsecrated, so there.” I stuck my tongue
out at him; his childishness deserved it.
    “So what? You don’t think I care about all that
religious crap do you? An altar’s an altar, a piece of furniture like a
sideboard or a sofa, consecrated or not it means the same thing to me.”
    “You have no respect for other people’s beliefs. Come
to think of it, you have no respect, full stop.” I shook his arm off my
shoulders and stood firm. We’d reached the big, iron gate that led into the
grounds of the church. “You go if you want to. I’ve changed my mind.”
    “Fuck, man. You’re beginning to piss me off.” He
forced an arm through mine and pulled me off balance. “Anyone would think you
were scared.”
    I steadied myself on the wall as he swung the creaking
gate open. Much of the grounds had been sold off years before and now the
church stood close to its boundaries, rising up in front of me like a rock face,
the narrow windows like openings to primeval caves and bottomless crevasses.
The colours of the stained glass glowed in short, fast bursts and I realised
that the light came from the illicit partying inside. I listened carefully and
could just make out a faint throb of music coming from within. I shivered, and
jiggled my arms to hide it. Never would I admit to Max that I feared anything,
but I did feel a bit spooked by the idea of going in there – more for the type
of person I would find than anything to do with spirituality. I stepped
forward, thinking I must remember to ask Max how he’d got involved with this
bunch of whackos in the first place. “I’m here now. Might as well take a look.”
    “Thank fuck for that. Now, just don’t be a wallflower.
Mix, make friends. I’m not gonna hold your hand.” Max immediately took hold of
my hand and pulled me along a slippery path that led around the church to a
side entrance. He banged on the door as if to break it down. “Open up! It’s
Max.”
    The door opened a slit and a bleary eye looked out at
us. “Who’s that?” said a voice thick with alcohol.
    “Max, I fucking told you.”
    “Not you. Him with you.”
    “My friend, Rick.” The door didn’t open any further
and the person holding it seemed to talk to himself – or herself. “Me and Rick
have been friends since forever.” I could hear the frustration rising in Max’s
voice. “He’s cool. Open up.”
    After a moment, the door swung back and we stepped
inside.
     
    Max knew me too well. After half an hour he’d found his place on the
dance floor – a clear area near the old baptismal font that had been turned
into a bar for the evening – and he partied with anyone and everyone. I’d picked
up a can of lager and found my way up the steps to the organ loft, trying to
escape the infernal racket of the so-called music. I leaned on the balustrade
and looked down into what was left of the church. Many of the pews had gone,
whether to a good home or at the hands of vandals I couldn’t tell, and mounds
of rubbish had been swept into shapes resembling giant molehills on the cracked
floor. My eyesight couldn’t penetrate the gloom to the far corners, and the
strobe lighting that flashed somewhere beneath me tormented my vision. No
sooner did I think I’d worked out the carvings and statues than the frantic
light would pummel my senses and something completely different would be staring
back at me. What the fuck? I shook my head and looked at the can of
lager. Not even Special Brew.
    As the music changed track, I thought I heard a sound
behind me. I turned on my heel, my eyes automatically searching the floor in
expectation of a rat. They say that wherever you are in London you’re never
more than six feet from one of the