Free Ravens Deep (one) by Jane Jordan

would have to walk back to Ravens Deep.  That journey back would be arduous as it would mainly be uphill, but I put that thought out of my mind for the time being and carried on down. The path curved abruptly, getting even steeper and as I turned the corner, I came face to face, not with the cottage I had imagined, but a very old stone church.
                  A crumbling stone wall surrounded both the church and graveyard and I walked along the perimeter to find the entrance, via an iron gate. I unhooked the worn latch and the gate opened easily.  The graveyard was overgrown with nettles and long grasses, but still visible were several gravestones scattered throughout.  A few graves had been tended, as the weeds and nettles had been removed, and that was surprising as I felt sure that this remote church could not be in use.
                  Maybe relatives come here once in a while and maintain their ancestor's graves.
                  The only access to this church was the way I had come, as there did not appear to be a road or path leading to anywhere else.  Although it might be possible to get down to the sea through the thick undergrowth, but evidently no one had tried in years, as it was a tangled mass.
                  I walked around the exterior of the ancient church. The spire appeared to be made of deal and slate. It was an early example, possibly twelfth century, and had been well preserved even though small areas of the main stone walls were now crumbling away. The porch seemed a little newer; it had a plain pointed arch made of rough red sandstone.
                  Underneath the porch, the south and only doorway encased a heavy old wooden door.  I lifted its ancient latch and went inside.  I was pleasantly surprised to find the interior in very good condition. I had expected something little better than a ruin. 
                  The church was very cool and I felt the sudden stillness that you often get when walking into ancient buildings. The pews were still intact, as was the altar table. The font which was of a very early date, judging by its medieval depictions, stood to the back of the church, but the interior was devoid of any elaborate decoration or religious icons and from the ceiling hung a simple metal chandelier with candles that were partially burnt down.
                  It was certainly the smallest church I had ever visited and I figured that it could only have held a congregation of twenty five to thirty at the most. I noticed the stone slabs on the floor were inscribed with Latin words and numbers. I absently wondered if there was a crypt here, it seemed too small. The interior of the church had chilled me and there was definitely an eerie quality inside. The entire place had an atmosphere of ancient melancholy about it and I was glad to pull the door closed behind me.
    Instantly I felt more cheerful as the sunshine warmed my skin and I began to
    walk around the graveyard reading the various inscriptions on the gravestones. They all
    seemed very old and many of the surnames were missing.
                  Have they just worn away or been deliberately removed?
                  To remove a name from a gravestone seemed such a strange thing to do these days, but I knew how superstitious people had been in the past and perhaps it could have occurred. The fifteenth century churchyard cross stood straight and erect.  Although relatively new, it had been mentioned in the old book that I had found in the library and it appeared to stand guard over the whole graveyard.  It was roughly eleven feet tall and the plinth on which it stood gave it extra magnificence.
                  I remembered reading that this area had a numerous leper colony at one time.  I found myself wondering just how many of those unfortunate people had been buried here.  Or maybe they had never been allowed to be