The Voice

The worship hall was cold, like death itself had infiltrated its doors and was slowly seeping into the security of the walls. A young woman breathed out, half expecting to see small white smoke puffs roll through windless air. Nothing happened.

In those few brief moments of silent prayer she let her mind wander while observing an elderly man sit behind her. His skin was wrinkled, hair gray as an ash tray with years of past experiences shining through adorning eyes

A eerie feeling had entered, an alien sensation seeming to close in around her, circulating the room. Singing along to the choir as they blended in harmonious song seemed to rupture the very nerves clawing at her from within replacing them with a feeling of rapture bliss.

She listened as a lone baritone separated themself, their voice so close and clear, almost in her ear, it seemed to echo in her head. Loud to, as if the owner thought themselves bigger than the Lord himself.

The choirs voice was haunting, spine-chilling.

Green eyes roamed the crowd, the choirs of heaven still raining down, searching for any distraction, in a thunderclap of realization she turned.
The old man had vanished.

Word count: 200