“With that concludes today’s sermon. May I remind everyone of the youth group on Thursday nights and our new bible study hours. Sundays at seven instead of six.”<br/><br/>Issac closed his bible and watched as a majority of his audience gathered their belongings and made a departure for the door. A few stayed behind; waiting to speak with him in private. Some, about his speech and others about more personal matters. His mother and sister attended his church, so they often stopped to visit him after Sunday morning worship ended.<br/><br/>Central baptist was a church passed down through several generations in his family. His grandfathers father founded it, passed it down to him, then to his father and finally to himself just a few years back. It was an older church, once believed to be the home of a different organization before it was turned into a place of worship. A more sinister group of people; one that no one cared to mention for fear of angering a lingering spirit.<br/><br/>Issac was an introverted man; spending most of his time in the building, whether it was for service or just to get to know his place of worship. Without a significant other in his life and family that lived elsewhere, Issac didn’t have to stress about being home at a certain hour; giving him more time with his god in his house.<br/><br/>It took a while, but he eventually saw that everyone left for the morning. Locking the doors until the evening service, Issac began the cleanup process. Picking up trash, wiping down the pews, vacuuming, wiping down the stage, and several other chores before he went home. Finishing the first level, where the main services were held, he made his way downstairs to care for the other rooms. Rooms used for children’s services and private prayers.<br/><br/>One room in particular was locked, and always had been. Issac had never felt the urge to open it and look inside; not until recently, anyway. Even after his fathers death he left it alone; respecting the mans wishes to keep the room locked and leave it be.<br/><br/>But that time was over. Issac wanted every room in the church open to the public for worship. In order to do that, he needed to clean out that room. So, without hesitation, he unlocked the door and entered the room.<br/><br/>What caught his eye first wasn’t the large shelf full of old books, jars filled with odd items, nor even the single chair pushed up against an old oak table etched with strange writing. It was a small, leather journal laying in front of that chair. The journal had to be a few decades old, maybe more. It was torn, water damaged, and smeared with what appeared to be a few ink stains from late night accidents.<br/><br/>After wiping off two inches of dust, he opening it to the first page. The paper wasn’t like any old notebook one would find in a office supply store. The texture was odd and it held no straight lines. Instead, whoever used it was left to write freely without restrictions; which is exactly what they did. Symbols, drawings, and foreign language was written all over the pages.<br/><br/>“Conjuro te adflixit lacus antiquorum ignis in terris facere iussu contractum cum moneta desideretur.” Issac murmured, raising an eyebrow in response to the wording. He didn’t speak much Latin, but after those words were uttered, he had a feeling that he had made a foolish mistake.