The Lover in the Chapel (Short Story)

I fell in love on a Thursday afternoon. It wasn’t supposed to be anything. I was just trying to finish a photography assignment I was calling “Urban Decay.” My professor said to find symmetry in forgotten places, like abandoned spaces. I found an old chapel on the edge of town: St. Elizabeth’s. Boarded up, overgrown, leaning sideways like it was too tired to stand.

But the door was open, so I stepped inside with my camera… and a sense that I shouldn’t be there.

Dust hung in the air like it had settled to sleep. The pews were crooked, cracked, eaten by time. And the smell… old wood and older prayers. Like someone had bled confessions into the walls.

Then I saw him. Standing at the altar. Black robes. Head bowed. Hands folded in perfect stillness. No sound. Not even breathing.

I whispered, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” which the empty chapel easily picked up.

He looked up… and I forget how to breathe.

His face was… too beautiful. Not model-beautiful. Not human-beautiful. Ageless, almost angelic. And pale, like if a statue cried, it would look like him. His eyes were bottomless as if they’d seen centuries and forgotten how to blink.

“You’re not intruding,” he said. “I’ve been waiting.”

We talked for ours: about Scripture, about pain, about what it feels like to disappear in plain sight. He quoted Scripture like he’d memorized the entire Bible. He knew my fears before I even opened my mouth. His voice sounded like a hymn you almost remembered from a funeral.

I left the chapel trembling in awe.

And I went back—Friday, Saturday. Each time, we spoke. Each time, I felt more… undone.

He never asked for anything, but I wanted to give him everything.

On Sunday, at my regular church on the other side of town, I asked my pastor about him. Just casually.

“Tall guy?” I described. “Black robe? Deep eyes?”

He froze. “You saw him?”

“Yeah. He said he’s been waiting for me.”

He went pale. “St. Elizabeth’s was sealed fifteen years ago after a girl went missing. Her name was Rachel. She said the same thing you just did.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying, so I drove back to the chapel, breaking every speed limit.

The chapel’s door was open, but everything was… different. The pews were gone. The altar was gone. Only one thing remained: an open coffin, lined in black velvet. Empty.

Except it wasn’t… because it was shaped like me. I don’t know why I stepped forward. Why I leaned in. Why I didn’t run.

But I heard him… right behind me. “Love bears all things… even the grave.”

†

They say they found my car parked outside the chapel. Camera in the passenger seat. Engine cold.

But they didn’t find me. Not really.

Because love can make you forget your name. Forget your breath. Forget the difference between beauty… and burial. So if you ever walk into an abandoned chapel no one remembers… don’t talk to the man at the altar. And whatever you do… don’t fall in love with him.