John opened the door a little wider, allowing for Mary to poke her head out and get a better look at the man waiting at the door. He was about a head taller than both of the Watsons, dressed in formal clothes with the added plastic collar of a priest. His hair was greying out of what might have been a deep black color, and his face was holding up against the beginnings of wrinkles, perhaps not having succeeded in getting too saggy owing to his sharp cheekbones and very straight, thin jawline. John might've placed the man around sixty, though he would never dare ask to confirm.
"Hello, can we help you?" John muttered, feeling as though he should play dumb and not react to the man's obvious holy appearance. He was standing very stiff on the stoop, as if he still had a sense of ownership over the property. In fact, judging upon his face it would seem that this man thought the Watsons were the criminals, not the other way around.
"Father Holmes." The man admitted at last, sticking out a hand to shake. John shook it politely, though pulled away the moment it seemed most acceptable. The priest's grip was quite tight, as if he was trying to break John's fingers in the process of their formal introduction.
"Good to meet you. I'm John, this is my wife Mary. We just moved in this morning." John explained with a grin. The priest's face didn't budge; in fact he looked only more miserable than before. His eyes, a dim and watery blue, were examining the couple as if looking for any flaws to point out most noticeably. Eventually he settled his gaze back into John's eyes, a very confrontational look for a supposed peacekeeper.
"I know, I saw." He muttered. "I live next door."
"We were wondering if that was occupied! You keep it very well maintained." Mary commented, keeping her voice light and cheerful in an attempt to pull both of the men out of their gruff composures. Instead of a polite response the priest's face remained stony, as if he wasn't so amused at her compliments.
"I wanted to stop by to introduce myself, but more importantly I wanted to ensure the upkeep of our holy church. I don't know your intentions with the place, but just know that it is sanctified ground you walk on, with years of love and memories engrained into the structure. I know I cannot stop you from desecrating it, but I do beg that you use proper precautions." Father Holmes demanded at last, keeping his eyes settled upon John's with the utmost dislike. John hesitated, looking towards Mary who looked equally dumfounded. What were they supposed to say in response, seeing as though they could not promise any proper 'upkeep' of the church. Especially the religious memorabilia, well that would all have to go at one point or another!
"We could uh, well we could give you whatever we don't need." John offered with a little nod.
"Yes, like all of those statues in the walls." Mary agreed. The priest winced, biting his lip as if trying to restrain himself from spitting out unprepared words.
"You intend to rip them out?" he clarified in a small voice.
"Certainly you couldn't expect us to keep them? We're not; well we're not overly religious ourselves. And besides dressing them up for holidays, I don't see much use." John admitted.
"You're living in a church but you don't worship God?" the priest clarified. John felt his face heat up in some embarrassment, feeling strangely guilty in the eyes of this accusing priest.
"It might be better that way, so we're not so...attached." Mary offered from the back, her voice dropping into a more guilty mutter as she continued on. The priest allowed her some eye contact, as if just now noticing that there were two nuisances on the other side of the door.
"It's Sunday tomorrow." The man announced.
"Yes." John agreed after a moment's silence.
"Up until a month ago, I would have been inside of your house by sunrise." The priest explained mournfully.
"I'm sorry that it was taken from you." Mary muttered quickly, feeling as though an apology was necessary even though none of this was directly their fault. The Watsons were simply motivated buyers, looking for a good deal! How could the priest hold his grudge against them, when it was really the financial situation of the church that was to blame?
"Why do you still live in the rectory if the church is closed?" John wondered. The priest stiffened once again, as if he took that question as an interrogation rather than the casual conversation it was intended to be.
"I have yet to find an appropriate opening. Besides, there are still people in this town who need me. I have been the priest here for nearly thirty years." The man explained starkly. John felt his shoulders fall almost involuntarily, as if his subconscious mind recognized the tragedy behind that statement much quicker than his conscious brain could process it. Thirty yeas within the same church, only to live next door to the place as it was remodeled and partially destroyed? It was a terrible thing to imagine, and evoked more pity within his heart than John was willing to display. This priest wasn't acting nice enough to receive any of John's sympathy; in fact he was being quite unfriendly at the moment. If he had come here with a better attitude, perhaps the Watsons would confide in his wishes and allow for some preservation of the old church. Though with that scowl directed in his face, John felt quite like taking a mallet to half to the statues inside, just to spite this grumpy old man!
"Well, you're welcome over any time of course. Once we find the dishes we'll be sure to host a welcome dinner!" Mary promised with a large grin. The priest winced, as if he wasn't too fond of the idea of a dinner share with his new adversaries, though he was obviously trying to remember his manners as best he could.
"Thank you." Father Holmes managed. After a long period of silence he finally clasped his hands behind his back, figuring it was a good time to excuse himself from the front step. "I'll be going now." He announced.
"It was good to meet you!" Mary said cheerfully.
"If you need anything, just let us know." John muttered, feeling as though that statement should have been spoken on the other side of the conversation. Certainly it was this priest's job to welcome the new family to the neighborhood and offer his guidance on the ins and outs of the local town? Was he not the one who was supposed to bake a casserole and offer his well wishes? A mere glance was his parting gift, not even a formal farewell. He was too spiteful to even bid the Watsons goodnight, and with a quick turn of his heel the man strode back towards the rectory in long, powerful steps. John and Mary remained at the door, watching as the old man retreated into his front door and shut it loudly, as if he was trying to make his final exit loud and prominent to his lingering audience.
"My God." John muttered quietly, once he figured the door on the other side of the alleyway had been shut.
"Not God, just a grumpy follower." Mary corrected with a little laugh. John sighed his agreement, figuring that grumpy was the only good way to describe that old priest. Certainly the man was struggling with the sale of his place of business, undoubtedly a church that meant much to him throughout their history together! But taking it out on the new homeowners, those who were trying to be good neighbors and make their way in the world, was certainly unprofessional and frankly rather childish! John shut the door with a snap, making sure to lock it securely before moving his way through the rest of the building, trying to find each external door and securing the bolts on them, just to be sure that their priest didn't come inside with thoughts of sabotage. Mary followed in his wake, perhaps nervous to be alone in the now darkened church. The two would have to do some light bulb changing in their near future, considering most of the bulbs were purposefully dimmed, to keep the whole building glowing in a soft orange light that may have resembled peace to the parishioners. To the new owners, however, the soft lighting only made the intruding darkness more potent, and cast the entire building in a deep, unsettling feel. It was almost haunting, if John believed in that sort of thing at all. After all, ghosts couldn't possibly be wandering about on holy ground? 

The pair slept in the main church that evening, for the mattress's relocation was too much of a job for the exhausted couple. After finding some of their blankets tucked away in the boxes John and Mary spread out on the bare mattress, pulling their duvet up to their chins to try to ward off the chill that had collected even on this summer evening. For a long while John couldn't fall to sleep, for it was strange to be sleeping so exposed, without any walls or even a ceiling within an arm's reach away. On all sides of him was empty space, with boxes breaking up the steady shadows. Above was the sloping ceiling, the pinnacle of which could be just made out through the darkness with a dim shine of moonlight, perhaps protruding from a vent at the top of the church's roof. With the empty space came echoes, everything which moved in the night sent shivers up John's spine and alerted his fight or flight responses. Every time a car would pass by the sounds of its tires would bounce throughout the hollow church, lingering and tapping long after the vehicle had vanished down the road. There were other sounds, too, not so easily explained by passing traffic. Perhaps there were mice in the building, or a leaking sink that was causing a steady drip. Either way, there were some strange scratching noises, accomp anied by other bouts of movement, which kept John's eyes wide and alert. It was perhaps the most frightening night of his life, for when he did eventually fall asleep his dreams were plagued with the worst case scenarios, often times waking up convinced that he was being pursued by either a ghost, Jesus Christ, or the old priest who lived next door. Without a clock for reference John could only glance towards the windows, hesitant even to allow his gaze to fall into the large open space around him. He was worried that he would see a silhouette against the shadows, waiting patiently as the couple slept for the right time to pounce. The stained glass remained dark for most of his abrupt awakenings, allowing him to assume it was still night. The last time, however, he noticed some beams of soft morning light just beginning to poke their way through. The break of dawn, perhaps, and the relief that came with the appearance of sunshine. John was able to breathe easier, though he remembered what Father Holmes had mentioned about his Sunday schedule. If this were a regular Sunday, perhaps that man would have been stepping over the Watsons to regain his place at the altar. With the arrival of faint sunlight John was able to sleep a bit easier, feeling protected against the deepest darkness and falling back onto his mattress, now slightly more comfortable now that his muscles had relaxed out of their tight strain. Unfortunately this sleep was interrupted much too quickly, for about two hours later John was awoken roughly by the unmistakable sound of voices, multiple voices all intermingled and echoing through the empty church. It sounded as if there was a crowd making their way through the building, though when he sat upright John could make out no one within the walls. He looked around frantically, using the light of the arrived morning sun to determine that it was just he and his wife, along with each one of the saints who chose to lurk. There were women's voices, men's voices, even the chirps of little children! But where were they coming from, if they sounded so close?
"John, John did you say something?" Mary grumbled, rolling over on the mattress and stretching her eyelids open hesitantly. When she saw that he was sitting upright Mary's eyes opened much more seriously, as if a sudden realization of irregularities was able to knock her right out of her sleepy stage.
"What's going on?" she asked immediately.
"I think...I think there are people in the alley way." John decided at last, his eyes having narrowed in upon the windows which overlooked the alley and the old school.
"People? what are they doing at this time of morning?" Mary looked at her watch, complaining that it was not even eight o'clock yet.
"I don't know. Maybe they don't realize the church was sold. Perhaps they're all waiting at our door, expecting us to open up." John grumbled, scrambling from the bed and pulling his robe tightly across his bare chest, padding along the hardwood with bare feet as he went to examine the crowd. Carefully John propped open the lower most windows, squinting against the harsh sunlight that was bouncing from the pavement outside. He could see now that there was a steady line of people making their way from the road and down the alley, all headed towards the side door of the church and the rectory. Certainly they weren't collecting for a service? Hadn't they gotten the memo that the church was no more?
"There's certainly a crowd out there." John admitted gruffly. "I think I should go shoo them away, just in case they're here for us." He decided a bit miserably. Mary nodded, jumping from bed as well and scrambling to meet him at the door. Together they made their way to the back door, passing through each of the dividing doors that would have separated the church from the vestibule from the offices. It was certainly a maze, one that the couple was only beginning to get used to, though at the end of their search they found something perhaps even more strange than the architecture. There was indeed a crowd circulating, though they were not waiting at the doors as expected. Instead they had found themselves chairs, rows upon rows of metal folding chairs, and were seated in the parking lot!
"What the h*ll?" John grumbled, forgetting his rather off putting appearance as he unlocked the door and stormed outside. There must have been thirty people arranged within their parking lot, with more headed steadily down the alley! John was perfectly taken aback, and for a moment he could only stand dumbfounded on the front step, his bare feet slowly sinking into the crevices of the concreate as he tried to think of something rational to say to the crowd at all. Mary crept up behind him, obviously figuring this was a job better suited for her husband. There was no explanation for the congregation until a familiar face began to intermingle with the crowd, that same aging priest, this time decorated in long robes which were sparkling with silver embroidery around long patches of green and white.
"I think he's doing church in the parking lot!" John exclaimed, clenching his fists and deciding to storm towards the priest with all of his most immediate protests. The man didn't seem to notice him coming; instead he was speaking with an older couple who were dressed in their Sunday best. For some reason no one batted an eyelash to the angry man in the bathrobe, it was only until he approached the priest and tapped him on the shoulder that he got any response at all.
"Father Holmes!" John exclaimed, demanding his attention immediately. The man turned, his robes skirting about the pavement, and his old eyes settled rather mockingly upon his new caller.
"Mr. Watson, have you come to join this Sunday's service?" the priest asked calmly.
"I'm not...no, I'm not joining!" John insisted. "I'm protesting! You can't just host church in my parking lot, it's disturbing my wife!"
"My apologies of course, though I must remind you that this is my parking lot. Or rather the church's. Therefore, I can use it however I wish." Father Holmes pointed out rather smugly. John sneered, looking back towards Mary and trying to figure out a better way to argue with this miserable priest.
"Is this a regular occurrence?" John wondered at last, settling his hands on his hips as if to at least look a bit more intimidating.
"Every Sunday." The priest agreed.
"Father Holmes, you can't expect us to cooperate with forty people at eight in the morning! How are we supposed to get any sleep?" John demanded.
"May I remind you Mr. Watson that your presence is the very reason these people have to sit out in the parking lot. Before you consider them your inconvenience, remember what you've put them through." the priest corrected.
"I've done nothing, Father! I merely bought the place after it was put up for sale! It's not my fault you all went bankrupt, it's not my fault that you had to sell!" John defended, poking his finger into the man's chest as if to further emphasize his point. The old priest composed himself for a moment, closing his eyes as if to get his temper under control. John figured the only reason he wasn't getting beaten with holy hands was the crowd, however if there was a fight John was sure that no one would be taking his side any way. Was he not allowed to call for a little peace a quiet, despite the exact situation of his home?
"I welcome you to stay for mass. If you do not wish to stay, then I suggest you go back to your house. It's almost eight o'clock, and I'm never late." The priest decided at once, passing a quick glance towards where Mary lingered in the open door.
"You have a lot of attitude for a priest." John snapped.
"Priests are servants of God, Mr. Watson, they are not meant to meddle with nonbelievers." Father Holmes corrected.
"Oh right! As if all those years of religious conversion never happened! Not meant to meddle, tell that to the entire continent of Africa!" John snarled, to which the priest merely sighed, turning back to his parishioners as if he hadn't any more time for this howling nuisance any longer.
"If you would all take your seats, we are about to begin!" the priest called out, silencing the crowd and allowing them to arrange themselves in their chosen positions. John suddenly found that he was the last one standing, still next to Father Holmes as if he was acting as his evil, sacrilegious shadow. With a sneer the man dashed off, joining Mary at the door before each pair of eyes could settle so hatefully upon him.