In 2019, that old cursed spot was reborn as Green Hope Church. Its non-denominational occupants were a small but earnest group hoping to light a candle and shine love in their community. This seemed a strange place to do so, but it was all they could afford. And it really wasn’t uncommon for a young, modern church to make a sanctuary out of an old warehouse. After all, “the church is not the building, it’s the people.”

 

And it’s a good thing, too, because this place was rough. All around were broken pipes, water stains, and electrical wiring in desperate need of repair. Painted plywood facades and dusty relics from the film days had been left inside to rot. And in one corner, tucked away in that derelict nest of junk, were the old restored walls of the original chapel. 

 

Pastor John Carroll, a warm and optimistic man, knew the history of the place in which he’d chosen to set up shop. But the city needed Green Hope, and no scary stories would stand in the way of that mission. Even if there were ghosts or demons or whatever else they’d say was lurking in the halls, John had faith in the One he served. And he would need it. 

 

In the summer of 2022, at the first Vacation Bible School since Covid had shut the church doors, the cycle of misery began again. Chasing an errant frisbee, a young girl ran out into nearby Princess Street and was struck head-on by a large truck. 

 

Against all advice, the frantic mother dragged her daughter off the road and back onto the verdant summer grass of the Green Hope lawn. People prayed and sang hopeful songs while waiting for the paramedics, but the girl’s injuries were too severe. She sputtered and died, leaving everyone wailing. The wail was unlike anything Pastor John had ever experienced, but that was not the thought that would stick each time the memory of that day would return to haunt him. What stuck was a stupid thought - a seemingly cold observation in the face of so much agony - yet it was one that he could not escape: 

 

Blood shouldn’t soak so quickly into the ground. 

 

Sometimes, when you let a thing sit in your head for too long, you start finding it all around you. John had grown up here; he knew the old stories. And his nerves were heightened by the pain the people he loved had just suffered. 

 

Surely that was the reason he started hearing little voices when he sat alone inside the walls of Green Hope.