I watched in desperate immobility as Reverend Samuel hung an inverted cross on the wall. Sweat gobbed down his back as he reached up and tenderly adjusted it into place.
I tried to move but the pain of the effort held me down.
Then they walked around me, still chanting, as I lay: Reverend Samuel anti-clockwise, Patterson clockwise. Their white skins - glistening in the candlelight, naked, pallid and drizzling sweat - were frighteningly sluglike. From my position I couldn't see below their bellies, so they appeared to slither around me.
Something glinted again. Reverend Samuel carried a long-bladed knife.