Dead Faith

The cross lays heavily like limp lead in the palm of her hand. She stares down at it, gazing at the marvelous artistry displayed in the handcrafting of its soft silver body. Her face reflecting barely as dim lighting shines upon it. She is mesmerized as the cross seems to stare back at her...a symbol of a religion once lost...
The creak of a wooden floorboard snaps her out of her reverie and she hesitates as she turns her head to peer behind her. Darkness envelopes the room as the minute hairs on her face become alert to a new presence amongst her. Crushing paranoia swells up inside her...
"Laaauuuurrraaa..."
She is now fully awakened and glaces back and forth looking for a body to go with the drawn out voice. Too frightened to speak, she sits like stone, waiting for the presence to make itself known. Forms take shape in the darkness as the false wind prickles her at her back.
"Laaaauuurrraaa..."
She clutches the cross violently , sweat coating the precious metal. Praying to her God ...
"You know what I came for Laura."
Her grandmother had given her the cross before she died. In her weak , hoarse voice she had told Laura to never give it up. To hold on to it forever. It was the last symbol of a dead religion. As long as part of it remained, her God would never truely die.
"Give me what I came for Laura..."
As long as someone holds the truth, it won't die. Never forget. The cross was growing hot in her hand. A soft glow began to eminate from it, quickly turning into a harsh one. The once ice cold room was gradually getting warmer. Laura's fear began to dissipitate.
"GIVE ME THE CROSS NOW LAURA!"
That voice sent chills once more down Laura's spine, temporarily crippling her. It was angry now. Laura began to pray harder to her God...
Her weak voice found a medium and rang out shakily yet clearly..
"As I lay me down to sleep........"
A weird sensation passed through her body, like static shock. The voice materialized into a hand which seemed to grab at her, surpassing the skin, gripping her heart. The static shock turned to a squeezing pain and she began to jerk and spasm uncontrolably.
"I pray the Lord my soul to keep..."
Her words were weaker than before yet cohereant. The vice-like grip never once loosend. A final spasm overtook her body.
"If I..."
It held her mercilessly
"die before I wake.."
Suddenly she was released and she fell back down into the hard wooden chair. Slowly she slid off the chair onto the wooden floorboards beneath her. The cross still lay clutched in her pale hand.
"pray the Lord my soul to take."
Her final words ended with a soft sigh as her world faded into a black oblivion showing no mercy unto her faith.