So in this assignment we were asked to find some sort of street view and create a story from it. I didn’t want to make the story too long so I just started a short story and I think it has a great start. I chose a local bakery and just completely fabricated a story from it. That being said I do ask that you suspend reality while reading it!

Looks pretty normal doesn’t it? Just a normal bakery owned by some company who’s willing to fool society into believing some old lady named Eileen is inside baking pies and other pastries. But what some don’t always see when looking at this seemingly normal building is that it used to be a church. But not just your normal Sunday morning, family-going establishment but rather the type of church where terrible secrets are held.
When this bakery was in its original state as a church it lived in a small town, coincidently called “Smalltown”. In the early 1900’s it lived nestled off a small dirt road and for the most part was completely abandoned, left over remnants from an earlier time when puritans still dominated the towns demographic. While most of the town ever felt any need to visit the church and for the most part warned children not to go near the shell that once commemorated an earlier religion, there were few who were brave enough (or maybe even dumb enough) to find themselves staring at the path that led down to the church. There was never any reason to walk to that part of town unless to visit the church, and every once in a while some poor soul would find themselves throwing caution to the wind and creeping down the long unpaved path.
It was a bright winter morning, when my great aunt felt the need to go for a walk. With no particular destination in mind she found her feet almost leading the way, instead of her mind. She was young, maybe around 17 and more brilliant than most would like to admit. Considered by most less imaginative and what can only be called an “old soul”, she was never one to let her mind run amuck and could usually find some sort of reasoning behind everything. But this would all change on this clear, cold morning.
Before she knew it my great aunt was standing before the dirt road, not of her own accord, but rather drawn there by some inexplicable force that started in her stomach and seemed to move down to her feet. Confused but with no particular place to be she began down the frosted dirt road, that so many before had warned against. Slowly, as not to fall she sauntered down the cold dirt road right up to the dusty windows. Between the caked on dirt and frost that had taken over the doors, it was almost impossible to see anything. Unwilling to stop there and turn around, she pushed against the door, which seemed to open all too willingly.
The inside of the church was abandoned, not just by society but it also seemed even history had wanted to wash this place away. The dirty floors were scattered with pamphlets of paper and upon barley legible was the word “GOD”. There were but three pews two of which were broken and even the alter seemed to sag in the most pathetic manner. The sad wooden cross that was probably once the centerpiece of the church was molded and had began to decompose. But through all this there was a rather dark spot upon the ground.
My Great aunt with no real fear of anything began to walk closer, slowly and cautiously placing one-foot step next to the other. With dim lighting and the air thick with mildew she crept to the dark stop behind the alter, and found a gaping hole. The pit ran for what seemed like miles deep and was just big enough to fit a grown man in it. Holding the alter she bent over the pit and starred into the dark abyss, with silence covering the room out of the darkness rang an high pitched cry straight from the pit.