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[h1]╚══════════════╝[/h1][h2][b][u]Five Springs Church, Central Araminta[/u][/b][/h2][/center][hr]

As Sawyer entered the church and the others followed him, he saw a mousy young lady standing ahead of the group and stopped. His first instinct was to raise his camera to take a photo, which he did; framed expertly against the backdrop of old, rotten pews, cold, moss-covered walls and the light rays streaming in from gaps in the ceiling of the abandoned church. A picture to remember. Then he chuckled as he grinned and rubbed the back of his head rather sheepishly, letting his camera fall back onto his chest. As the young lady explained that her name was Brianna, he blurted out his apology. 

"Sorry. Force of habit. You're the one that called us here, eh?" 

Sawyer took a back seat as the others asked questions and made idle banter; some not believing the situation they were in, others taking it with a grain of salt, generous in their belief but skeptical of her intentions. Then there was mention of a Witch. A mythical being, although grounded in reality the subject of many 90s young adult novels and fiction. Stuff he'd read about, growing up in such a religious town like Araminta, as the product of the devil's influence in the writers of today. Blasphemous. Sinful. And yet, standing in that abandoned church as a writer himself, Sawyer saw the irony in the situation. Not very deeply religious himself, but here he was, investigating something that railed against every religious bone in his body, of which there were few. Mostly overruled by those of curiosity and concern for the wellbeing of his fellow man. He was here to investigate and to follow this story to its logical, or even illogical conclusion. 

So even as some of the group were inclined to disagree with Brianna being able to help them, Sawyer shook his head and chuckled, mostly to himself.

"I uh, I'm not sure what the game is here, but y'know me. I'm always hungry for a new story to write. Consider me-"

And then the noises came. A loud thumping on the closed church doors that rocked them in their hinges, dislodging dust and dirt from the frame as a loud growl issues from the other side, muffled by wood and stone. It startled David out of his mood, and he followed the noise as he backed away from the door, watching where that big something-or-other was thumping its way up the front of the church, up onto the roof. Then it came crashing down on top of them, lost within a flurry of dust and loose stones and ceiling tiles. David leaped out of the way, hugging his satchel and camera to his chest as he tumbled away from the chaos of the roof caving in. He was behind Amanda, the police officer, as she pulled her personal firearm from its holster and pointed it at the spreading cloud of thick dust, but only heard that same loud growling. The journalist couldn't resist the opportunity and raised his camera to take a picture, framing Amanda against the backdrop of dust, her gun pointed at the uncertainty of the monster within the cloud of dust.

But after that, he turned off his camera, held his things close to his chest and scrambled backwards, letting his survival instincts take over as he tried to put as much distance between himself and...whatever that thing was.