Episode 11 —The Things we Inherit

The basement beneath the church had no windows. Lanterns cast jagged shadows across the brick walls, which were scrawled with decades of markings—names, dates, charcoal smears, and symbols. Some were scratched out entirely. Some looked written in something darker.

Inside, a debate had already begun.

They weren’t loud that the congregation above could hear, but the tension alone was enough to pound at Pastor Mathers’ temples.

“Enough!” he snapped, slamming his palm on the table. “One at a time.”

He exhaled and turned his gaze across the sanctuary.

“Clara.” His voice was polite, composed. Controlled. “Please, if you could.”

Clara nodded but didn’t return the courtesy with a smile. She stepped forward to stand beside him, overlooking the group.

The townsfolk that knew more than the rest.

“What happened,” Clara began—not asking, but demanding—“was worse than before. The reports I’ve gotten say the Suits were… different. The Doll changed the terms. We need to know why.”

All eyes turned to Pastor Mathers.

He sat with his hands folded and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “She never spoke to me about it. I’m as in the dark as you are.”

“Bullshit.” Mrs. Scherbatsky leaned forward, stomping one foot. Her voice cracked—not from age, but from betrayal. “You said we were protected, Bruce.”

“I thought we were,” Mathers replied, voice strained. “It’s out of my control.”

Clara held up a hand. “I know everyone here has questions...and you deserve answers. But we need to be very careful about how we go forward. Not everything can be said out loud.”

A murmur of unease rippled through the group.

Near the back, Mr. Kawasaki—the town’s aging arts and occults teacher—stood, shaky but upright.

“Our kids are dead, Mathers. Half my neighbors are missing. My wife never came back from the grocery store yesterday. What the hell can’t be said right now?”

Mathers nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry for your loss, for all your losses. But if we’re not careful, what happened last night may seem merciful compared to what could come next.”

Jacob DeWitt stood abruptly. His chair scraped loudly across the floor.

“I’ve always trusted your judgment, Mathers, you know that. Believe me, I know how hard it’s been...keeping this secret, protecting our families, sticking to the rules. And over the years, it became easier…but now I realize that it was all meaningless. Because my son died anyway.”

His voice cracked.

“If Jonah had known the truth, he wouldn’t have gone looking for them. He’d still be here. So with all due respect, I think it’s time we try a different way.”

In the silence that followed, Arlon Griffin—grizzled and weathered like rusted iron—spoke next. His voice was hoarse, like his mouth was full of nails.

“DeWitt is right. Last night’s attack wasn’t part of the deal. We agreed...every five years. If she changed the terms, then we have a right to know why. We’re not blameless here, but the young ones? They did nothing to deserve this."

Mathers looked around, weary. “Fine. But what can we do?”

Kovac Scherbatsky, who had stayed quiet until now, raised his voice:

“You’re splitting hairs, Pastor.”

“Am I?” Mathers asked flatly. “Because the last I checked, we all agreed to this. All of us. We don’t get to back out just because it’s inconvenient now.  Either we’re in this together....or we’re not in it at all.”

Clara’s voice cut through. “Are we in this together?”

The room went still.

Mathers gave a faint, bitter smirk. “Of course we are. What kind of question is that?”

“So you say,” Clara replied, mirroring his smirk. ‘But you’re recent decisions make me think you’re not up to doing what has to be done.”

It was no secret: the two had a long-standing tension—one that went back well before the Suits ever came.

“You’re the only one who communicates with the Doll," she continued. "You claim to relay its messages. But how do we know you’re telling the truth?”

Mathers looked at them all. Resigned.

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

“Tell us about the deal you made with it,” Kovac said instantly.

His wife Robin seconded him, "That’s right. We need to know everything.”

“Fine.” Mathers sighed. “It happened years ago.You all know that. After… after we killed the Witch.”

“Was that really necessary,” Kovac grunted.

“Oh, I thought you wanted the truth.” Mathers looked at them once more.

“After we burned the Witch, her daughter was left behind. Some of you wanted to get rid of her too.” His eyes flicked to Kovac. “But others refused. So the obvious choice was to shun her. Pretended she didn’t exist, all to make sure her mother’s dying wish wouldn’t be fulfilled.”

He stood, pacing slowly, dragging his fingers along the edge of the table.

“Things returned to normal...for a while. Until we realized we couldn’t leave the town. We tried to drive, to walk… but we couldn’t cross the threshold. The statue of our great town's founder became a prison gate for us. As feared, people panicked and they fought over resources eventually, they started killing each other. Then some ignorant person decided unwisely that killing the Witch’s daughter would fix everything.”

He looked up. His voice dropped.

“It didn't. It only made things worse. The Doll...the enchanted one the Witch left behind...became sentient. Some said it possessed the girl, some thought it had been corrupted. What was certain was it brought the Suits with it. And they slaughtered anyone who came near the girl.”

Silence hung in the air like smoke.

“It took some time, but Kawasaki, with his knowledge of occult found a way to contact the Witch’s spirit. We used her ashes in a séance, much to my dismay…but it worked. The Witch awakened before us and, as expected, laughed us off for even asking for her help.  But somewhere between her enjoyment and contempt, she made a deal.”

Mathers reached into his coat and pulled out a small wooden box. He opened it gently. Inside, wrapped in cloth, lay a perfectly preserved porcelain finger.

“With this...her seal. She interfered with the doll’s enchantment reducing the plague of the Suits to only every five years ....so long as we honoured her conditions: raise the girl without hostility. Care for her. And on her eighteenth birthday, she must be allowed to leave this town.”

He looked around.

“Only then would we be free. In return, she granted us a sanctuary where the Suits could never reach...our beloved church.”

“Stop stalling,” Kovac snapped. “We’ve all seen Jonah’s video. We know the Doll was there. Where was the girl last night?”

Mathers glanced at the far wall, where a faded symbol was painted above the brick—a geometric flower with thirteen petals, made from crayons. Sasha’s painting, back when she was still small.

“She was surviving,” Mathers replied. “Just like the rest of us. And she didn’t cause this. She doesn’t even know why it’s happening.”

“Stop all this foolish sentiment!” Kovac barked. “She’s not your daughter. You know what we must do. Her mother gave clear instructions. It’s time. End this, so we can move on with our lives.”

Clara stepped forward, voice lower now.

“He’s right. I know you…care for her. You’ve raised her for years and I don’t blame you. Even I… have a soft spot for her. And Michael...would be devastated but he’s still young. Sasha must leave the town. For the future of of the town and…our children.”

A hush fell over them.

Then Arlon Griffin spoke again, rising slowly with the help of his cane.

“It is time.”

His words rang final.

“The time has come… to tell her everything.”