The silence in this part of the church -- it's almost palpable. All the shifting matter…

The silence in this part of the church -- it's almost palpable. All the shifting matter and shuffling of living things is gone. Nothing seems to exist beyond the church anymore.

Maybe if you were to stand in just the right spot, even your footsteps would be completely silent...

Wait, I think I still hear something...

And then it's gone. Almost all of it -- but for the faintest of hums.

It seems that sound here is detached from its source somehow, if not blotted out outright. Truly unusual.

Sounds like the pale.

No. Let me just listen.

But to what? There is almost nothing.

You can hardly hear your own breathing.

(Turn to Kim.) "What's happening?"

The lieutenant points to his ears and shakes his head. Then he leans closer.

"Can you hear anything?"

"Can't hear shit."

"I wonder why the... church was built with such strange acoustics..."

His detached tone conceals how uncomfortable he is.

Maybe the church was designed in this way to prevent boisterous activity -- singing and dancing -- on its premises?

"Maybe they wanted to discourage singing and dancing."

"Hmm, could be..."

He doesn't seem entirely convinced, though.

"It's probably nothing, just our imagination."

"Hmm, maybe. Darkness often has that effect on people."

"Whatever it is, it's definitely real. Something odd is happening around us."

The lieutenant doesn't reply, but you can sense him tense up next to you.

"Hey, what if it's something paranatural?"

"Please, detective, not this again."

He's trying to act dismissive, but at this particular moment, he's more open than usual to the idea of paranatural phenomena.

"Not really, but it's extraordinary. I've never experienced anything like this."

"Almost nothing, and it's beginning to worry me."

"The church just has... strange acoustics -- some engineering trick."

Stomp your feet and clap your hands.

You produce a few muffled thumps, after which the silence feels even more... total somehow.

Look up into the bell tower.

The orderly rows of ceiling panels become barely visible, then disappear completely in the darkness of the tower overhead.

Try to see beyond the shadows.

It's like there's something moving up there -- a shadow has emerged from the tower and is making its way toward you through all the other shadows.

On the ceiling?

Yes. The darkness makes the ceiling feel infinitely far away...

It's climbing. Climbing down, holding on the beams.

(Blink.)

You see something hanging from the rafters, looking straight at you with dark eyes.

Maybe it's possible to... talk to it?

Follow the shadow's movements.

It's not a shadow anymore -- becoming more substantial as it gets closer. The shape of an animal descends.

"Officer, is there something up there?" The lieutenant follows your gaze, attempting to see whatever it is that you are seeing.

Oh no! You've lost sight of it. Where did it go?

Prepare for an attack!

Just darkness without end -- it makes your head spin.

(Blink.)

You see something hanging from the rafters, looking straight at you with dark eyes.

Maybe it's possible to... talk to it?

What's the darkness like?

Filled with vague shapes of woodwork. The sense of a great height.

You know, in the middle of the last century, there was a group of Revacholian painters who famously disdained the use of black.

Can I use this to see through the darkness up there, somehow? (Proceed.)

No, this is just an intellectual musing. In fact, it's probably dangerous to waste time like this. You should stop.

What did they have against black?

They wanted to capture what it really felt like to look at the world -- to be inside colour, to be blinded by early afternoon light glittering on the crests of sea waves.

Such an effect is best achieved by using the juxtaposition of complementary colours -- rather than the addition of black -- to create contrast.

Hmm, maybe I should take up painting.

It's unclear if you have enough years left in you to make up for your lack of technique...