Because of the heat, and the storm clouds in front of me just starting to dump their basins of water, I stopped at a church on the side of the road out in the middle of nowhere… the Baptist Cluster Church. There was literally not another building for miles.

There are more than sixty different Baptist denominations, including Strict Baptists (that’s with a capital S, not a lowercase), Regular Baptists, Old Regular Baptists, Primitive Baptists, Old-Line Primitive Baptists, General Six-Principle Baptists, and, my favorite, Two-Seed-in-the-Spirit Predestinarian Baptists. 

“Baptist Cluster” was a new one for me, and I pulled up onto the small 7’X7’ porch with its accompanying overhang sixty seconds before the rain started. 

Knowing I’d be there a while I settled in, first pulling out my water bottle, my pen, then my journal, and finally my book. Once I had everything I needed, I sat down and leaned against the front door of the church…. and it opened. I felt a blast of heat, like an exhalation from the throat of hell’s mouth itself. It was hot outside, but the inside radiated a heat even more powerful, so I closed the door.

The rain continued, and as the minutes passed the skies became more intent on dumping large amounts of water on me. After a few more minutes it was no longer possible to stay dry on the tiny porch so I rolled my bike inside. It was within a point or two of triple digits outside, but it was at least 20 degrees hotter inside. My body immediately covered itself with a fine sheen of sweat in an attempt to cool itself, but with no breeze the effort was futile. The old expression “sweating like a whore in church” came to mind. (no, wait a minute... that would mean I'm...  Oh, never mind)

For a while I just stood at the front door with my head sticking out on the porch sucking in the "cool" air until I heard a car coming, then pull my head in like a turtle and close the door until it passed. 

After about five minutes I realized I was being ridiculous and closed the door, determined to brave the heat and take a look around. There was no reason to worry about getting “caught” since my bike was inside... no one could even tell I was there. Plus, it was a Monday. I knew there were Seventh Day Adventists, but I was pretty sure there was no such thing as a Second Day Adventist. 

Ten steps down the middle aisle and I jumped as I heard the door slam behind me. I THOUGHT I had shut it… had the wind caught it?  I walked back, slowly opened it, and looked around outside. There was nothing there, but it still gave me the creeps. 

I continued my exploration and entered the left side section where I found a window open. Water was pouring in, covering the wood floor, so I closed it. 

The building creaked and groaned. It was eerie.

Having completed my inspection of the left wing, I crossed to the other side where I found a door labeled “Pastor.” It was ajar and I peeked in… no one. I looked in all of the other rooms and found only vacancies. The last room had the word “Junior” on the door. Oddly, although (1) there were no cars in the parking lot, (2) it’s a Monday, (3) rain was coming in the other room so it’s pretty unlikely someone wouldn’t have checked, and (4) the building gave no indication of habitation… even so, I STILL felt the need to knock. 

Three taps got no answer, and when I tentatively opened it I again found the rain pouring in through an open window and onto the desk and floor. I closed this one as well, sure that I was alone… except…

I didn’t FEEL alone. 

Something was telling me that this place is Wrong, with a capital W. Just like what happened in Tennessee, I’m sure it was a result of needing to eat, but I had no understanding at the time. 

I just needed to leave, and leave as quickly as I could. 

So, I did.

I left the church in a sprint. The rain slowed to a drizzle and I put as many miles as I could, as fast as I could, behind me.