Description - Exterior
St. Patrick’s rises out of the cracked sidewalks like a defiant memory—tall, narrow, and soot-stained, its steeple cracked near the top where lightning struck back in ‘39. The stone is blackened from decades of coal smoke, and the stained glass windows are more patch than holy image. A rusted iron fence lines the churchyard, overgrown with ivy and weeds. The bell tower rings—sometimes late, sometimes early, never quite right.
Carved over the front doors are the words Domine, miserere nobis. Most folks walk past without noticing. The ones who notice tend not to ask what it means.
Description - Interior
Inside, it’s dim, drafty, and filled with the smell of damp wood and burnt wax. The pews are scarred with initials and cigarette burns. Old votive candles flicker beneath soot-darkened icons, and water stains spread like bruises across the high vaulted ceiling. The pulpit leans slightly. A single overhead light swings with a slow, unseen rhythm. The confessional booths are sealed shut with iron nails. No one remembers who did it, or why.
In the basement crypts, long-forgotten relics and bones have been tucked away in dusty alcoves. Someone has drawn chalk symbols near the boiler—faint, but still warm to the touch.
Regulars
The McGregor Clan – Several of them were baptized here, and at least one is buried under the cracked marble in the side chapel.
Old Widow Maeve – Hasn’t missed a mass since ‘28. Sits front row, eyes closed, lips moving in something older than Latin.
Lucía Salazar – Leaves offerings in the chapel of St. Jude when no one’s looking.
The Choir Boy – Not seen, only heard. Every now and then, after midnight.
History
Founded in 1870 by Irish immigrants fresh off the rail yards, St. Patrick’s was once the heart of a thriving Catholic neighborhood. But time, poverty, and migration have hollowed it out. During Prohibition, the church ran liquor through the crypts. During the Depression, they ran food. During the war, they ran hope. Now they mostly run silence—and sometimes, shelter from things best not named.
Notes
The font has been dry for years. No matter how much water you pour in, it vanishes by morning.
Several relics kept in the sacristy are known to glow faintly under moonlight.
Father Brannigan keeps them locked.
One of the back pews is hollow and used as a dead drop by at least two crews.
The choir loft hasn’t been accessed in a decade—but singing is still heard during storms.
The CPD Arcane Division listed this location as “Tier 2 Sensitive” in a sealed report.
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