Officer Mark Miller adjusted his heavy leather utility belt as he stepped through the front entrance of Grace Community Church. Sunlight streamed bright through the tall stained glass windows, casting long yellow patterns across the hardwood oak floor.
A framed USA flag hung prominently on the crisp white paneled wall near the front foyer. Empty wooden pews aligned the main hall in perfect rows under the towering wooden ceiling beams.
Mark walked down the center aisle, his heavy police boots echoing softly against the clean floorboards. He was on a routine check after a neighbor reported a strange metallic clatter coming from inside the locked building.
The sanctuary was completely silent except for the low hum of the air unit near the altar. Mark glanced around the empty room, his eyes scanning the vacant pews and the neatly stacked hymn books.
Everything appeared totally normal on the surface, but a faint scent of old oil and polished metal hung heavy in the air. He slowed his pace as he approached the front platform near the pulpit.
Suddenly, a sharp metallic clatter echoed from the corner of the altar area, striking the quiet room like a hammer on steel. Mark turned his head sharply in reaction to the strange noise, his jaw tightening as his expression grew alert.
Officer Miller: Hello? Is anyone in here?
No one answered the officer's firm call.
Mark reached for his flashlight on his belt, keeping his right hand close to his side. He stepped carefully around the wooden altar rail, his heart beating a little faster against his ribcage.
Behind the main pulpit stood a large antique armillary sphere made of thick brass and tarnished bronze. It was nearly five feet tall, sitting on a heavy oak base that looked like it had been built decades ago.
The outer rings of the massive sphere were slowly turning, grinding against each other with a dry metallic scrape. Mark stopped in his tracks, staring at the moving metal in absolute disbelief.
Officer Miller: What is that sound?
His eyes widened as he watched the inner brass band click firmly into a tiny notch along the outer frame. His breath caught in his throat while looking directly toward the church altar area.
Marcus: Don't touch it, Officer.
Mark spun around quickly, pulling his flashlight up to shine it toward the shadowed corner behind the choir loft. A tall man stepped out into the bright beam of sunlight coming through the high side window.
He wore a dark canvas jacket and heavy work boots, his face worn with fatigue and worry. Mark kept his distance, keeping his eyes fixed on the unfamiliar visitor standing near the sacred altar.
Officer Miller: Who are you? How did you get inside?
Marcus: My name is Marcus Vance. My father donated this land thirty years ago.
Officer Miller: This building is supposed to be locked on weekday afternoons.
Marcus: The side door latch is broken. I came to see the sphere.
Mark kept his hand rested near his side while observing Marcus closely in the bright daylight.
Officer Miller: Why is that brass contraption moving by itself?
Marcus: It isn't moving by itself. Someone loaded the internal spring mechanism recently.
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