It was supposed to be a harmless exploration.
A group of amateur urban explorers—Jack, Marissa, and their friend Dev—had been documenting forgotten places across the American Midwest for their YouTube channel, GhostSteps. When they heard about St. Elias Church, a crumbling 19th-century structure tucked into the woods of northern Missouri, they couldn’t resist.

Locals had plenty of legends. Some said the church was closed after a lightning strike during a wedding in 1982. Others claimed it had never appeared on a map in the first place.

The group arrived just before sunset. Overgrown vines covered the entrance, and stained-glass windows filtered dying light in sickly hues. The floorboards groaned beneath their steps. Dust clung to the air like cobwebs.

At first, it was the silence that struck them.

But then… something else.

As Marissa passed near the altar, she stopped mid-step and looked at the wall behind the pulpit. It wasn’t cracked plaster—it was moving.

Slowly. Rhythmically.
Like a chest rising and falling.

Jack thought it was a trick of the light. Dev leaned in and whispered, “Tell me you hear that.”
There was a deep, muffled thudding. Like a heartbeat.
Coming from inside the wall.

They rushed to the door. It wouldn’t open.

Suddenly, the pews began vibrating. The stained glass trembled. The pulpit exhaled dust. And in a moment of horror, the crucifix on the wall bent forward—as if gasping.

Dev screamed. The floor beneath them felt warm.

They only escaped when the back wall crumbled, revealing a crawl space that hadn’t been there minutes before. They crawled out into the woods, breathless and shaking.

They returned the next day—with police.
The church was gone.

Literally gone.
Nothing but trees, no clearing, no structure. No proof.

Except… one thing remained.

A single wooden pew, sitting in the grass. Still warm.