You’re standing at the foot of a grand cathedral whose spires reach into the heavens themselves when out of the doors that are easily twice your height comes the guide you’ve been waiting for dressed like Jack The Ripper was torn out of the Victorian era and caught up in the grunge movement. Glancing around the surrounding enclosure to make sure no one else is afoot he tells you that you’re late and bids you to follow him inside the colossal building by waving forward the hand that isn’t holding a lantern.
You progress through the dark hallways that seem to engulf even the light of your guide’s lantern in their labyrinthine design until you ascend a spiral stairwell and you come to the highest point of the tower where you feel the bite of the chill October air on your warm skin.
You’ve been in town a month to study the gargoyles that reside up here but had no luck getting to see them until the night-watch guard offered to escort you for a small and illegal fee. You turn around to thank him and find that he’s nowhere to be seen and discover the door through which you entered is locked. You pound on the door with your fists and scream to try to get his attention when the moon peaks out from behind the clouds that cloak the Halloween night and from behind you hear the sound of ancient stones breaking apart.
And heavy breathing.
Discover more from Writing Darkness
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.