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I’ve made a terrible mistake, and
I’ve nothing to blame but my own foolishness. That abandoned church up on the
hill was a place to be avoided, but my friends and I refused to believe as
much. The four of us marched up their last night, armed with only torches and a
pair of hunter’s knives. We meant to explore the ancient building from bottom
to top and would only stop if it began to crumble.
We had a chance to leave early on, a
brick fell from the upper supports of the building. The more timid among us
considered turning back then and there, but the others encouraged them to move
forward without fear. Then we heard the first of the dark whispers from beneath
the building. It was only a moment, a few seconds and no more, so little you
could mistake it for the wind. That was our last warning, but we did not heed
it, it merely excited us further.
Down we went into the deeper parts
of the old building. The whispers grew slightly louder, along with the distant
sound of movement. Our knives were drawn, ready for whatever beast or bandit
would jump from the shadows. Sadly, nothing as simple as either awaited us at
the bottom.
Deeper we went, around several bends
and turns. The whispers grew louder, and the movement more audible. We were not
alone down there, and it was more than just a lone hermit or thief. There was a
group, a gathering of people nestled deep within the church. We all felt at
once, at that very moment, a deep sense of dread. It would be foolish to go any
further, yet we persisted, our curiosity overwrote any sense of preservation.
Around one last turn, behind an old
oak door, we peeked into a room and found the source of the whispers. In a vast
stone room, gathered dozens of figures garbed in blood red robes and hoods.
They chanted in a suppressed rhythm, which produced the whispers we had heard.
Before we determine what activities they were engaged in, a slip of my foot
knocked a loose piece of stone out of the ground. It bounced down a set of
stairs and landed right before the robed mass.
The room collectively turned to face
us and raised their arms in our direction. Their chants grew louder and gained
an edge of hostility. In our wisest decision of the day, we ran before they
could begin to follow. We ran with all our might, but the blood red mass of
robes was soon upon our tail. The figures moved with a soundless glide and as
we moved further up more and more spilled out from every path we crossed.
Our mistakes finally caught up with
us as my friends fell to the horde one by one. The first tripped on a hole in
the floor and was quickly dragged into the blood red mass. Another took a wrong
turn, right into another group of the robed figures. The third outpaced me and
sailed up the stairs, which left me lost on the next floor without someone to
follow. I lost my way quickly and found myself without refugee. However, to my
luck, I found a small closet just off the path I ran.
I shut myself in and propped the
door with a broom I found within. I curled up in the corner and prayed I would
not be found. I could hear the horde of robed figures charge outside the door,
and then it went quiet. A sat there frozen in fear for hours on end, but the
horde never returned, and eventually, the subtle whispers returned. With the
utmost care, I slipped out of the closet and began my trek back into the halls.
I was finally able to retrace my
steps and returned to the top of the church and wasted no time in fleeing the
premises. I never saw my friends again, even the one who outpaced me never made
it home. I survived only by luck, or perhaps because of my cowardice. I’ve made
a terrible mistake, yet I was not the one to suffer for it, that is my curse.
~~~~
When your instincts flare up, it's usually for a good reason.Until next time, Read, Comment and Enjoy
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