A Noise or a Silence that Won’t Go Away

Every step thundered across the deserted tomb, each one making Cristof cringe as if the ghosts of the doomed were stirring at his presence and preparing to pull him down to join their shadowy graves. For this was Egypt, 1837, and Cristof was no archeologist.

Each step deeper into the pyramid felt like an amassing pressure; each step confirming Cristof’s fears he shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have disturbed the dead. The walls closed in, suffocating his flickering torch.

Cristof panicked as the darkness took him. Strange shadows seemed to glow briefly admist the overwhelming night as he willed his eyes to adjust and rifled blindly through his pack.

A sudden bang froze the blood in his vessels, but the smoldering heart in his chest drummed wilding, as if it itself were trying to counter the noise. Cristof did not move, could not move, could not even breathe.

The shattering rebellion of his lungs broke the curse, and he once again desperately fumbled to relight. Finally, with a spark, his torch burst into flame, warming his face, blinking his eyes.

Regaining his vision, Cristof cast the torch about him. There, at the end of the passage, a light, or was it just a stray spark? He batted at it. The light did not move, except, it seemed, to reach to the waving torch. That’s when Cristof noticed the second light, both now undoubtedly glaring at him. Now, even his burning heart froze over in this portal to Hell, Cristof dropped the torch. Blackness enveloped him, but the eyes still smoldered.

For you see, Cristof was indeed in Hell, having crossed over the second her disturbed – stole – what should have been left alone until the ends of time. And these disembodied eyes belonging to some foresaken demon or ghost, having survived an eternity as a refugee in the darkness, knew now only perversion and evil, and they sought to terrify, to steal for themselves.

They lunged after this fool who dared to trespass in their shrine of mystery, echos of their long-forgotten footfalls shattering along the passage walls. Something whizzed past them, only intensifying their rage. A stumble, groan, and a cry, and the eyes were upon Cristof, devouring his own amidst screans of agony that only fed their horror-lust.