The Origin Stone

Chapter 1-2

The damp stone walls on either side of me run with trickles of water, pooling on the uneven ground to wet the moss that’s growing in the cracks of cold concrete. Large lanterns are fitted to the walls, covered in such an abundance of cobwebs, I can’t tell if they’re electric or use candles. Though the ceiling feels close and oppressive, my footsteps echo out into the darkness, sounding like I’m surrounded by a babble of people. Maybe I am. In the light of the single candle I’m holding, I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me.

A rectangle of light shines ahead, and as I near it, it grows larger and larger until I’m convinced it’s the outline of a door. Extending my arm, I finger its hard, dense surface. Metal.

I search for a handle to open it, but it swings open of its own accord, sending a sliver of light into the tunnel. Instinctively, I shrink back into the shadows, afraid someone might emerge but there’s no sign of movement.

I relax and peek through the gap in the door. Suddenly I’m bombarded by whispers, the words overlapping and hissing in my ears: Emily, Emily, Welcome, Ravenswell, Emily, Welcome, Ravenswell, Come, Come!

The whispers reach a crescendo, penetrating my own thoughts and completely swallowing them. They rebound against the walls, distorting until I can’t stand it any longer. I wrench the door open, desperate to escape.

White, intense light shines into my eyes, forcing them closed. The whispers cut off abruptly, and I’m momentarily disoriented. My head spins, but as the light fades and I can open my eyes again, everything becomes clear.

A man is standing in the room beyond the door, calmly watching me with eyes magnified to almost twice their real size by thick, wire-framed glasses. He’s wearing a white laboratory coat, and a large black bird rests on his shoulder--a raven, I think--whose plumage matches the colour of his hair exactly. It’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.

He extends his hand to me, moving his lips as though he’s speaking, but no sound comes out. I reach out to take it, knowing only that something deep inside assures me this is what I’m supposed to do.

Then the room darkens. Not the normal darkness when someone switches out the lights, but a strange, swirling mass that rises and falls like a flock of birds. I catch sight of leathery wings and fur amongst the swirling, and my insides plummet to the floor. My worst fear: bats.

The scream rises in my throat before I can stop it, and, adrenaline fuelling my legs, I race back out into the tunnel with such speed, my candle sputters out in seconds. The bats surround me, and I fall, the agony of hitting hard concrete shooting through my body along with the gagging sensation of being trapped under this cloud of skeletal fluttering wings.

I can’t breathe. I can’t…breathe…