The door to the tomb was easier to
move this time, the height of a couple of years giving her the leverage to open
it on her own. She pressed the cold stone as far as it would go and the
stairway was presented to her. That familiar smell of air gone bad drifted past
her into the rest of the church, and for a moment she was jealous of its
ability to escape. Taking each stair carefully, she began to descend into the
darkness, silently promising the flashlight fresh batteries and weekly polishes
from this day forward if it would only keep shining for her. She didn’t
remember it being this dark. By the time it occurred to her to count the stairs
she had no idea how far she’d gone and she started to panic that she might
reach the end and trip on a phantom stair – and moments later she was on the floor.
The flashlight betrayed her and
rolled across the floor, its light going out as if to signify the object’s
refusal of her promised care. Once the light had gone out, the smell in the
tomb rushed in to take the lights place. It attacked her nose and made her gasp
for more air, coughing and sputtering. She put her hands on the floor to regain
her balance - at least gravity was still on her side. Moving her hands along
the cold stone, she started to inch her way in what she thought was the right
direction. She coughed in an effort to expel just a bit more of that horrible
stench, and listened to the sound of her own breath bounce around the tiny
room.
“Flashlight?” She called to the callous thing hoping in vain
that it would answer. The sound of metal scraping across stone was her only
answer.
