DUSKLIGHT ODYSSEY

Chapter 5

He scoured the room till his eyes fell on a large metal rod left exposed in a section of wall where the cinderblocks had crumbled away. Ion mustered his strength, grabbed the rod with his free hand, placed his foot against the wall for leverage, and pulled. The metal bar came out all-too easily, along with bits of cinderblock, and Ion's own zeal caused him to fall back onto his rear.

Ion sorely stood and dusted himself off. It was a nice bit of metal—roughly five feet in length with a second bar, only a third in length, welded perpendicular atop it, forming a cross shape. Not too heavy, not too rusted, and not too sharp, it seemed to be an excellent tool. Its tip was pointed into a sort of wedge—perfect for prying.

Ion jammed the rod into the crack of the heavy concrete door and slowly pried it open till there was space enough for him to fit through. Rank air hit his nostrils as he paused to stare down the black hallway. So repugnant was the smell it filled his eyes with tears. Ion had to see what was entombed in this most obscure of passages, though he was loathe to breathe the rancid air.

Entombed was the right word—as Ion stepped forward, his boot made a loud crunch as it sank into something. He looked down and saw a corpse sprawled in the way, whose skull was now caved in. Ion recoiled and stepped over the body. His pace quickened, as did his heartbeat, down the long hall. Stairs led down to a larger room, and in it was a grisly scene; more skeletons sat along its walls, or mummies, rather, as the dryness of the chamber had kept the cadavers remarkably preserved. Their faces—skin still attached—were twisted in horrific agony, as each held a knife to their chest, their hearts pierced. There were, Ion counted, twelve in all. In this place, this dark and secret chamber, there was no hidden boon or treasure, only a moment forever caught in time. For the sake of protection these people had built this bunker, but in their search for solacement they went down, further into the bowels of their refuge, till it had led them here, the deepest portion, where they hid themselves away. All the provisions in the world were no comfort sufficient for their grief and fear. For them, there was but one place left to go that might've granted peace. It was there they went. Their desperation in death was as stark as the petrified pain upon their leathered faces—a last resort resorted to too soon.

At least they were together.

The bodies were sat in a semi-circle. There was a shadow on the wall.

The shadow moved.

Ion started. He dropped his torch and gripped his metal cross tightly. In the flickering light, the shadow on the wall was formless, yet somehow Ion knew it was the shape of a person, or maybe it was a person.

The shadow spoke, but it made no sound. "Don't look. Don't look at me. Avert your eyes, turn your gaze, leave this place, and let us alone."

Ion tried hard to stand firm, but his hands shook as he replied. "Who are you? What are you?" This thing was not the same as the shades which stalked the day. It was like the shadow of something which stood in the center of the room, cast upon the wall behind it, but there was no one there.

"Don't look. Don't look. Don't look."

Ion looked away from the shadow, instead darting his eyes between the skeletons on the ground.

"DON'T LOOK."

Ion turned his head in the other direction, but he kept his body and his cross squarely pointed at the shadow. "I'm not looking." It was the strangest sensation to hear, without hearing, the thing which spoke without speaking. All was quiet for a moment. Then the sobbing began.

"You cast light in this, the grave of my friends. You cast light on our shame. For what? For what? There is nothing for you here. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing."

As the thing cried, a feeling of sorrow hit Ion like a tidal wave, though it wasn't Ion's feeling. Tears welled in his eyes, and he strained to not start sobbing himself. The way in which this being communicated was invasive; deeply disturbing.

"You live. That's mockery enough. Don't you know? Haven't you seen? This world is dead."

Ion did know. He had seen. He had the gall to walk and breathe, to eat and drink, to run, hide, hunt, and fight his way through each and every night in a place that no longer existed, that had become broken long, long ago. He clung to life without really knowing why. The searing gaze of the shadow made him feel ashamed for it. The weight of his life's futility landed squarely on his shoulders.

"Why are you still here?" At the final word, a wind came forth from the back of the room, and Ion's torch, laid on the ground, blew out. It was pitch dark, but Ion could sense the shadow move toward him—or the thing that cast it.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered.

The shadow whispered something back.