Knock Three Times

26. The Devil's Labyrinth

                    JAMES RAISED HIS GLOW stick with one hand, eyes narrowed and focused as he lead his friends valiantly into the damp darkness ahead, gripping Miranda's hand with the other. He thought of Jennifer Jenson as he pushed forth, knowing she would do no less in his position, taking charge and protecting the innocent. With every step the ever-twisting knot in his stomach tightened, the sinking feeling he had lead his closest friends into a trap plaguing his nerves. They had been walking for what felt like twenty minutes, with nothing but dirt floor and blackness to greet them along the way. The distressed teens could sense a subtle gloom approaching ahead, though none would voice their concerns aloud.

    Each stride halted as the entourage reached an intersection in the tunnel, the option to move left or right presented as a fork in the path ahead.

    'Okay, now where do we go?' Hamish scratched his head, considering both possible routes.

    'I haven't the slightest clue.' James replied, moving his glow stick from one tunnel to another.

    Suddenly, a faint sound could be heard beyond the darkness to their right. Several voices echoed above a gentle whisper through the tunnels, though no one could make out any distinguishing identities.

    'Do you guys hear that?' asked Christine, unsure of what to make of the strange voices.

    'Hey Ginger Snap, come have a look at this.' Miranda hadn't been paying much attention to the distant voices, but was focused on a disturbing sight before her—a strange pattern on the walls which seemed to grow more defined the further they traveled inward. Human forms were seized into the concrete surface, their faces locked in torment as though something had executed them mid-scream. Moving the light stick along the wall, she spotted the countless faces lining the tunnels for as far as the light could travel.

    'What is this?' James approached cautiously, afraid to touch any of them.

    'I don't know.' Christine answered, noticing what looked to be many scars all over their flesh, some crudely healed, and others rather fresh in appearance. 'Strange sculptures, wouldn't you say?'

    'Who are they?' asked Miranda.

    'These are far too realistic to be mere pieces of art, you guys. Take it from a practicing artist, these are no sculptures.' Hamish's curious gaze locked on a particularly horrific depiction of a young mother holding her infant child in her arms.

    'Judging by their cheekbones, I'd say they were Native Canadians.' Christine pointed out the countless scars and gashes all over their bodies with a looming sense of dread, wondering what cursed magic could seize human flesh into solid rock. 'It seems they were tortured, and if these scars tell us anything, I'd say their torment was prolonged over a stretch of time . . .'

    As she spoke, an unsettling sensation of trepidation settled like a shroud over the four teens. Suddenly, Hamish felt the wisp of hot breath on the back of his neck, and he scurried out of the way, shock overcoming his ever-spiraling fear.

    'What's wrong?' asked Christine, stopped in mid-explanation.

    'N—nothing.' he lied, a slight quiver in his voice. 'I just got the feeling we're not alone down here.'

    'Turn back.'

    The voice caught them all by surprise. Every hand shook as glow sticks moved around in a panic, searching for the source of the strange feminine whisper.

    'Who said that!' James yelled, the hair on his arms standing straight up as a ghostly chill gripped his spine.

    'You heard it too? Why would we turn back? I mean your dad's gotta be up ahead, right?' Hamish pressed.