Phantom’s Lair

alphaville
I walk into the chamber so very far below the warmth and light of the upper realm. No light is touching the menacing, obsidian walls except for the feeble light of the candle I so carefully shield from the whispers of lost souls oozing out of the shattered cobblestone floor.

A chill creeps slowly down my spine, as if a cold, dark, not quite physical hand was creepily caressing the back of my neck. I slowly turned around as the pure fear coursed through my veins.

No one was there.

How did I find myself in this dungeon of despair, this monstrosity of a manor in the first place? I had tried to control my curiosity of the legends. The legends of the Mask, The Woman, and the Night. But I could not. As this thought got itself entangled with the rest of my timidly fearful thoughts, I crept further and further into the bowels of what I could only assume was the hell in which all  “monsters under the bed” resided.

I found myself in a corner where the air seemed to be as thin as paper, cold, dry paper. I looked wearily to my feet where a mask was lying in a twisted bed of cobweb. The mask…oh the mask, horrifying to even describe. It was a mask that could only have been worn by a beast, a beast without compassion or light anywhere inside his murderous body. Yes, this was a mask left behind by what could only have been the ruler of this hell. No, it was worse…it was fear, it was darkness.

I have to get out of here. But it’s too late, for I can already feel Fear grabbing my ankle, pulling me down into the Underworld, where I shall never see the light of day, or the warmth of sunshine again.

There will only be…It.

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