Requiem of a Rose

Drip... Drip… Drip…

Drips echo on the cobblestone, muffled by the thick layer of fog that relentlessly clings to the ground, shrouding the stone from view. It  warps and shifts as the air changes, ripples with each drip that hits stone. The steps lead down into the cold, swirling abyss with no sign of when they may next hit solid ground. He stepped down, the roiling white layer only reached his calf, but as his foot passed through, he could have sworn he would never touch ground again.

Safely secure on the hidden stone floor he lifted his lantern, the beam of light catching every movement of the mist, illuminating the mausoleum he now stood in. It panned the dank tomb passing from wall to wall, and landed on the rich wooden coffin in the center. It was raised slightly, jutting out of the shroud at an angle, the carved wooden lid shut tightly. Tentatively he took another step forwards, his foot disappearing again beneath the mists.

The lanterns beam arched from side to side, panning over niches in the walls. Decrepit and decomposed dead, devoid of skin and muscle, rest in their crypts in the eternal sleep within. If the dead could speak, what stories would those bones tell of this place?

As he paced deeper into the tomb towards that dark wood coffin, a shiver carrying a message of dread crawled its way down his spine. He flicked the lantern to the right, illuminating the dark shadows that creep ever closer through the misted gloom. The shadows receded lazily from the light, retreating back to the far reaches and deep corners of the tomb with purpose and direction.

Another step, the swishing of fog briefly revealing the damp, stained stones beneath him. The tomb screamed in silence, punctuated by his slow, intentional steps and drip. Drip. Drip. Another step, his breath shallow, controlled. A long, slow, intentional breath in and a measured, balanced breath out.

Another step, the dripping stopped. The silence extended as he paused in his step, scanning the tomb again with his lantern light. Without the constant metronome of water, the eerie chill of the tomb creeps closer, isolating him in the darkness. Glancing behind him, the mist had already covered his retreat, his careful route from the stairs through the stonework obscured from view. He is only a few paces away from the coffin now, close enough to see the intricate detail carved into its lid. A stained glass window pattern, swirling around a raised rose in the center. Below it, framing the base of the lid is a floral, swirling gothic pattern meeting at the center. The finish of the oak darkened the patterns, emphasizing the rose and window motif, but has worn at the edges, the sign of age and long use. It was a beautiful, ancient piece, carved with a steady, artistic hand.

Another step, the silence fractured with a wretched crack. Something gives way beneath his foot, shattering and rattling against the stone. He stumbles forward in a sudden burst, floundering to regain his careful footing, the mist thrown up around him from the flurry of motion. He reels, bearing the lantern's beam down into the mist behind him, his controlled breath suddenly ragged and short. The light punctured the thinned mist, landing on a cracked skull, a splintered femur lying in a dozen pieces. His breath levels, slows, returns to its normal rhythm, regaining his composure. As the moment passes, the white vapor curls around him slowly settling back down to rest, hiding the stained, grimy bone shards back into obscurity.

Nearer and nearer to that ancient wood, his lantern now focused on it, his intention clear. He held his breath, reaching out a shaking hand towards the wood. The mausoleum and its inhabitants took a synchronous and apprehensive breath, holding it in anticipation. He reached his clawed hand further, resting it on the smooth surface, feeling the grain of the wood ripple beneath his fingers.

He lay the lantern down beside him, both hands focusing on the heavy lifting ahead of him, and as his fingers found the groove between lid and base, he planted his feet and heaved. Breath still held, the anticipation high, the lid slowly creaked open, plush red velvet inside reflecting the dimming light of the lantern. He stepped back and let gravity take its course, the lid caught in a perpetual motion that stopped with the hinges. He scooped the lantern up in a rush, shining its light down into the inside of the coffin, and together with the mausoleum, let out the anxious and apprehensive breath.

The coffin was empty.

Relieved and content, disappointed perhaps, he turned to leave the horrid place. As his light panned the crypt once more, he came face to face with a figure, inches away from his own. Its pallid translucent skin gaunt, stretched thin across the angular bones and deep, sunken eyes piercing with the faint glow of red. It's mouth was twisted into a cruel smile, pointed incisors and elongated canines extending over its lips pristine white.

"Boo." The figure whispered, cold breath reeking of death and decay washing over him, stinging his skin and curdling his stomach. The lantern is smothered with a wisp of smoke, the darkness hungrily rushing in to consume him, his screams muffled by the thick layer of fog that relentlessly clings to the ground.

Drip… Drip… Drip...