The Nightmare Man

Prologue

The British Ministry of Magic lay quiet in the dead of night, only a few working throughout the long hours when others were safely asleep in their homes. In the halls of the Ministry dim lights glowed, showing the way to the people who wandered around with books or parchments in their arms.

Most people who worked there had no idea what they had under their feet. Hell, most people over the world had no idea what was under this particular Ministry. But if one were to take a look...

The regular elevators would never reach the deepest levels. Most people had no idea there were deeper levels than those they themselves could reach. To get down to the very bottom you had to take a special one that required magical signatures. Those who had access were forbidden to breathe a word of what was down there. All except for one; the Minister of Magic himself. So far there had been no need for any minister to speak of the deepest part of the Ministry.

Deep below laid several rooms in a great hall carved out of stone. Most of the rooms were empty but bore reminders of long gone prisoners; claw marks on the doors and walls or worse, dried blood now flaked and brown. Of all these rooms, only one was sealed shut.

Those on guard-duty had a table for themselves, not too far from the room they were supposed to watch and the two who now sat at the table barely glanced over. They had never been inside. Few had ever entered that room. They didn't even know what was inside, only that it was alive and very dangerous. Their focus was at this moment more on their game of chess.

Beyond the door, which was made of steel several inches thick, was absolute darkness and silence. But if one listened very closely, there was the faint whisper of someone breathing. No movements, no others sound to indicate there was a living being in there. Just breathing. In and out, controlled and calm.

There was not much to see in this darkness, but if the door was opened you could at least see a little bit. There would be stone floor, cold and hard, and stone walls. No light sources, so there was nothing that could ease up the dark. Except for one chair, made of stony material, planted in the middle of the room there were no other pieces of furniture whatsoever.

Suddenly there came a different sound. A faint laughter and then something moved. There was a gentle thump against a hard surface. The living being inside this room did not move very often, but the laughter slipped out every now and then.

"Is it morning? Or night?"

The voice belonged to a man and was deep and raspy. Those who had heard it knew its effects. It made their skin crawl.

"Is my children well? Do they weep for me...?"

The voice faded out. The room wasn't large enough to make it echo. Silence spread, not even the sound of breathing could be heard. Then it was broken by loud laughter, bouncing around in the dark encased room. It was not a gentle sound. It was the sound of a madman.

It never escaped out to the guards on duty. Sounds from the cells never did. The walls and doors were too thick, a perfect prison of isolation. But perhaps it was for the best that the guards had no idea what sounds were made in that sole prison cell they guarded.

Because that meant they had no idea what monster that existed just metres away from them.

Tbc...