The air was cold, and Jon could tell through the fabric of his hood that the light was gone. There must have been daylight before - or some other warm lightsource - because this new level of darkness was impenetrable. Opening and closing his eyes made no difference.
An old wooden door creaked open across the room, groaning with the effort. He could hear clipped, sure-footed steps as someone in heels crossed the stone floor. The unseen stranger walked straight to him, around him, behind him, and ripped the hood off his head.
He blinked in the dim dim light. Then he heard the sound of a match being stuck behind him. He could see nothing more than a few inches beyond the toes of his shoes. His pants were filthy. His Tie was still perfectly tied but his shirt was a mess. He'd been sweating and crying and struggling. But it was still something like relief to feel air on his face again.
The reprieve was short lived. A single figure emerged into the void that was the open door across from his chair. A harsh silhouette in the soft glow of the candle in its hands. The figure made a sharp turn and walked the perimeter of the room to stand at the other side of the door. The figure moved slowly and deliberately. It almost seemed to glide.
He watched with horror as slowly, one by one, figure after figure entered through the unseen door across from his chair. Each one wore a floor length robe and carried a single candle, a votive on a wooden stick. They formed a circle around the perimeter of the room illuminating more and more as they went. A perfect circle of figures in white robes with bone masked faces, skulls with... cat ears?
And then they stopped. Still as statues. They stopped and they watched, eyes focused on the man on the chair in the centre of the room.
Eyes focused on Jon.
YOU ARE READING
Casually Cruel
Mystery / ThrillerBreakups happen every day. Sometimes, you lose it. *All homage, quotes, and allusions to the brilliant work of T. Swift were undertaken with the utmost respect and sincerity.
