Following the chilling success of their first collection, Lady Eckland, Glenn Riley, and new collaborator, Bella Darkwood return to guide you through the shadowy corridors of fear with their second compendium, *Whispers In The Dark 2*. These master...
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The halls of the fortress rang with screams. Brother Martin flinched as another tortured cry echoed off the stones, the anguished sounds merging with the roar of the pyre's flames in the courtyard beyond his small cell. He whispered another prayer under his ragged breath, clutching the crucifix that hung from his rope belt. The auto-da-fé had begun at dawn, rooting out yet more "heretics" to purge with fire.
Martin had accompanied the Inquisitor many times to document the interrogations. Yet this one had shaken him to his core. Two young women—secret lovers accused of witchcraft—were condemned to the stake over the protests of many villagers who knew them to be kind and simple souls. But Inquisitor Vincente Garcia’s authority ruled all in this remote valley. None dare defy his divine calling to stamp out every vein of heretical evil.
Except, perhaps, in their hidden thoughts. Martin was not the only one who questioned whether true justice was being carried out. But publicly, all bowed in acquiescence to the Inquisitor’s zealous decrees.
The screams outside suddenly multiplied in agony. Martin bowed his head. The lovers’ burning flesh and final gasps must be giving way to the crackle of flame. Through his shuttered window, the odor of scorched meat now tinged the cell with sickly sweetness. Martin bit back bile rising in his throat.
Lord, forgive me, he silently implored. I should have said something...
Movement at the cell door startled Martin from his prayer. The creak of iron hinges seemed to groan in sympathy with the dying women’s torment. Martin stood on trembling legs as Inquisitor Garcia strode in, his black robes swirling around his rigid frame. The tall man fixed his flinty eyes on Martin, stained with the reflection of the still-hungry fires feasting outside.
“Come, Brother Martin,” the Inquisitor commanded. “Let us conclude this righteous task.”
Martin swallowed hard and obeyed. He trailed Garcia like a condemned man through the echoing corridors, the hem of his own rough garment whispering along the cold stones. The smell of burnt flesh grew stronger as Garcia led him to his stone chamber, where the records of the interrogations lay on a heavy oak table. With a skeletal finger tipped by a heavy gold ring, Garcia motioned Martin to take up his quill.
“Note the date and the heretics purified this day by our most holy flames,” Garcia intoned, his voice rasping with religious ecstasy. Or perhaps that rasp came from the tainted air seeping inside from the crackling pyres. “We have cut out two more festering limbs from Satan’s blighted tree...”
The words faded around Martin. He dipped his quill mechanically into the ink well and transcribed the proscribed lines. Through the narrow window, he glimpsed the glowing embers in the courtyard, hot tears blurring their hellish contours. Forgive me, he prayed again, to the two women, to God, to himself. I should have offered mercy...
A fresh scream cut the air—not a human cry this time, but an unearthly howl that froze Martin’s racing heart. The awe on Garcia’s face curdled into disbelief as the blood-chilling shrieks went on and on, impossible for any mortal throat.
