Ressurection

The Catacombs

"When you said we were going to Paris," I protested waving my hands indignantly, "I imagined beaches and restaurants-not an old church."

"It's historical. Just try and pay attention Jenny," preached my dad, sighing as he re-joined my mother.

Groaning, I slouched into a pew, wishing I could be somewhere else. I gazed blankly at my surroundings. The huge chapel ceiling towered above me, statues leering from the sides, almost menacingly, but still I was unimpressed. As I sank deeper into my seat, I noticed a small tour group gathered around a tarnished old door which was bolted shut. Sidling closer, I glanced upon a sign stating 'To the Catacombs.' Abruptly my spirits perked up and I inched towards the group, listening intently to what the tour guide had to say.

"...the legend of the anti-resurrectionists. Everybody in these catacombs was branded with the religious mark of resurrection, a butterfly. However," the man continued trying to mask the grin on his face, "legend fore tells of a group of atheists who were buried deep inside the chambers. Their spirits were sinful and so the mark turned into the anti-resurrection mark-a butterfly crushed in a fist. It is said, that their spirits walk the halls for all eternity seeking out souls to convert," the guide hissed. "Shall we continue?" he asked innocently, a mischievous twinkle shimmering in his eyes as he unbolted the door and showed his group in.

Adrenaline soaring, I fumbled for a torch and slithered into the group, looking back over my shoulder at my unsuspecting family. My heart pounded in my chest threatening to crack my ribs. As the door glided shut, the light from the chapel diminished steadily. I heard the gentle click as a bolt slid across from the other side; there was no turning back. Hitting my head on the ceiling, I slinked through a narrow set of jagged stone steps, my adrenaline egging me on. The walls consisted of time-worn blocks of stone which seemed to have been chiselled away. As we continued deeper into the eerie cavity, a malodourous odour clung onto my clothes as if it were a vine scaling a wall. Something about it made me feel uneasy, as if something wasn't right. We were still descending the stairs, everyone in stunned silence so that the echoing taps of shoe on stone were all that could be heard.

Eventually the steps faded behind us and we entered a dark corridor with occasional paintings lining the walls which the tour guide began to explain animatedly. Passage ways led from the hall in hundreds of directions. Goosebumps prickled on the back of my neck as I noticed that our feeble torches were the only objects providing light. Doubt grappled with my mind.

Suddenly I heard a scraping noise behind me like someone was limping. I turned around slowly but nobody was there. Shaken I carried on. Probably just a rat I reassured myself. Realising I had been left behind, I hurried to catch up. Scrape. I heard the shuffle another time. It sounded close, too close. Scrape.
"Who's there?" I shrieked. The scraping followed. I ran petrified. The light of the group's torches was barely visible in the distance. Scrape. It was following me. I was a spider trapped under a glass.

Tripping, I scrambled desperately to my feet but seemed to be running on ice. The tunnel ahead was black and painstakingly silent. I'm on my own. The thought clawed at my mind and refused to let go. Scrape. What is it? What do I do? Questions flooded my head. I tried to run but fear swamped my body and weighed me down. I fled through the corridor, tears streaming down my face, until each breath was shallow. I ducked desperately behind a corner, clinging on to the hope that I had escaped. I waited... Nothing. Stifling my sobs, I stood stock still straining to hear a sound, any sound. Silence.

I laughed nervously but stayed close to the wall. I'd done it. I had escaped. Momentarily I felt almost safe until I remembered I was alone. Visibly shaking, I crept through the chasm hoping above everything that I would find a way out. I sobbed when an echoing thud hit a wall in front of me but realised it was a stone I had kicked. I wandered the halls alone barely taking in my surroundings, just hoping, pleading, for an exit but there were only stone walls. By now I had grown accustomed to the bone chilling cold of the icy dungeons but the quiet was almost deafening. I was sure I would go mad if I spent much longer in eerie silence.

Without warning my torch suddenly flickered. I froze in panic. The torch flashed back into life but I could still hear a low buzz - no, a growling- projecting from it. It blinked out again for a split second, leaving me in momentary darkness. That was my wake up call. I hurried through the halls, clutching onto the torch as it spat out light every few seconds before plunging me into darkness again. "Help! HELP!"I let out a blood-curdling howl.

"Jenny," whispered an icy voice. I kept running.

"Jenny, I'm coming," the voice followed me. It sounded as if it were coming through the walls. The buzz grew fainter until the light wavered and the buzz was inaudible. I carried on running using my hands as guides. The familiar scraping sound was back, closer than ever before. I didn't know where I was going but knew I had to get out now.

"I'm watching, Jenny." I was a mouse trying to escape from a vulture. Trauma filled me until I couldn't hold it in anymore. Scrape. I scrambled through the halls eyes blurring.

"Help! Help," I wailed hopelessly, trying to spit the words past the growing lump in my throat. I stopped running. Over-come by the fear, I sat curled up against the wall and sobbed into my hands.

Click. Light flooded onto my face. "Jenny? Your parents have been worried about you," Sympathised who I assumed to be a tour guide, holding his hand out to me, "Let's go back to the church."

Whimpering gratefully, I took his hand and followed behind him as he led me through the winding corridors of chapped stone. The walls loomed above me and cast unnerving shadows in the torch-light which sent a gradual chill down my back. The stench of doom hung in the air. The tour guide tried to provide me with small talk but I could only hear a low-pitched droning; I was still terrified. Although there were hundreds of questions drifting through my head, I had to escape from this dungeon and compose myself before I could find my voice again.

I began to relax following the comforting figure, still dazzled by the torchlight. I felt my shoulders ease and stood a little straighter. Wiping my eyes, I noticed the strange clothes the man was wearing. He seemed to be wearing an ancient-looking starched white robe with long sleeves. Somehow the flowing robe made him seem angelic. Out of the blue, I heard the hair-raising scraping limp that I was so familiar with. The sudden terror hit me like a tonne of bricks. I'm not alone I assured myself, stifling the scream that threatened to explode out of me. I skidded round trying to find what was following me but the hall was as deserted as ever.

"Are you alright?" I heard the guide ask as he continued through the corridor. I began to answer but the words caught in my throat; I realised the man was limping. I saw a sort of tattoo on his neck which looked like a butterfly imprisoned in a fist. My brain seemed to be on stuck on slow when the man turned around. His foot scraped across the ground. I am not alone. The thought turned into a threat. I caught a glimpse of his face. Flaps of rotting flesh hung from his cheekbones. I screamed. My knees gave way.