It was extremely cold, getting down on foot to the excavation area was truly tiring. We were accompanied by some local residents. Immense moisture and pressure left us all dripping wet. On our journey through meters and meters of cold earth, a few spotlight directed our way, gently revealing talc of gold that added splendor to the run down terrain. And then it came, a large Norwegian door welcomed us, fully decorated with mold and fungus and stood proudly ajar that revealed a misty ground surrounded with ghastly white draperies.
“Well, isn’t it a beauty? Reckon those above really stood to their ancestor’s occupation!” Naomie, my professor, greeted the grand vicinity. She walked into the spot- lightened excavation grounds and straight towards one of the large dug out grave, its worn- out tombstone laid rest on a lightened table, waiting for scrutiny from experts. Remnants of the graves’ occupants were encased in what looked tree trunks, preferably Cyprus that surrounded the whole province. The whole vicinity looked a nightmare made reality—cobwebs, illuminated ghost- like tree trunks, the draperies that flew were actually dilapidated plywood walls that thinned in time.
“Most of the graves here had their occupants, er- except for that one, reckon that it belongs to a poor lil’ girl”, my professor pointed at a small dug out grave, about the size fit for a 5 year- old child, its tombstone still erect above the hole. “A rag doll still left inside that ‘ol hole,” she held out a rather voodoo- looking doll, “the occupants here lived about the Dark Ages” she added.
I looked out for the child’s tombstone, recognizing distinguished engraved letters: “July 7”. I scouted for more pieces to complete the owner’s identity, though the tombstone still erect, it was too damaged to note, no letters or codes to decipher.
“Lemme point you out to the manuscripts, the weather up there’s getting worse and worse by the minute, if we stay, we might not get back up” Naomie pointed to the sudden rush of water pouring from the lintels that holds the whole structure.
“But how about—” I blurted, but she took me by the hand and shoved me into the unnoticed crevice as the water pours more out of the trellises.
We ventured deeper into the vicinity, I didn’t noticed another sequence of lintels just a stone’s throw from the little girl’s grave, “Though we’re getting deep, we are actually moving upwards, funny how this graveyard was made, really” Naomie said with a hunch, “Most of the time, if ever a treasure is to be buried along, it is usually hidden deep within”
In agreement to what Professor Naomie had said, the air went more loose and breathable, but contrary to the air, the lintel walls now became tunnels, the deeper and deeper we went, the narrower the tunnels went.
“Better crouch in a lil’ while” she comforted, “it’ll be a jiff.”
