Prisoner of the Molepeople

Chapter 11 - Graveyard

Despite my hunched back and aching neck, the forbidding sounds were enough to persuade me to stay in the car. But my burly bodyguards wouldn't have it. As soon as they pushed me out of the door, I was smothered in fog. The stuff was so thick, I could barely make out the tall, twisted graves. The horrible choir had grown louder. I gasped at the sound of a howling wolf, searching in vain for the beast that was waiting to pounce. When an unseen maniac revved up a chainsaw, I couldn’t hold back my scream.

Then I noticed the amused faces of my bodyguards, and I gave my surroundings a deeper look. We were at the edge of Molemania, the walls of the giant cavern sloping before us, lit by stadium lights. Protruding from the rocky wall was a …

Fog machine? After a further search, I discovered the speakers.

“Look!” shouted Brunhilda, her face in terror. Fake terror. It was as if I were her little sister, and she were taking me to meet Mickey Mouse. I followed her finger to a marble monument near the ground, and not knowing what else to do, I crouched down and read the inscription.

Where shadows rest and spiders roam,
Where bony fingers lie in wait,
Where time is naught and spirits moan,
Seeking, hiding from their fates,

Mortals come and mortals go,
Blind as moles in hellish light,
Never knowing those below
Are watching through the world of night,

Serving mighty undergods,
Vengeance fierce as fi’ry darts,
Vision piercing through facades,
Helping maidens pure in heart.

Can you find us, can you see
Beyond our gloom and stony skin?
Failing hearts bid many flee,
Forsaking treasures deep within.

Beneath the inscription was the logo for the Department of Parks and Recreation.

“Are you scared?” Brunhilda asked.

“Terrified,” I said.

Gunhilda, on the other hand, was slouched with disinterest. I sensed this wasn’t the first time her sister had dragged her here.

“Don’t worry,” said Brunhilda, grabbing my arm in her terrible grip, “we’ll protect you from evil.”

Whether or not the place gave me the creeps, the thought of Brunhilda dragging me through it definitely did. “No thanks,” I said, exerting all my strength to break free.

“Suit yourself,” she continued in her ominous tone, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Gunhilda interjected, “You didn’t warn her.”

“Oh. Then let me warn you.” Brunhilda pointed at the vague forms of graves, reminding me of the Ghost of Christmas Future. “If you go in there alone, you will die.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I said.

Then, as if no longer able to restrain herself, Brunhilda ran into the white fog, practically skipping.

Gunhilda turned to me. “Are you ready?”

“For what?”

“To contact the dead.”

“Look, it was just a silly commercial, probably how they get tourists down here.”

“That may be true, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find someone to help you.”

I studied her sad face. “Supposing you actually believed that, why would you be helping me?”

“If I were in your shoes, I'd be almost as miserable as I am now. But you know I can't help you. We’re only here so Brunhilda can play in the fog.” (There were giggles in the distance.) “It's just … if someone else were to show up, I’m more than willing to turn my head.”