Free The Paupers' Crypt by Ron Ripley

door behind him and stood alone in the darkness. He had nothing with him. He had forgotten the light.
    Part of him wanted to turn around and see if he could find the door handle, but that wasn’t an option. He was afraid to return to Owen’s room. There was always the chance that the spirits of both John and Owen could come back.
    Back was the wrong way to go; he needed to get out of the crypt, immediately.
    Brian stood in the darkness of the newest room. He tried to close his eyes but felt dizzy when he did. Frowning, Brian reached out, turned slightly to the right and found a wall. It was cold and felt like stone. Drops, of what he hoped were water, slipped around his fingertips, and he began to walk.
    He never lost contact with the wall, and he took small steps. The floor felt smooth beneath his shoes, and he had no desire to fall in a hole or to trip over something in the darkness.
    In his ears, he heard his heart thump. His breaths came in long and slow. He continued to move along the wall. He smelled water and earth. Nothing more. His footsteps were muffled, as though there was something which deadened the sound in the room.
    Images flashed through his mind. Owen and John. Malachi and Mitchell. The ghosts in the cemetery. Jenny smiling at him.
    The last image made him happy, and he tried to focus on her as he continued on.
    He tried to check his phone, to see what the time was, but when he took it out of his pocket and tried to see it, nothing happened. After several attempts, he realized the battery was dead, and he dropped it back into his pocket
    Brian decided he would count his footsteps, to keep himself occupied. He stopped at one thousand. The counting was helping.
    His stomach growled. An image of Owen flashed before him, and his desire to eat vanished.
    “Brian.”
    He stopped and looked around. Someone had called his name. A man.
    Brian opened his mouth to reply and then stopped.
    What if there wasn’t anyone? Brian wondered.
    What if someone is waiting for me to speak? Brian thought. What if someone is hunting me and merely wondering where I am in the room?
    Brian continued to move forward.
    “We know you’re in here, Brian,” a voice said.
    He couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.
    Something cold brushed against his arm.
    “Are you close to us?” a second voice asked.
    “Closer than he wants to admit,” said the first.
    He heard someone chuckle and say, “We’ll find him, soon.”
    With the next words spoken, Brian could hear no difference. It was as if the two voices had become one.
    “True. We have enough time, and he’s lost.”
    “Alice down the rabbit hole.”
    “Eat me, drink me.”
    “Shh. You’ll remind him of Owen.”
    Horrible images flashed through Brian’s mind. He had a sudden, irrational fear that John was still alive, and that Owen had been only pretending. Brian vividly imagined how John would have been butchered efficiently. Owen would be sitting in his chair. Brian pictured blood spilling out of the corners of Owen’s mouth as the man took small, delicate pieces of John’s liver and chewed them methodically.
    Owen’s dead , Brian told himself sharply.
    “Is he, though? You’re stronger than we thought, Brian.”
    “Stronger than any of us thought. To be honest, we thought you wouldn’t have made it this far.”
    “Of course, Mitchell did help, which was rather unsporting of him.”
    “It does make the game rather more interesting, though, does it not, Brian?”
    Brian didn’t respond. He continued forward, each step cautious, his hand always on the wall.
    “Will you stay down here with us, Brian?”
    And Brian saw himself trapped, forever, never dying as he wandered in darkness. He could see himself, eyes blind, beard long, and clothes turned to rags. Two dark shapes near him, always questioning and wondering what to do with him.
    Brian felt panic well up within him and nest in his throat almost threatening to erupt in an uncontrollable scream. He fought