by Joe Stanley

iv

Crawling through, he found himself in some strange, cavern-like room. The floor was covered in earth. Lining the walls in a rough circle, the doll-like bodies of children lay horridly still. They were dead. Their flesh was sickly pale and they did not breathe. As he shined the torch from one to the next, his heart ceased to feel, so great was his grief. Then the light fell on the punk. He was as cold and still as the others.

Duffy turned back, moving like a mechanical man, soul sickened by this devilish tableau. Then rocks ground together behind him softly. The kid was standing, as though sleepwalking. The officer shook his head and blinked his eyes.

“It’s alright now, my boy, I’m here to help.” he began, but then his flashlight flickered and at once, they all stood, eyes closed. An odd constricting force seemed to wrap itself around him. It thinned his breath as it climbed around his chest and slithered up around his head, into his mind.

He could hear the happy laughter of children, but the sound was horror as they opened up their eyes. Their eyes! They had no eyes! Inky orbs stared out. His flashlight dimmed away as the room filled with blackness, yet through it, he could still see their eyes… the eternal, empty darkness in their eyes…

-end-

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