The cathedral loomed in the distance, its towering spires piercing the night sky like ancient sentinels. St. Magnus had stood in the heart of the city for centuries, its weathered stone walls hiding stories that predated everything around it. Caleb parked his car at the edge of the square, stepping out into the cold air. The faint scent of rain lingered, and the cobblestone streets glistened under the amber glow of streetlights.


    He pulled his coat tighter as he approached the massive oak doors. The cathedral was supposed to be closed at this hour, but a dim light glowed faintly through the stained-glass windows. Caleb hesitated before pushing the doors open, the hinges groaning loudly in protest.


    Inside, the air was colder, carrying the faint smell of incense and old wood. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the echo of his footsteps on the stone floor. Rows of pews stretched out before him, leading to an ornate altar bathed in the golden light of flickering candles.


    Caleb took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dimness. It had been years since he’d stepped into a church. Religion had never been his thing, but there was something about this place that felt… heavy. Like the walls were watching.


    “Can I help you, my son?”


    The voice startled him, and Caleb spun around to see an elderly man emerging from the shadows. He wore the robes of a priest, his thin frame stooped with age. Despite his frailty, his eyes were sharp, piercing Caleb in a way that made him feel exposed.


    “Father…?” Caleb began, his voice trailing off.


    “Father Merrick,” the priest said, his tone calm but curious. “You’re here late. Most who come to St. Magnus at this hour seek solace. Is that what you’re looking for?”


    “Not exactly,” Caleb said, pulling the notebook from his pocket and flipping to the page with the map sketch. “I was hoping you could tell me about this.”


    Father Merrick’s expression didn’t change, but Caleb noticed the faintest flicker of recognition in his eyes. The priest stepped closer, his hands clasped in front of him.


    “Where did you find this?” Merrick asked, his voice quieter now.


    “It was part of an investigation,” Caleb said. “I was told the cathedral might have something to do with it.”This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Merrick stared at the map for a long moment, his face unreadable. Finally, he gestured for Caleb to follow him.


    “This way,” the priest said, his voice barely above a whisper.


    Caleb followed Merrick down a side aisle, past rows of flickering candles and faded tapestries. They stopped at a small, nondescript door at the back of the cathedral. The priest produced an old iron key from his robe and inserted it into the lock.


    “Not many know about this,” Merrick said as the door creaked open, revealing a spiral staircase descending into darkness.


    “What’s down there?” Caleb asked.


    “The crypts,” Merrick replied. “And perhaps what you’re looking for.”


    The stairs were narrow and steep, each step taking Caleb deeper into the cold, damp air below. The faint glow of Merrick’s lantern illuminated the stone walls, their surfaces etched with carvings that Caleb couldn’t decipher.


    When they reached the bottom, the space opened into a cavernous chamber lined with tombs. The air was thick with dust, and Caleb’s footsteps echoed off the stone.


    “This is the oldest part of St. Magnus,” Merrick said, his voice reverent. “Built long before the city as we know it. Many who come here seek answers, but few find them.”


    Caleb scanned the room, his eyes drawn to a section of the wall covered in strange markings. They were faint, worn by time, but he recognized them immediately—they were the same symbols from the book.


    “Do you know what these mean?” Caleb asked, stepping closer to the wall.


    Merrick hesitated. “I’ve spent years studying them, but their meaning remains elusive. What I do know is that they’re older than the cathedral itself. Some say they’re warnings.”


    “Warnings about what?”


    Before Merrick could answer, Caleb noticed something—a small indentation in the wall, shaped like a keyhole.


    The rusted key.


    Caleb’s heart raced as he pulled the key from his pocket, the metal cold against his skin. It fit perfectly, sliding into the opening with a faint click. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a low rumble, a section of the wall shifted, revealing a narrow passageway.


    “Wait,” Merrick said, his voice suddenly sharp. “You don’t know what’s down there.”


    “That’s why I need to find out,” Caleb replied, stepping into the passage.


    The tunnel was dark and suffocating, the air heavy with the weight of centuries. Caleb’s flashlight barely cut through the gloom, but he pressed on, the walls narrowing as he went deeper.


    Finally, he emerged into a small chamber. The ceiling was low, and the floor was littered with fragments of stone and broken pottery. At the center of the room was a pedestal, and on it lay a second book.


    This one was different from the first. Its cover was blackened with age, and the symbols etched into its surface seemed to pulse faintly, as if alive. Caleb hesitated before reaching for it, his instincts screaming at him to stop.


    But before he could touch the book, a noise behind him froze him in place—the unmistakable sound of footsteps.


    He spun around, his flashlight sweeping the tunnel, but there was no one there. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he backed away from the pedestal.


    “Who’s there?” he called out, his voice echoing off the walls.


    The footsteps stopped.


    But Caleb knew he wasn’t alone.