Echoes in the Dark


    The metal plate shifted heavily against the concrete, sealing the depths with a final clang. Every muscle in his body ached from the escape, and though he’d be safe for now, his breath still shuddered. At least here, the air held no spores. He tugged the mask off, sinking to the ground, and let his head fall back against a wall to steady his breathing. The smell of rot and damp stone felt suffocating, especially in the quiet, as beneath him, beyond the rusty bars of the ladder, the creature’s disgusting, throaty sounds had faded. But he didn’t trust the silence.


    He lifted his flashlight, casting it over the crumbling stone walls. Shadows leapt and sank into the edges, feeding his unease. He strained to pierce the gloom, searching for any sign of safety or an exit. But in escaping the tunnel, he had only found himself in another one.


    After a moment of stillness, he pushed himself up and advanced in the darkness. Keeping his hand pressed to the right wall, he forced his mind to map the space as he went — despite the fear that something could still be hunting him.


    He wiped the sweat from his weary brow while he assessed the situation. There had been no sign of an exit, but at least for now, the creature was stuck below. His light flickered, reminding him that his batteries were limited. This was the immediate concern, as food and water would not be an issue for the next few days, but if the light gave out… he might as well be trapped in a grave. The weight of his isolation settled heavily in his chest, but he had faced worse odds before. Right?


    His grip tightened on his weapon, hoping to be ready this time. It was a sturdy, curved Pulaski axe he kept sharp. Though the current threat had receded, he remained on edge, and its solidity was comforting. If it came to that, it would get him through any fight. He would just have to hold up as well.


    But for now, he had to keep going. The only way out was forward.


    Every breath tasted stale, thick like the air hadn’t stirred in years. The network of galleries stretched deeper, more intricate than he had anticipated, twisting in random turns as if designed without purpose. Or maybe their purpose was to keep secrets buried. In this case, they were succeeding. Every passageway blurred into the next, and his bearings slipped under the crush of darkness and fatigue.


    He thought of another time, another place, though he rarely let himself go back there. But the tight, unending spaces pried at the edges of memory: rows of people pushing and shoving, squeezed together in pursuit of promised salvation — only to find filtering lanes ahead, separating those who could leave to those who couldn’t. A final and futile effort to delay the inevitable.


    A sound behind him sent his mind back to survival mode. His body reacted instinctively, spinning, the beam slicing through the darkness. For a moment, he was sure it would catch the creature, hunched and waiting, just beyond the light’s reach — instead, nothing. Endless emptiness. Focus. He quickened his pace as if sheer speed could keep the invisible threat at bay.


    Occasionally, he swore he heard footsteps echoing his own, but when he turned, the tunnels were always empty. Waiting. The obscurity played tricks on him. Shadows danced along the labyrinthine halls in a mocking choreography.


    He lost track of time, his sense of weariness mounting as seconds bled into minutes, minutes into hours. He checked his watch, knowing full well it was broken — the glass was cracked, and the second hand frozen. He had once felt clever for seeking a mechanical watch, thinking it would last as long as he did. One lousy fall had proved him wrong. Now, he kept it as a reminder: a relic of a time long gone.


    Then, a splash of colour broke the monotony of stone. Faint streaks of paint clung to the stone like ghosts, too faded to decipher. But as he turned a corner, his flashlight caught a smear of yellow, bold against the wall:


    PRAY FOR THE CHILDREN OF DOOM


    A chill slid down his spine.


    <hr>


    The rusted gates groaned as they swung open, breaking the oppressive silence he’d grown accustomed to. A cold draft slipped through the gap, prickling his skin. After so long spent in the dark, the sight of doors had sparked a cruel flicker of hope, but when the beam of his flashlight swept inside, his stomach twisted in knots. This was no exit. Rather, a cavernous hall stretched before him, welcoming him inside with its vast emptiness. A wave of despair washed over him, yet there was no time for pity. The only way out is forward.


    The scraping echoes surged through the tunnels as he shut the heavy doors behind him and sealed the tomb.


    The weak beam barely reached the ceiling, only catching the edges of industrial pipes disappearing into the gloom above. This place is filled with tunnels. His boots clicked and scuffed against the damp floor, a thin mist hovering, swirling around his steps; it seemed like the place had developed a peculiar weather system over the years.


    The hall stretched in all directions, and it was hard to guess its purpose — perhaps a bunker meant to house thousands or some control centre. The remnants of machinery littered the floor, gears and metal fragments scattered like broken bones of a forgotten age, but they gave no deeper insight. And then he noticed the desks. Endless rows, some toppled, some eerily intact, the outlines of abandoned stations frozen in time. Even after society’s collapse, men crave their bureaucratic jobs. Ancient computers sat on each desk, their screens cracked or covered in dust, scattered papers strewn about like the aftermath of a hurried exodus.


    The silence held, save for the rhythmic drip of water somewhere in the dark. He half wanted to shout, to shatter the oppressive silence. Instead, his boot crushed a glass fragment, sending a brief, hollow crack.


    As he shifted his weight, his flashlight caught a pale glint beneath the fog — brittle bones scattered among the debris. He was walking on a dusty graveyard. He tried not to dwell on it, but the scene gnawed at him. It spoke of a hasty abandonment, of people fleeing in panic. Chaos had seized the occupants, but the details of their fate remained elusive. Each item was a ghostly memory: a frayed backpack, a shattered mug handle, and a set of keys that jingled faintly as he brushed past. The chill of isolation tightened in his chest.


    A half-torn map lay on one of the desks, its edges yellowed with age. Red ink bled across the page, some still legible: Safe zones overrun. His fingers brushed against the desk, disturbing a layer of dust. He swallowed hard. No one had been spared. Not even here.


    The mist thickened, clinging with a damp chill that felt like a warning. He slowed instinctively. Something was wrong — he knew the feeling. Danger. He could sense it in the subtle breeze shift, now carrying a metallic tang that cut through the stale air — like a fresh wound in the space around him. The unmistakable scent of blood.


    He paused, searching for his next move. The scattered papers twitched in the breeze, fluttering like dying birds that whispered of some unseen threat. His flashlight sputtered, and in that dying light, he felt laid bare, more vulnerable than ever. He stuffed the flashlight away, his hands moving fast as he grabbed some torn fabric and a handful of papers. He knotted them quickly around a broken metal rod. The air here felt drier; it would have to work.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    He fished out a flint from his bag, striking it with an almost frantic desperation. Sparks lit up the darkness in bursts of hope. Then, finally, flames caught and erupted in a defiant blaze.


    He moved forward, thrusting the torch ahead. The hall seemed to warp and distort in the firelight. The way the surroundings swallowed everything beyond the fire’s reach made his pulse quicken — how the shadows clung to the walls, how they seemed to shift with every step. Flames danced, and so did his heart.


    The pieces fell into place, and a chill coursed through him. This hall wasn’t a tomb. It was a hunting ground.


    The fog churned, rippling as shapes prowled beneath its white veil. They were closing in, their figure shifting just out of reach, testing him. Axe firm in his grip, he collected himself. The way they circled, there was no mistaking their intent — they were hunters, and he was prey. Three at nine, two at three. His eyes darted between them, mentally charting their positions. He could afford no mistake, not this time.


    A piercing shriek shattered the silence. A signal.


    Survive.


    One sprang forward, erupting from the mist — a quadrupedal creature the size of a dog. His body moved on instinct, the blade flashing as he swung. It caught the creature in its momentum, cleaving through flesh with a sickening ease. A guttural screech tore from the creature’s throat before it died, silenced in a brutal arc. Blood splattered across his arm, dark and sticky, but there was no time to linger. More would follow the lead.


    He vaulted over a desk, his boots skidding on the dusty floor, just in time to meet the next one head-on. His shoulder screamed in protest as he brought the axe down with all the force he could muster. The creature’s body crumpled under the blow, and its bones shattered loudly against the desk. Blood sprayed on grime like paint on a canvas. Two at 11, one at 5. He took a step back, recalibrating his stance. Every step was measured, every strike precise.


    With a grunt, he swung upward as another lunged for his head. The blade cut deep, and the creature’s body jerked violently, folding when it hit the ground.


    Then, a sharp pain shot through his ankle. He looked down to see jagged teeth latched onto his leg, ripping through fabric and skin. A deep snarl escaped his mouth as he slammed the torch down, catching the creature across the snout. Flames licked at its body, and it screeched, stumbling back into the fog with the stench of burning flesh.


    But there were more — eyes glinted in the torchlight, predatory and ravenous. They were closing in from all sides. Too many even for him. Panic clawed at him as he staggered back. He wouldn’t be able to hold them off forever.


    He scrambled onto a desk, using the height to seek an escape. The creatures slithered beneath the white blanket, circling like sharks scenting blood. Each second, they edged closer, and their numbers seemed to grow in a relentless wave of teeth and claws. But there, through the haze, he spotted it — an opening.


    Leaping from one desk to the next, he swatted away their lunging forms using torch and axe. Every muscle ached, but he could see it now — a way out, just within reach. He dropped to the ground, his boots pounding against the concrete as he broke into a sprint.


    A low, guttural growl rippled through the mist, freezing him mid-stride. It reverberated through the hall, deeper than any sound he’d heard from the creatures. Time froze. This was different — bigger. His spine went cold.


    Turning to face it, he glimpsed a hulking shadow forming in the fog, and before he could raise his weapon, a crushing blow struck him with brutal force. He was thrown to the ground, the impact jarring through his skull as the world spun, vision flashing white. The torch rolled away, casting a weak shimmer over the shadow that loomed above.


    Pain lanced through his head, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. Heavy footsteps echoed in his ears, each one a countdown, and he gripped his axe, bracing himself. Come at me.


    It towered over him, a massive, monstrous form barely contained in the torch’s dying glow. A raw power radiated off it — the same creature that had hunted him in the dark. Every instinct screamed for him to run now, but it was too late. It had come for him.


    <hr>


    He snapped back to awareness, his senses sluggish, grasping at clarity. An unyielding tug yanked at his leg, dragging him. His clothes scraped over rough ground, and his head spun, thoughts muddled in confusion. The last flicker of the torch’s dying light faded somewhere behind him, and he was swallowed in darkness.


    He couldn’t grasp how he was still alive. The creatures should have been tearing into him by now, gnawing through layers of guts as he squirmed. Instead, his abductor seemed to want him somewhere. Alive.


    A chill of raw terror gripped him, stronger than any claw.


    Desperately, he flailed at the floor, scrambling to latch onto something, anything, but his hands slipped uselessly over cold stone. Any remnants of control he’d clung to were stripped away as the atrocity hauled him through the void.


    Blind and disoriented, he had no idea where he was taken. The creature’s wet, ragged breaths echoed through the darkness as his sole sensory stimulation. There was only so much time left to figure out a plan — precious seconds before he reached whatever hellish place the creature wanted him to see.


    The floor beneath him had changed, transformed into something vile. Each tug sent a squelch through the air, the slick floor squishing under his weight. Each step the creature took landed heavily, splashing through puddles that reeked of decay. He felt bumps under him — pulsing, like roots alive and writhing over the surface. A disgusting sensation. Cold and slimy, the ground seemed to swallow him inch by inch as he got dragged further, each moment blurred into an endless agony.


    Then, the abductor slowed.


    He seized the moment. Heart pounding, he fumbled in his bag in search of the flashlight. Just as his fingers closed around it, the monster yanked him sharply, slamming him against a wall. With a grunt, his shoulder crashed into a surface — not stone, but something thick and spongy, like… meat.


    Now.


    He flicked the flashlight on, and the beam burst to life, illuminating the horror around him. The chamber pulsed alive, its walls woven with a sickly network of pinkish-white tendrils. They layered over every surface, coiling over the floor, walls and even the ceiling, like grotesque veins stretched over concrete bones. He felt like he was inside a living organism. Tiny, irregular holes gaped in the flesh-like roots, each exhaling wisps of pale gas that crept along the floor, seeping out from the chamber.


    The creature growled, momentarily stunned by the sudden light.


    In one desperate, swift motion, he scrambled to his feet and made a break for the nearest opening. Torch in one hand, he rushed forward, legs pumping with every ounce of strength he had left. Behind him, a furious roar echoed, but the creature had been too slow to react.


    His boots skidded over the slimy floor, nearly sending him in a sprawl. But, he caught himself, heart hammering against his ribs. He didn’t dare look back. He couldn’t.


    His life depended on it.


    He ran like a madman — a beast with nothing but instinct. His boots pounded against the stone in a rhythm of desperation, and the walls blurred into twisted shadows as he sped through the darkness. Each frantic movement sent his flashlight beam bouncing wildly ahead, mimicking his chaotic thoughts. In spite of it, he could barely make out a faint noise behind him. It was still there, pursuing him. The creature would not give up. And for now, its presence alone spurned him to run faster.


    The tunnels twisted and turned, endless. How long had he been running? His legs had gone numb; he was moving purely on momentum, driven by a will on the edge of collapse. For one fleeting moment, a chilling thought crept in — Is this all there is? Running without end?


    But then, as despair clutched at him, he saw a change ahead: stairs, hewn into the stone, leading up. He didn’t hesitate. Taking the steps two at a time, his heart lurched with the faintest hint of hope, a hand tracing the rough wall to steady his ascension. He didn’t know where they would lead, but they led up — away from the nightmare below. For now, that was all he needed.


    Then, he saw her.


    At the top of the stairs, a figure slumped against the wall. He almost dismissed it as another trick of his faltering mind, a hallucination born of exhaustion and fear. But as he climbed closer, the shape solidified. It was a woman curled up, her face smeared with mud, her clothes dark with stains.


    His breath caught in his throat, ending his flight. The flashlight’s trembling beam washed over her, and in the dim glow, she stirred, barely conscious. Blood had soaked her body, a wound visible on her side. Her chest rose and fell, unsteady from shallow breaths, and with it finally came the sudden realisation — she was alive.


    The light caught on a patch of fabric, letters embroidered and barely visible on her bloodied shirt: Victoria. Something stirred within him, a rush of unfamiliar urgency, clouding his judgment and taking hold of his reflexes.


    Whoever she was, she needed help. And fast.


    ***