As the town grows darker, folks become even more wary. There isn’t a curfew being enforced, but seeing someone outside is often a good cause for extra suspicion. Anyone with any sense knows better than to go traipsing around at night, so a curfew is rarely needed in most places.

  No cosy fire to start warming up next to for Rona this late eve. Instead, weaving in and out of alleyways and backstreets. No fear of being spotted or followed, as you could lose someone in an instant from just turning two corners. Just a stone's throw away from the main streets, these narrowing lanes are a naturally occurring labyrinth.

  The only commotions she can hear are the odd squawking of crows for scraps with the rumbling and rustling of bins as cats let out shrill yowls. Out of sight and tucked in a corner, there’s a big enough stone that Rona carefully scrapes aside from the wall. In the hollow of the wall, she retrieves a burlap sack.

  Referencing her mental checklist, she rifles through its contents. Chisel..rope..sheets..crowbar..cloth..mallet..wire hanger..cloth, grappling hook, knives and a few empty canisters. There was also a jar with a rubber airlock packed with curiously colourful things that she had made note of first of all. She slotted the rest of the knives into separate pockets of her black leather strap before fastening the burlap sack with rope to her back and waist.

  Sliding the stone back into the wall, she went back into the winding backstreets. She emerged back on the street where the bunkhouse was situated, and the crowds had long since dispersed. Sticking close to the walls and shadows, Rona carefully makes her way along.

  She had found a two storey wall of a yard next to a taller building(presumably a storehouse) to settle on top overlooking most of the bunkhouse. There are probably 6 guards with torches evenly stationed around the outside.

  Rona then scaled another two storeys onto the building from the wall. Her boots scuffed and crunched against the wall as she scampered. She hoisted herself up and perched on the corner. Occasionally, the guards were pacing. She studied all of them in the following hours; they were all on edge.

  They were stationed in pairs for each side of the old abbey. Most of the couples seemed familiar with one another, but there is an odd couple that stands out; one guard looks tall, well built, disciplined and stoic like a statue. The other, smaller, alert and more responsive. The smaller guard seemed somewhat fidgety in comparison.

  The two guards did not interact, nor did it even look like they acknowledged each other's existence. They will do nicely, Rona thought. She ran her hand around the inside of a chimney. She smothered all of her exposed pale skin with soot before descending all the way back down.

  The thing about standing next to a bright and prominent light source, such as the torches, is that your eyesight doesn't adjust to the encroaching darkness. This gives Rona fair room to manoeuvre around and into position behind the wall in front of them.

  Rona only had to be quieter than the roiling and murmuring flames for her not to be noticed. From one of her many pockets, she produces a silver coin and lowers it over the wall. She edges along the outside of the wall until she is closer to the corner of the bunkhouse. From out of the darkness, she peers over the wall at the smaller guard and his strapping comrade.

  The right moment takes risk, opportunity and patience. Time slowed down, and Rona lies in wait, coiled and ready to vault over the wall in one swoop. Her tense concentration amplifies with each passing moment. She strained her eyes to focus harder, and the gripped wall she clenched tighter. Come on you dim grunt, any second now!

  The smaller guard finally gleans something glistening near the corner of the abbey grounds. He casually and nonchalantly wanders in its direction, trying not to draw attention. However, his partial iron armour rustles as he stoops over the silver coin, attracting a studious gaze from the other guard. Rona flings herself over the wall,l rolling towards the building. There’s a tall standing wooden beam lining the corner that Rona applies her fleeting footwork to while using her hands to cling against its edges to astride further up.

  “What you found there then?” inquires the bigger guard as Rona hops sideways and hangs from a wooden window ledge.

  “What, this old thing?” the other guard says, brandishing the shiny coin,” Must’ve dropped it when I last went for a leak!” Rona stays as still as can be, half hunched with her elbows over the ledge to relieve some of the pressure off her fingers.

  “What you ona ‘bout? I was the last to take a tinkle over there, you cheeky tyke!” protested the taller guard with Rona just overhead. She was waiting for the other guard to return to his post before she could move a muscle.

  “Ah, give over, none of yer pennies are anywhere near as clean as this one, I bet. Don’t kid yourself, ya, it’s mine now anyways!” retorted the smaller guard advancing towards Rona, who was waiting with bated breath.

  “Well, you're lucky that we have to be on our best behaviour, otherwise or else I'd av you!” He glared at him, his big square jaw clenched.

  The smaller guard stared back sternly before turning to stand side on from him. Rona could now get her breath back and delved her hand into the very bottom of the burlap sack to grab a handful of sawdust.

  She tossed the sawdust over the torch of the smaller guard and waited for it to start crackling before digging in her grappling hook into the ledge. The connected rope threaded through her sack and now tucked under her arm keeps her firmly suspended freeing up her hands.

  With the chisel, she whittled steadily away at the mid side of the window frame until there was a big enough gap to slip her wire hanger into. She was able to pry open the window handle without making barely any noise. Now that Rona had successfully managed to sneak inside, she carefully closed the window, but without using the window handle to keep it shut.

  The air here felt stale, stagnant even. Rona’s ears pricked up, and her neck hair stood on end; she definitely got the impression of a lingering presence being roused. As she turned to take in her surroundings, shades were silently whipping away just out of the corner of her peripherals. The upper gallery presented her with a decent view to the layout of the great hall.

  Bunk Beds lay strewn around the centre, and some were piled up against the walls. A floorboard creaked as she shifted her weight onto one leg to stow away her tools. The grappling hook was tucked in between the rope on her shoulder. A strong metallic smell clung to the atmosphere along with an undertone of musky old wood.

  Rona could hear each of her footsteps resounding with alarming clarity as she made her way down the side of the upper gallery. The intense emptiness of any other sounds seemed to hone in on her, then constrict, compact and condense all notions of her movement. At first, it almost startled her, but then a sense grew exponentially of her own consciousness overtaking her. It became overpowering, her mind phasing periodically in and out of a body that felt like she was controlling at varying distances.

  She had descended to the bottom of the stairs. Eyes had adjusted by now, but it appeared that she was enshrouded by the pure minimum of light. Her eyesight is still skipping slightly, flickering her black blank mind. Now she was confronted with the main aftershow up close, which grabbed her, snapping her into a frenzied focus. Eyes darting, desperately assessing for any clear threats.

  It struck her as a painting of imminent threat. For an image where everything is completely still, there was a strong impression of a lot of chaotic motions. Contorting barricades of metal bed frames writhed, jagged and deformed. It looked as though they were instantly crumpled up effortlessly, like straws. Scarcely clinging to them, ragged sheets skinned from their beds. You couldn’t see it, but you knew it was there, all the blood slashed, spilled and splashed over everything. For a moment, Rona forgot herself. What is this!? Who am I?? Why am I here?! What am I doing? She regained her composure after a few seconds and pushed onwards.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Her purpose for being here had pushed back and reasserted itself in the driver’s seat as she headed off to the side of this desecrated halfway home. She followed along the wall until she hit an archway out of the hall. The archway was seamlessly divided from the hall by a blanket of darker gloominess. In, she passed. She had passed into its depths, submerged in all of its entirety with the memory of light at her back.

  The blueprints were memorised, even in the dark; she knows what to look for. Her hand found the opposing wall, and it ran along, going over the occasional cracks. A pool on the floor cloyed a thick stickiness to her boots, she only wished that it was treacle and then pretended to imagine that it was. Then came the steps, she counted exactly ten, with each step down being further at the mercy of the unknown. She was then able to trace with her hand onto something more substantial than the aged cracks on the wall: a groove.

  A groove that was felt straight up and down. This has to be it. She burrowed into the sack that was fastened to her waist and half unfurled some sheets to bunch them underneath the groove in the wall. Also grabbed from the bag was the chisel, rubber mallet and cloth. She seeked into one of her pockets to pull out a handful of sand that was then used to smother the ends of the chisel. She knelt down on one knee and started folding over thick cloth into a pad.

  Since setting foot on the upper gallery, she knew she was being watched. It was so palpable that it charged up her hair to stand on end. Down here, knelt next to the old sealed up chapter house, she could feel their disembodied stare bearing down on her evermore. Rona placed the makeshift cloth pad against the wall with the sandy chisel and gripping the rubber mallet, she began to knock the chisel into the wall. Debris started getting chipped from the wall, landing on an improvised dust sheet.

  It was effortless and nearly soundless; the wall didn’t have much resistance. If anything, the wall welcomed the relief afforded by this interloper as if she were picking at an old, crusty scab. It was not long at all until the groove had been hollowed out right the way around an entire door frame. Before putting her tools back (except for the debris-covered sheets), she pulled out her trusty crowbar.

  Rona wedged the crowbar in the excavated door frame, took a deep breath and slowly forced it open. According to the blueprints, this door used to open outwards and towards the right hand side, so that’s the way she positioned herself with the crowbar. As the door started opening, it was as though the wall itself was being parted and cracking like a glacier. The doorway let in a whirlwind of dust just like the sharp intake of a heavy gasp.

  The door, like the hull of an old ship, rumbled and groaned as it was scraped open. It appeared to be thick, solid oak. She only opened the door wide enough to slip in or out. Opening it wider certainly wasn’t worth any more extra noise and chance of what little integrity those hinges must have left.

  Inside the chapter house, a bleak light managed to simmer its way through from a row of short windows just under the ceiling, sitting on top of the outside ground. On the other side of the glass were rampantly overgrown with briars. Slant-top writing desks, scattered depicting maybe a struggle that had taken place long ago. The room was thickly caked in dust and was as macabre as the great hall: There were 4 putrefied remains, perhaps of some monks. The first, curled up next to the door, one was sagging back into a chair, another was face down on the floor, and the other was hanging over a desk.

  This doesn’t bode well; these men of the cloth met horrible, gruesome ends. Their funerary rites, denied and departing souls, refused. Instead, all efforts were directed to sealing away this place as quickly as humanly possible. Not even so much as a window opened for them, so whatever happened here would stay contained.

  Rona was once again taken aback but still not rattled. Each footstep was silently placed with great care and went at a steady pace. She could see lots of clutter hoarded on most of the desks, with some of their drawers overflowing. Nearing them, she could now make out what it was: crusty parchment, warped old scrolls and odd books. She got one of her canisters ready.

  When trying to pick up a parchment, it disintegrated instantly, and then she went to grab a scroll instead, which crumbled like sand. She managed to pick up a thick hardback book, but the pages effortlessly flaked away. The light that leaked down here, as well as the moisture, was enough to accelerate the deterioration and degradation of nearly everything over time.

  As fruitless as this room was, there is still another, more promising prospect that Rona had already set her sights on before arriving. There’s evidence that the monks of the abbey kept quite a cellar underneath that the scholar minster mentioned. It is possible the previous staff of the Abbey didn’t want to forfeit their only vice to the rest of the Order when they would grace them with a visit. Given that the 4 bodies in the chapter house were forgotten by time, their secrets may have been deserted with them that day.

  If that’s the case, the cellar entrance may not have been technically sealed away, just concealed. Going on a general assumption, they must have been able to roll big barrels underground. That would suggest maybe a double-door, ground-level cellar entry way, which would probably be outside and abutting to the backside wall of the Abbey church. However, that entrance was likely buried as it may have been used once and they weren't in the habit of sharing large amounts thus, they would never have needed to get the barrels out. They also couldn’t have kept using this outside entrance to get in and out regularly, as it would eventually draw too much suspicion. Hence, there has to be another way within the Abbey Church itself.

  This thought process had occurred to Rona earlier when she was intensely planning her route around, and with these added discoveries now coming to light, she knew she was close. It seemed as if only the Abbot and monks had reason to be here, working on scriptures and whatnot. The perfect cover. Almost below ground level, it had to be this very room.

  Rona’s focus now shifted towards other aspects and started to stroll around the room. Any rugs?..No, just flagstone.This bookcase? Now, that would be too much of a cliché!.. And besides, it has no hidden hinges or discrete framing. She took a moment to go through the books in case any were salvageable. Nope, utter dregs. Each book she picked off the shelf was much too frail, but she couldn’t help but hopelessly carry on trying anyway. By dumb luck, a sharp metallic ting struck the ground like a newfound idea being sparked.

  She instantly bobbed down to snatch it up, a wrought iron key, but it felt quite rusted. Going back to the task at hand, she surveyed the room again. This time, Rona managed to discern a wide, musty, unassuming tapestry draped against a wall. It had long since lost most of its colour and had blended into the wall almost like a second skin with the same drab, muted tones.

  She went over and reached with her hand to unveil the tapestry, but instead, it suddenly ripped at the top corner and immediately began to peel itself off the wall from its own weight with a long, dull tearing sound. Dust whirled as it landed, exposing above a lofty, grotty door. It's wood, stained and darkened with a barely perceivable black plated lock. Instinctively, Rona inserted the key. It didn’t turn and instead broke apart without much force.

  “Rats!” and out came the crowbar again.

  The lockset, like the key, was the same black wrought iron and especially in this light, it wasn’t noticeable that its rusted shut. She jammed in the crowbar and began levering the doorframe against the lock. It splintered, then split apart.

  Soon it became prized open. She unstuck the rest of the door, widening herself a path forward. A current of chilling air drifted out from the doorway. Gazing inside, emptiness welled its way up to the brim. The immense nothingness sucks you in like falling into an unending chasm. There was something certainly unnerving down there that made her hesitate for a brief moment as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

  Onwards, delving into the abyss, a solid, spiral, stone staircase led her deeper down. The stillness and chilly dry air exuded the atmosphere of an ancient cave. Rona could see clouds of her own breath from the reflected, last glimmers of light. She soundlessly took each step until finding the level ground.

  The stone spiral staircase had strangled off any possible seeping light. Cool, dry and void of light, perfect cellar storage for a few hundred years. It is tantalising yet even more terrifying being confronted with a darkness so immense it's as if you were buried in bedrock, deep in the earth's crust.

  It seemed endless without any sense of walls, but at the far end, some hundred metres away, there is a perplexing coil stirring. Indefinable in shape but steadily swirling in the same spot. Best not to pry; unnerving mysteries are common on the job, but that doesn’t mean they have to be solved at all.

  Rona scurried off to the corner and was met with the clink of glass. A satisfying clink, not the kind of glass bottle sound, but an abrupt, heavy kind. She had overstepped towards a crate, and the clinking came from a few bottles being shaken together. Rona leaned over and plucked the first bottle by its slender neck. The bottom was bulbous, and when lifted, the packaging straw slid off it like sand. It poured onto the crate, making more noise.