Night Time Butcher
Lost on a ghost tour, he discovers he's not alone in the darkness. But the real horror isn't what he finds… it's what finds him.
Photo by Arie Oldman on Unsplash
This was the wrong direction, he hadn’t passed this door on the way down.
Just his luck: middle of the night, on a ghost tour and he’d lost the rest of his group.
Another junction loomed out of the dark, stone walls disappearing into the distance.
He stood still, listening for the rest of the group. There was something, a faint scraping up to his left.
There must be rats down here, a thought that offered no comfort.
Was that dripping as well? He didn’t want to imagine how filthy it was down here.
He felt a sense of relief when he noticed a flickering glow ahead.
Rounding another corner he froze. There was a lamp burning but it was blocked by a looming shadow, a person.
The figure was stocky, long arms hanging loose. In one hand was an elongated butcher’s knife, tip resting on the floor.
A thick liquid coated the blade’s edge, oozing black in the dim light.
The figure took a step forward, the blade raking across the stones below.
The movement jolted him out of his daze. Instinct kicked in and he darted back around the corner.
He could hear heavy foot falls thumping right behind him.
Sprinting left and right without any thought he stumbled, a set of steps rose up slamming into his body.
A vice-like grip locked around his ankle, flipping him over with ease.
His whole body tensed as he looked into a face hidden by shadow. The figure raised its blade and swung it directly towards his chest.
The corridor was suddenly engulfed in light.
“What are you doing down here?” A voice echoed from above.
Panting he rolled and looked at his friend silhouetted against the open door. Standing, he glanced around the empty hallway.
“Nothing,” he replied, “I just…got a little lost.”
He followed his friend up the stairs fist tight, filled with the desire to wield the weight of a blade in his hand…again.
