Page 103 of Sinister

I have no idea where this tunnel leads, and no way out. A nervous laugh bubbles in my throat, quickly chased by the sting of tears. What was I thinking?

Still, I’m not one to give up easily. I take a deep breath, steady my nerves, and start moving forward.

The tunnel is cold and silent, but after only a few minutes, I spot something ahead—a flicker of light.

Odd.

Does that mean someone is down here?

Could it be Sin?

The thought brings a rush of hope. I straighten my back, pick up my pace, and am ready to call out his name, to ask him why he disappeared, why he never let me know he was safe. Why he left me in silence.

But the closer I get, the more I realize it’s not him.

I hear voices. Two. Maybe more. I slow down and stop just before the tunnel opens into a wide, well-lit alcove.

I peer around the corner, and what I see turns my blood cold.

I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle any sound.

The space is aglow with candlelight; there’s no electricity here. Candles line the chandelier above, the ledges of the walls, every crevice. The illumination is eerie, casting flickering shadows over the carved stone.

The walls are painted—images drawn directly onto the stone, crude but clear. Some too distant to see in detail, but others close enough for me to make out the crimson hues, the depictions of murder, torture . . . blood.

But even that is not the most horrifying part.

There are four, maybe five figures in the chamber. Most are cloaked in a deep burgundy fabric, their hoods drawn up like monks—like those old drawings of Franciscans I’ve seen in dusty books. But they aren’t praying.

At the center of the room is a massive stone table, easily twice my size.

Lying on it is a woman. Naked. Her wrists and ankles are bound. The cloaked figures circle her slowly, moving in unison, performing some kind of ritual.

My heart hammers in my chest.

Is this a sacrifice? Are they going to kill her?

And if they are, if they see me, will they kill me too?

I can’t go back. There’s no way up. My only hope is to move forward, deeper into this place. But how can I move past this? What will happen to me if they realize I’m here?

Fear—no, true horror—grips me as I realize the potential consequences of my actions.

Stupid, Petra! Stupid!

I press myself to the wall, desperate not to be seen.

But then, something unexpected happens.

One of the cloaked figures stops at her side and begins to untie her hands. Another releases her ankles. She rises slowly, her body trembling, breasts heaving as she sits up on the cold stone. But she doesn’t speak. Doesn’t resist.

Once she’s free, she swings her legs off the table and turns, resting her torso against the stone while her feet touch the floor.

I don’t understand. What is this?

Then one of the cloaked men moves behind her.

A metallic rattle echoes through the chamber.