The Last Priest

by Amy Cross

  “I keep hearing something,” she continued, heading over to him as they resumed their journey along the corridor. “I swear, something's moving nearby.”

  “Then why am I not hearing it?”

  “I don't know, but -”

  “These things compound one another,” he replied, interrupting her. “You think you hear a noise, but you dismiss it because it's obviously not there. Then you think you hear another noise, and the previous noise just reinforces that idea. After a few minutes, it's happened so many times you're convinced these things are happening but they're not.” He sighed. “This is what I get for bringing a rookie.”

  “A rookie?”

  “It's not your fault,” he continued. “Everyone has to start somewhere and get used to the psychological difficulties of these expeditions. You're just very unlucky that your first time has been so traumatic. Still, I need you to hold it together, okay? The biggest danger at the moment is that you'll start to crack.”

  “I'm more worried about the whole pyramid cracking,” she replied. “What about those bodies we found? It looked like they'd been -”

  “The bodies just prove my point,” he continued, interrupting her again. “The previous expedition here, the one led by Harold Cathcart, must have ended in madness. It's pretty obvious what happened.”

  “It is?”

  “Cathcart lost his mind. He killed those two men back there and performed some kind of mummification process on them, he also killed the man whose bones we found outside, and then somehow he made it out of the jungle and back to London. When he got home, he couldn't face the guilt of what he'd done, so he killed himself. From everything I've read, Harold Cathcart was a good man when he left to start his search for the tomb. The psychological impact of the journey must have turned him into a psychopath.”

  “But you can't be sure that's what happened.”

  “Those two men didn't mummify themselves.”

  “Still, what if -”

  “And there's no other explanation,” he continued, as they stopped at the end of the corridor and found two diverging paths, one leading left and one leading right. Shining his torch in each direction for a moment, he seemed uncertain as to which route they should take. “If you're so smart, Charley, tell me another version of what happened. One that doesn't require a load of supernatural mumbo-jumbo.” He turned to her. “You're young. Maybe you don't realize it yet, but the human mind is capable of terrible things. Don't just assume that Harold Cathcart couldn't have hurt the rest of his team.”

  “I...” She paused. “Well, what if...” She glanced back the way they'd come. “What if there was someone else here?”

  “There were four people on their expedition.”

  “I know, but what if...”

  He waited for her to finish.

  “There's no-one else here,” he said finally, “and there hasn't been for a thousand years.”

  She paused, feeling as if she was on the verge of realization. “Where was the last priest?” she asked, turning back to him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said the last priest was left behind after everyone else was dead. You said his role was to guard the tomb, and that eventually he'd die close to the burial chamber.”

  “That's right.”

  “So where was his body? There were no bones near the -”

  “Charley,” he sighed, “that doesn't mean a thing! He was supposed to die near the burial chamber, but there are plenty of reasons why he might have ended up dying somewhere else in the structure. I'm sure his bones are around.” He paused, waiting for her to admit that he was right. “What's the alternative?” he asked finally. “What are you trying to suggest?”

  She turned to him.

  “Don't do it,” he continued. “Charley, you have a good mind, a rational mind...”

  “What if...” She paused again, aware that the idea made no sense, but unable to let it slip away. “I don't know, but what if somehow...”

  Before she could finish, she heard a dull, heavy thud from somewhere else in the pyramid. She turned and shone her torch back along the corridor, but when she glanced over at Chris she could instantly see from the look in his eyes that he'd heard the sound too.

  “I didn't imagine that,” she pointed out.

  “What?” he asked uncertainly.

  “You heard it too!”

  “I didn't hear anything.”

  “Yes, you did!” she said firmly. “Don't lie to me!”

  “I didn't hear a thing,” he continued, clearly worried as he looked both ways. “We should go in this direction,” he added, before setting off.

  “You heard it!” Charley called after him.

  “No.”

  “You did!” she continued, hurrying after him. “Why won't you admit it?”

  “Admit what? That a thousand-year-old dead priest is somehow still alive in this place? What do you take me for, Charley, a complete idiot?”

  “You believe in those stone tablets.”

  He stopped and turned to her.

  “You believe that this Ah-Shalla guy wrote down the secrets to defeating death. That's why we're here, isn't it? It's why you were almost frantic to get to the burial chamber and look in the sarcophagus.”

  “You don't know what you're talking about.”

  “Yeah, I think I do,” she told him. “You believe in those tablets, or at least in the possibility of them, so is it really much of a stretch to -”

  They both turned as they heard the thud again, this time sounding as if it was coming from a little closer.

  “Don't even try to tell me you didn't hear it that time,” she whispered finally.

  “There are lots of things it could be,” he replied, although this time there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

  Before he could continue, they both heard another thud in the distance, followed by a series of smaller bumps, as if something was being dragged across the stone floor.

  “Something's alive in here,” Charley whispered, feeling as if her heart was beating so fast, it might explode. “We're not alone, Chris!”

  “It's Duncan,” he replied.

  “What?”

  “We know we're not alone. Duncan's in here somewhere.”

  “Duncan's unconscious!”

  “Duncan was unconscious,” he continued. “Obviously he woke up and now he's doing the same thing we're doing, he's looking for a way out. He's probably hearing our footsteps and thinking we're some kind of intruder.”

  Charley listened for a moment as she realized there was a shuffling sound coming from not too far away, as if something was moving around the corner they'd passed a few minutes earlier. She shone her torch into the darkness, and for a moment she felt certain that some kind of figure was going to come into view any moment. Finally, she realized she could hear distant, sloping footsteps: faint, sure, but persistent.

  “It's Duncan,” Chris said again, although this time he too was whispering.

  “Then call out to him,” she replied.

  They both stood in silence for a moment, listening to the footsteps.

  “If he's injured,” Chris continued, lowering his voice even further, “that would explain the way he's walking. It sounds like he's hurt.”

  “Then call out to him,” she said again. “If you're so sure it's him, there's no reason not to let him know where we are, is there?” She continued to stare back along the corridor, waiting for something to come into view, before glancing at Chris. “If you -”

  “Duncan!” he shouted suddenly.

  Immediately, the footsteps stopped.

  “It's not him,” Charley whispered.

  “Of course it's him,” Chris hissed. “This stupidity has to end. You've even managed to worm your stupid fantasies into my mind now.” He took a step forward. “Duncan! This way!”

  Silence.

  “Why isn't he coming, then?” Charley asked. “Why isn't he answering?”

  “He ju
st -”

  “Chris!” a voice shouted from far away. “Charley! Where are you?”

  “I told you it was him,” Chris said, with a sigh.

  “Wait,” Charley said, turning and looking the other way.

  “Hurry!” Duncan shouted. “Where the hell are you?”

  “It's coming from the wrong direction,” Charley whispered, as she heard the footsteps in the distance again. She turned to Chris. “Duncan's voice is coming from up ahead, but the footsteps are coming from back the way we came!”

  “No,” he replied, shaking his head, “it can't -”

  “Help!” Duncan shouted.

  “This way,” Charley said, grabbing Chris's arm and pulling him along the corridor. “He's up here somewhere.” Making their way to the next turn, they headed right and began to speed up.

  “Get me out of here!” Duncan shouted in the distance, although he sounded a little closer this time. “I don't know what it is, but it's coming!”

  “What's he talking about?” Charley whispered.

  “He's losing his mind,” Chris replied. “He's lost, disorientated, maybe even concussed after -”

  Before he could finish, they both heard a scream in the distance.

  “What the hell was that?” Charley asked as they stopped in the corridor.

  “Help!” Duncan shouted, sounding frantic. “What the hell is this thing?”

  “Where is he?” Charley asked.

  “He could be in another corridor,” Chris replied, sounding as if he was on the verge of panic. “If he's been wandering the way we've been wandering, he could be on the other side of one of these walls, he could be -”

  “Where are you?” Duncan screamed. “Get me out of here! It's coming!”

  “What's coming?” Chris whispered. Moments later, someone could be heard running.

  “There's someone else here,” Charley said, taking a step back as she tried not to panic. “I was right, there's -”

  Suddenly a scream rang out, and this time it lasted several seconds before being cut off just as quickly as it had begun.

  Charley and Chris stood in silence for a moment. Finally, they heard a dull bump, followed by the sound of something being dragged.

  “Duncan?” Charley whispered, with tears in her eyes.

  Chris didn't respond. Instead, he watched the ceiling as the dragging sound came closer, as if something was moving in a corridor directly above the one in which they were standing. A moment later, a fine sprinkling of dust fell down onto his face.

  “What happened?” Charley asked, looking up and listening to the sound, which was accompanied by the same shuffling footsteps they'd heard before. She turned to Chris. “What happened to him?”

  “I...” Chris seemed unable to answer.

  “What's in here with us?” she whispered. The fear in her gut was so strong, it seemed to have dried all the tears before they could leave her eyes. “There's something here, Chris! What the hell is it? What aren't you telling me?”

  “I'm not hiding anything,” he replied, still watching the ceiling as the sound moved into the distance. “Not anymore.”

  “There was no-one else nearby,” she continued. “There's no way anyone else followed us through the jungle, is there?”

  He shook his head.

  “And the entrance to the -” She paused suddenly. “The entrance was blocked up. How did those other people get inside a hundred years ago, if the entrance was blocked up when we arrived? Unless...” She paused again, her mind racing with the possibilities. “Unless it was re-sealed after they were here.”

  She turned to Chris, waiting for him to debunk her ideas. Whereas she'd been irritated before by his refusal to accept the truth, now she wanted him to come out with an alternative explanation. Slowly, however, the truth was creeping through her chest.

  “It's true,” she said finally. “It is, isn't it? There's something in here with us, and it's something from the pyramid itself!” She waited yet again for Chris to reply, but he was simply staring at the ceiling, listening as the sound got further and further away. “It's true!” she shouted finally, grabbing him by the arm and pushing him against the wall. “What the hell have you got us into?”

  “Quiet!” he hissed, clamping a hand over her mouth. “Do you want it to hear us?”

  She stared at him with wild, terrified eyes, before he slowly took his hand away.

  “What is it?” she asked, keeping her voice low this time. “Did you know something was going to be here?”

  He shook his head. “I had no idea.”

  “But what is it?” she continued. “Is it... It can't be the priest, can it? He's dead, he has to be dead!”

  “He died a thousand years ago,” Chris replied. “He must have.”

  “Then what the hell is in here with us?” she whispered. “And what happened to Duncan? Is he dead too?”

  “We have to find a way out of here,” he told her. “Harold Cathcart got away all those years ago, so we can do it too!”

  “How? We've been wandering around these corridors for hours, parts of the place have collapsed...”

  “There'll be other ways,” he replied, clearly struggling to stay calm. “We're going to get out of here, Charley. We're going to keep quiet, we're going stay out of that thing's way, whatever it is, and we're going to find an exit.”

  “But it knows we're here,” she pointed out. “It'll come after us!”

  He shook his head.

  “It came after Duncan,” she continued. “You heard it!”

  “Duncan was shouting,” he replied. “He was drawing attention to himself.”

  “The torches. We need to turn the torches off.”

  “And then how the hell do we get around?” he asked. “Think logically, Charley. Duncan was injured, he probably couldn't move very fast, so he was at a disadvantage. We...” He reached down and took the hunting knife that he'd secured around his belt. “We're not injured and we're not at a disadvantage. If it comes to it, which it won't, but if it does... We can defend ourselves.” Putting the knife away, he looked both ways along the corridor. “I have to think. I've been keeping track of which way we've come, I just need to work out the most likely route back to the entrance chamber.”

  “We could try going back and moving the rocks that fell.”

  “That'd take too long,” he continued. “If I just think about it for a moment, I can come up with a route. There has to be some order to the layout, some kind of internal logic. These corridors weren't just put here for fun, they serve a purpose, which means they lead to specific places. If we can work that out, we can figure out all the connections.”

  “But -”

  “It's logic,” he hissed, taking a few steps in one direction before turning and looking back the other way. “Panic brings us closer to chaos, but ultimately logic will show us the way out.” He paused again, looking both ways, before taking a deep breath. “This way,” he said finally, aiming the torch along the corridor.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because this direction has to lead toward the heart of the pyramid, and that's where there should be the biggest concentration of crossing paths. We're bound to come up with a route out. Also, this path leads down, and we're more likely to find an exit at or near ground level.”

  “But if you're wrong...”

  “I'm not wrong,” he replied, “but if I am... If I am, then we'll be careful and we'll make sure we can double back. This isn't our last chance!” Taking a notebook and pencil from his pocket, he handed them to her. “I need you to start keeping track of where we go. Every corridor, every path, even the ones we don't take. We should have been drawing a map right from the start, but it's not too late.”

  She nodded, as she started to sketch the sections they'd visited over the past few minutes. Her hands were trembling, but she forced herself to get on with the task.

  “Come on,” he said, leading her along the corridor. “Try to make as little noise as poss
ible, but also try not to panic. We are going to get out of here.”

  “Henrik was right,” she muttered, as she continued to work on the map.

  “Henrik was not right.”

  “He told us not to ignore the warnings. He said we should turn back.”

  “Henrik was superstitious,” Chris replied. “He was far too credulous when it came to that sort of thing.”

  “You don't think the events of the past few hours have kind of proved his point?”

  “I'm not denying that mistakes were made,” he said, as they reached another intersection, “but those warnings on the walls were just nonsense. This way.” He led her along another corridor. “You're keeping the map up to date, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “When we get out of here,” he continued, “we're going to be able to put this whole situation in perspective. We'll understand what's happening, and I guarantee you, we'll come up with a logical explanation. One that isn't filled with religious garbage and superstitions. Things that seem possible now, no matter how ludicrous, will fade in the cold light of day and we'll laugh at how easily we allowed our fears to take over.”

  “You've got a lot of faith in logic,” she replied. “At what point does that become just another religion?”

  “That's completely -” Stopping suddenly, he put a hand out to keep her from going any further.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Turn your torch off,” he told her, as he killed the light from his own torch.

  “Why?”

  “Just do it,” he hissed.

  Trying not to panic, she switched her torch off, leaving them standing in darkness.

  “Is it near?” she whispered. “Is it coming?”

  “Look up ahead,” he replied, keeping his voice low. “Don't you see the light?”

  Staring along the corridor, she realized he was right: far ahead, there was a faint, flickering light, as if something was burning in another area and casting some of its illumination into the corridor.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “I have no idea, but...” He began to take a few cautious steps forward. “Back when this place was being built, torches would have to be burned so that people could see while they were working inside. The torches would have been made of dried leaves and branches. There's actually a network of small vents built into the place, so that the chambers don't fill with smoke.”