Genesis Sinister

HOW LONG HAD IT BEEN? Black John Jefferson’s eyesight was dimming as he trudged heavily along the stone corridor. The walls to either side of him sloped subtly inward, narrowing the tunnel at its roof, fourteen feet above his dipped head. The walls themselves were solid, and the whole tunnel echoed with each heavy footstep.

“Where is this place?” Black John muttered, his words echoing.

He had climbed down the stone steps, slowly and heavily, his blood spilling onto each one as he passed. In his weak and wounded state, the stairs seemed to go on for a long time, and the light from the sky above had narrowed to just a single foot-wide shaft by the time he found the bottom stair.

Down there, Black John had trudged on, step by laborious step, following the only path he could see in the dim light from the stairs. There should be sconces here, or some other way to light the area, he felt sure, but he could find none. His head was reeling too much to care.

It took twenty minutes to walk the corridor, each footstep like running a marathon now, blood filling his blouse and streaming down his legs. His wounds just wouldn’t scab over anymore; they had been pulled about too much.

Ahead of him a doorway led into an open room. He stopped on its threshold and leaned heavily against the wall, his breath coming in ragged, wheezing gasps that echoed through the underground maze. In the darkness, he could only see hints of the room beyond. It was wide, roughly circular, and it seemed to take up the whole expanse of the building. Furthermore, there didn’t seem to be any furniture in the room, only a broad floor covered in dust.

Well, he had come this far, hadn’t he?

Black John removed his hand from the wall, and when he did so a bloody handprint remained there, clinging to the stone like some awful, red arachnid. He walked into the room, bent almost double, the pain in his ruined guts like a burning blade.

Maybe there is treasure in here, he thought. He was delirious now from the loss of blood, and he had all but forgotten what had brought him here in the first place, forgotten that he was dying.