“Oh, no.” He
tugged at the scruff of hair on his chin. “This shit can’t start up again.”
Nick’s voice trembled, but he forced himself to face whatever horror might lie
in the crypt. Nick gripped the cold rim of the coffin as the sweet aroma he
smelled after first entering the room wafted up from the inside. A crispy
black hand shot out of the darkness, its brittle fingers curling loosely
around Nick’s wrist. Senses already on alert, Nick reacted quickly by grabbing
the hand and tossing it back into the coffin. Turning his back on the now open
crypt, he sprinted across the warehouse stopping only when he slammed up
against the cold steel of the door. The thud echoed off the chill stone
walls of the tomb. Nick’s gaze returned to the treasures of the crypt for one
last look.
“I gotta get
outta here!” he mumbled. Nick grabbed the handle at the bottom of the door and
heaved up, hoping that it would rise up and reveal the cold, empty street of
Arkham Alley. This did not happen. Nick sighed, letting a growl escape his
lips. "What a long, fucked up night this has been."
“So, Nick,” a
masculine voice, croaky and grating--the sound of gravel being forced through
a metal sieve--spoke brusquely from behind him. “You think this has been a
long, fucked up night for you?”
To be continued...
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