The hollow echo of their steps rebounded into Chance’s ears with thrilling, subtle evolutions; what monsters stalk this empty church? What terrors lurk in this dark cathedral? Just two men, like men at least, who tread between the empty, dusty pews. Yet the sound betrays the creeping of a tiger near, or some feral beast in shadow hid; and Chance, if he had let imagination soar, might soon have broken in a run were not this strange companion near, all quiet and wordless in the dark.
Chance knew why his own footsteps might come back to him like a monster’s; Chance knew. But why these, this stranger’s human feet, should also chill his aging corpse, Chance did not know.
As they neared the alter where the unlit candles seemed to cast a darkness from their waiting wicks, these words were heard, spoken and heard:
“Take care. They are like you.”
“And you?” Chance whispered in the dark.
No answer came but the creak of hidden hinges and the rising smell from underground of must and dirt.
“They’re down there?” Chance asked.
The stranger, with his ancient craft—so old to him and effortless, it was half-forgotten how it might amaze—conjured up from hidden pockets a candle bursting forth with light. A little shaft of wax, a little flame, and yet it seemed an explosion in that silent, shadowed sphere among those ancient stones which never tell all that they know.
And as the candle passed into the open hand of Chance, his eyes all blinded by that light, the stranger went away. And when Chance saw he was alone, his eyes, searching all around, discovered under that little glow, a trapdoor and its ladder leading down into a silent hole.
Tale Told 