Voices. Indiscernible. Muted. The eternal darkness, the infinite silence, interrupted. She held her breath, standing stock still in her moldering tomb. Then, oh great God in heaven! Yes, the tapping. She did not move. Tap-tap-tap went the chisel. As still as she was, she could not help the curling of her lips or the spreading of a smile. Soon, she said to herself. Soon.
Before the light, the dim lamp’s flickering rays, cast its pale beams into her prison tomb, the smell, of sweat, of life, of the wonderful life of the living, of the blood of man, wafted in.
Tale Told 