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PROLOGUE
Diane's breaths came in sharp, ragged pulls, the chilly underground air biting at her lungs with each inhalation. Her steps echoed eerily through the space, a lonely, haunting sound reverberating off the oppressive stone walls that surrounded her. Somewhere in the distance, the steady drip of water played a ghostly rhythm, like an unseen, stalking presence tapping along the tunnel walls.
The darkness felt almost physical, a heavy, suffocating presence enveloping her, threatening to smother the feeble circle of light cast by her flashlight. It was a tiny beacon of hope in an ocean of shadows, but she knew it would only last so long.
Diane traversed the tunnels, a forgotten labyrinth twisting beneath the English countryside. They seemed like a snare, a maze crafted by some malevolent force, meant to capture and consume unwary souls. The weight of the earth and stone above was a constant, oppressive reminder of the night sky she desperately yearned to see once more. Her heavy legs carried her as best they could.
"Which way?" Diane murmured under her breath, immediately regretting the volume of her voice. Her words echoed briefly, pushing off into the labyrinth, reaching unseen pockets of darkness.
The urge to escape gnawed relentlessly at her. The thought of breaking free from this subterranean cage, to breathe the cold November air once again, consumed her. Instead, she inhaled the musty, damp scent that permeated those ancient passageways.
Navigating the serpentine paths, Diane felt a growing sense of dread. Each turn seemed like a blind gamble, a step closer to an unseen danger, and yet one she knew was hunting her. She half-expected to confront the looming figure of her pursuer at each new bend. Her nerves, already stretched thin, seemed to unravel a bit more with each flicker and shadow cast by her flashlight.
"Hold it together," she whispered, her voice quivering as she fought back tears.
It was a trick from her childhood, talking herself through fear and doubt. But this time, her self-reassurance felt hollow, ineffective against the gnawing apprehension that gripped her.
Suddenly, a sound shattered the silence, sending a spike of fear through her heart—the unmistakable echo of footsteps distinct from her own. They sounded rhythmically in the depths of the tunnel, a haunting reminder that she was not alone. Each footstep felt like a clock ticking down to midnight, an end she could not see past.
Diane couldn't afford to lose time. Her flashlight, her lifeline in that engulfing darkness, flickered menacingly. With a desperate tap, she coaxed it back to life, but she knew it was a temporary reprieve.
"God... Help me..." she whispered, the thought of the light dying more horrifying than the threat of being followed. Without it, she faced a bleak prospect of endless, blind wandering, leading to inevitable exhaustion or a fatal misstep. She remembered a news story she had read years before about a woman who had lost her flashlight in similar circumstances in abandoned tunnels somewhere in Eastern Europe. She lay down and died of thirst. They didn't find her body for years.
That thought shuddered through her. Diane rallied herself, trying not to give into despair.
As she continued, she noticed the walls of the tunnels becoming increasingly damp. The air grew heavier with moisture, suggesting she might be nearing the surface. She hoped the dampness wasn't an indicator she was heading toward the sea and an untimely watery grave. With the coastline nearby, it was a very real possibility.
But there had been terrible rainfall in the previous days, and she hoped the wet walls were an indication that she was near the moorland above.
Diane's heart pounded fiercely as the sound of the footsteps following suddenly increased in volume, just moments behind. She knew she had to make a decision. The tunnel stretched ahead, its uneven floor punctuated by shallow pools of water that collected in the rock's indentations. She rounded a corner and halted, her breath catching. At first, she gasped, thinking that the wall before her was a dead end. But then her light caught revealed a narrow crevice in the corner, just possibly wide enough to pass through.
Glancing back nervously, the idea of retracing her steps flickered in her mind. But the sound of something stirring in the shadows nearby quashed that thought. Fear clutched at her heart. There was no going back.
With a silent prayer, Diane approached the crevice. She squeezed in, feeling the rough stone scrape against her skin. It was painful, but she pushed on. Halfway through, she found herself stuck. Panic surged as she drew a deep breath, inadvertently wedging herself tighter. Behind her, a cold, silent presence filled the chamber. She couldn't turn her head towards it. She couldn't see it, but she felt its gaze piercing through her.
Her pursuer was there at the entrance to the crevice. She knew it.
In a moment of desperate clarity, Diane exhaled sharply, compressing her body enough to inch forward. Then, a hand reached through the gap behind, fingers entwining in her hair. She couldn't scream—her lungs were empty. Instead, she jerked her head forward in a sharp, painful motion, tearing herself free from the figure's grasp.
She tumbled into a new chamber, the sting of torn hair burning on her scalp. The space was cloaked in a musty, forgotten smell, the air stale and heavy.
Without looking back, Diane staggered to her feet and pushed onward through another open section of tunnel. Each step was a struggle, her breath ragged and uneven. She couldn't afford to stop, couldn't dare to see if her pursuer was following through the crevice.
Her flashlight flickered again, its beam waning in the overwhelming darkness. Diane tapped it desperately, willing it to stay alive. While the light steadied itself, there was no doubt that it was dimming.
The sound of footsteps resumed somewhere, more insistent this time. Had her stalker made it through the crevice? Was her pursuer aware of another way, another set of tunnels to somehow cut her off up ahead? Panic bellowed in her stomach, driving her deeper into the increasingly narrow tunnels. The wet walls there were marked with recent chisel work, evidence of a determined effort to shape this part of the labyrinth. Debris littered the floor, and Diane navigated it with a frantic pace, her uncertain footing loud and pronounced over shattered rock and earth.
Entering a small cavern, she was greeted with a chilling sight: animal bones scattered across the ground, some of them still holding onto the rotten flesh and fur that had once clothed them. Yet, amid the eerie grisly scene, Diane saw a sign of hope. If animals had found their way there, perhaps there was a way out.
I must be close, she thought.
Her hope, however fragile, propelled her forward, deeper into the heart of the underground maze. She clung to the faint promise of escape, even as the darkness—and the footsteps—threatened to engulf her completely.
No matter how fast she moved, the stalker kept pace and then moved even faster. She began to whimper as it sounded as though her pursuer was only moments behind. In response, Diane's pulse thundered in her ears, a frantic drumbeat as she raced along the tunnel. Her breaths were sharp and uneven, the cold underground air biting at her lungs. The path ahead seemed endless, a perilous, unending stretch leading her either to life or to doom.
Looking over her shoulder as she moved, she gazed in horror as the threatening shadowy shape of her stalker appeared from around a corner behind. Diane let out a blood curdling shriek, Suddenly, the earth above groaned, almost in response; a deep, unsettling rumble that vibrated through the tunnel's structure. Instinctively, Diane quickened her pace, driven by an urgent need to flee.
In an instant, chaos erupted. The tunnel shuddered violently, and a cascade of rocks and soil began to plummet from above. Diane lunged forward in a desperate bid for safety, feeling the rush of air as a large rock slammed into the ground just inches behind her.
