Getting put in the ground was the final nail in the coffin.
I groaned at each turn of the winch, fresh blood pooling along the casket’s base. My killers had bickered back and forth as they dug the grave, more concerned with the depth than my feeble attempts to groan for help. Regrettably, they had a right to be untroubled. Two hundred yards in every direction dull, monotone stone markers advertised the dearly departed. I doubted any of their occupants would be raising a skeletal hand in my defence.
I’d come to visit my father. Each week saw a new set of flowers on the gravestone, a routine that’d been ongoing for months. I would say a few kind hearted words, add the tulip or rose to the pile, and leave all before the sun had risen. Tonight should have been no different.
It only took two raucous burglars, shovels slung over their shoulders, to fuck me over for good.
This deep into the ground, the only light came from the faint glow of the worms squirming through open cracks in the coffin, feeding off the blood leaving my body. Like moths to a flame the tiny little vampires crawled over my chest and arms, honing in on the wounds. Stab wounds to be precise as apparently, unbeknownst to me, every proper burglar likes to carry a serrated dagger in their back pocket. The two disheveled men, barely more than young adults, had taken one long look at me before punching me full of holes.
I can’t say what I was more shocked by: the glint of coin and jewelry overflowing from their pockets or the sharp, electric pain as a long-handled knife found a new home in my chest.
Another arduous turn of the winch and I felt the entire coffin shudder. My killers had gone through the effort of replacing the old occupant with yours truly, closing the lid shut while I attempted to yell myself hoarse. I screamed, I hollered, I shouted to the heavens in a voice tinged with pain and fear. Or rather, I did all of those and more in my head. What came out of my mouth was nothing more than a few rasping coughs and a trail of red, bloody drool. Getting your lungs stabbed was not goods for the vocals.
With an unsteady hand - agonizingly slow - I raised a hand to the lid of my wooden prison. The cool, rough wood refused to budge as I feebly battered against it. I lost count of the strikes a minute later, my only sense of progress a puny dent and bloody splinters.
Another quiver of the coffin. That would be the assholes filling in their sole witness. I could only faintly make out mumbles and abrupt laughs now, each new shovelful of dirt blocking out my last link to the world above. A part of me grew colder when the noises finally came to a standstill. Whether that was from a sad sense of longing or the continuous loss of blood I had no idea. More than likely the latter, judging by the increasing swarm of worms.
As it turned out, being buried alive gives a man time to think. Looking back on it, confronting those graverobbers probably wasn’t in my best interest; all that I could consider at the moment was that something had to be said, and I was the someone to do it. Father would be proud that I’d grown a pair of balls right before I died at the very least. Mother, well, she’d been out of the picture for years. I hoped she’d just be angry I was so damn filthy.
I glanced at one of the larger pile of worms huddling around my feet. Sure enough they were gorging happily on my blood, crawling over a metal crucifix. Wait, what the hell? I did a double take, making sure the cross wasn’t just some side effect of extreme blood loss. Nope, definitely real. Stretching out with my left foot I dragged the cross within arms reach. To say it was mundane would be doing the cross a disservice. Besides the surprisingly heavy weight I couldn’t detect any engravings or markings. A discarded keepsake of the coffin’s old resident? I guess my killers weren’t particularly religious men.
I moved to clutch the cross to my chest, some shoddy semblance of a prayer running through my mind.
A burst of sound was my reward.
‘Imminent expiration of new host detected. Admittance has been accepted. Transcribe alias now.’
“Gr...great, I guess I am losing my mind.” I shivered, acutely aware of just how cold I’d really gotten. The cross seemed to sense the slight movement, letting out a soft glow not unlike the moving worms around me.
What, it wants me to sign my name? I stared dumbly at the metal as another hacking cough wracked my body. What the hell, it’s not like things could get any worse. Moving a trembling finger over the cross I painted each letter in a deep red, silently thankful for the short name my parents had given me.
‘Jair Ornholm recognized. Transfer in progress...’ By now all I could make out were faint shadows. That too coalesced into darkness a few moments later, leaving me with nothing but my own labored breathing and the echo of sound counting down.
---
The one thing I did not expect after getting stabbed to death was to open my eyes. It was the cold that I noticed first. That, and the oppressive darkness which surrounded me at every angle.
I pushed up with my hands, testing for the coffin’s lid and meeting no resistance. It had been there only a minute before, hadn’t it? I raised myself up slowly and took a long look around, as much as the lack of light would afford. Tall, grey slabs of stone rose about me like a pale prison, broken up by hints of moss and dirt. Crooked stairs rose up and out of sight to my left, extending away from a solitary sarcophagus that three of me could never hope to fill.
The hard rock under my feet was cool to the touch as I took a tentative step forward. Circular engravings marked with strange patterns covered the sarcophagus. On top rested a matching stone lid, the enormous, bulky cover shifted off-center - just enough for a bony white arm to pass through, draping along the rim haphazardly. A set of dull blue rings dangled from each finger, hand closed tight around a dagger. Compact and wicked sharp, with a hilt that begged to be held.
Elaborate couldn’t begin to describe the weapon. Unlike everything else in the room, it caught the faintest shred of light and glowed with a metallic sheen. I ignored my racing thoughts and reached out, prying the bony hand away to take the dagger in my own. The blade responded in an instant with a quick, sharp thrum. I almost dropped it in shock as a block of text sprung up only a moment later.
Ornate Dagger
A dagger laid to rest with the dead. The gaudy jewels and painted metal dignify the passing of a lord.
Protection had been the first thing on my mind when I’d grabbed the dagger. Even though this wasn’t the coffin those bastards had buried me in, they could still be roaming about. That thought was dashed away after I laid eyes on the glowing words, as much a confirmation I was no longer on Earth as the unmarred skin on my body.
I stared dumbstruck as the glow lit up the room, highlighting the stark absence of deep puncture wounds. In my head I could still see the graverobber’s impassive expression as he stuck me like a pig. It couldn’t have all been some twisted dream, right?
The soft light from the text only added to the mystery. My makeshift torch hovered silently as I took in the entire room again, finally settling on the ascending stairs. At the top of the steps was a rusted metal gate, its iron bars shut tight. Another long dead figure slumped against the gate, helmeted head lolling back. I clutched the dagger tighter and stepped around the text towards the body.
This close, it was easy to make out the pile of bones peeking through gaps in the decayed breastplate and leather. The body looked - at first glance - to be carrying nothing of note, save for the sword sheathed at its hip. It took me a moment to notice the key hanging from its neck. A way out of this bizarre tomb, then? Remembering my shock from touching the knife I reached out slowly, squeezing a hand through the bars.
I watched as the old box of text disappeared and another, more detailed one reformed.
Portcullis Key
This key, given to only the most trusted of guardians, was forged with a singular purpose. Possessing a unique groove along the pin and collar, it grants admission and escape from the master’s crypt.
Who was this lord, and the knight sworn to protect him? There may be answers tucked away, though one must forge ahead to find them.
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I knew I should be looking for a deeper meaning in the words, but all I could focus on was my mounting confusion. Where the hell had the robbers gone? Why were my wounds miraculously healed? Worst of all, and as far as I could discern, I wasn’t on the same planet. That was going to make the hopeful trek back home, well… impossible.
The key was a start, at the very least. I brought it up to a small latch along the far edge of the bars, and it inserted without any resistance.
Turning the key was another matter entirely. I twisted it hard with one hand without success. Catching my breath, I grabbed the key again with both hands and pushed, nearly stumbling forward as the latch gave with a resounding click.
Nothing happened. Had I turned the key the wrong direction? I was sure I heard the lock give, had felt the grooves all slide into place. Maybe if I pulled it back out and tried again I -
A groan of metal echoed from the ceiling. Flecks of rust and grime floated through the air as the iron bars rose in an instant. Even with the gate now open, I was hesitant to continue further. With two corpses around me alone there were bound to be others, more alive and ready to tear me limb from limb.
In the end, it was the smell that pushed me forward. The lord and his knight had been dead for a long time, and I couldn’t get away from their decayed husks fast enough.
I made my way past the gate with the dagger clutched tight in one hand, sticking to the shadows, and arrived in a wide open hallway. Unlit torches lined the walls on either side, broken up every few feet by recesses carved deep into the stone. They housed nothing besides torn paintings and cobwebs, save for some rusted weapons and pieces of armor.
Those weapons scraped loudly against the ground as a cloaked figure moved down the hall. I held my breath, watching closely. Dressed in a tattered black hood it was hard to discern who or what this person was. The cloak was large enough to mask their build, but I could still make out the hint of a belt peeking through the bottom.
They didn’t appear to be carrying a weapon, though I couldn’t be certain. That cloak concealed too much in its folds. A sword or dagger strapped to the belt, perhaps? I looked closer as he, she, they moved past another alcove, unaware of my presence. It was a difficult decision. Walk up to the person and ask for assistance, or lay back and risk losing my one source of help in this new world.
I itched to step out of the shadows and call out to the hooded figure. Come on, I thought. You’ve got one chance, Jair, don’t blow it now. If I’m right this can all be over soon.
The stranger made the dilemma easy for me. One second they were shambling away, the next I was staring wide-eyed at a face not even a diehard mother could love. Rotted teeth filled a lopsided jaw nearly split in two. Grayish, almost black skin was torn to ribbons, sagging behind strands of wispy white hair. Hideous couldn’t begin to describe the ghoulish figure.
The ghoul snarled, a low, drawn-out howl, and charged back down the hall. I had just enough wits to lift the dagger up before it was on me. My hands shook from the impact as the metal sank into its sternum. Anyone back home would have curled up in agony with a knife in their chest. The ghoul only struggled harder, and it was all I could do to hold onto the dagger as it’s long, sinewy arms found purchase.
My shoulders groaned under the vice-like grip. It was strong. Far too strong, for a walking corpse that I outweighed twice over. I bunched my legs and kicked out, hoping to gain some distance.
There was a wet squelch, blood fountained out, and the ghoul flew back, crashing into the opposite wall with the dagger back in my hands. I’d bought myself a few seconds, but that wouldn’t keep it down for long.
I stood up hesitantly. With no avenue of escape, and no knowledge of my surroundings, I had one option. It would be futile to run away from a living corpse that never tired. This was a chance to buy myself some time, if only to prolong the inevitable.
I shoved my racing thoughts aside and leapt after the ghoul. Back on its feet, the ghoul let out another drawn out howl. I responded by planting the dagger through its arm, where it lay stuck to the wall, quivering in tune to the ghoul’s frantic thrashes. Not giving it a chance to recover I stood, wiped the blood from my face, and stumbled back down the hall, using the wall for support.
The gate was still open when I rounded the corner. Thank god for that. I passed by the prone knight and knelt by the key. This foolhardy plan had one chance at success. I felt like an idiot kneeling there, hairs on my neck prickling as I thought of the ghoul which was still howling down the hall.
How many more of these undead were around? I couldn’t imagine the struggle had gone unheard. Another moan echoed down the hall, followed by the pang of metal hitting the floor. If there was any luck in this world I needed it now. Living corpses with freakish strength were bad enough; add a brain to the mix and you had the perfect killing machine.
The next howl was closer, just around the bend. It took every ounce of courage I had to stay inside the enclosed crypt.
I noticed the mangled arm first as the ghoul burst into sight, almost making me jump. I held the key tight, gauging the distance between us. My timing would have to be impeccable, and the ghoul too slow to react.
It crossed to the knight in a blur, then reached out to tear me apart. I waited until its bloody hand was a foot away before yanking the key to the left. What goes up, you bastard, must come… down. The ghoul’s head burst like a ripe melon as a pair of iron bars skewered it to the floor.
Blood pooled beneath my feet as I watched it kick and spasm.
That had been far too close for comfort. Another second, or if the key had gotten stuck, and I’d have signed my death warrant.
“Hot damn, kid, you sure know how to party.” I turned to the new voice in shock. The man was covered head to toe with scraps of mismatched armor and leather. Cords of rope wrapped around his chest and arms like vines, adorned with countless items. They sagged beneath rusted swords and daggers, vials of glass, parcels of paper and sharpened bones. I looked closer as he moved to stand beyond the gate, though I found myself now staring at the haul on his back. If the bulging pack was any indication, this man took being a hoarder to a whole new level.
My heart was thumping, and it was all I could do to bite down the flood of fear from the confrontation. The near death experience had not been good for my nerves.
“Takes me back to my first scrap with those rotting arseholes. Wasn’t as quick, mind you. Dashed its brains out across the floor like some wild mosaic.” There was a long, uncomfortable pause after he spoke. To say I was confused at the man’s introduction would be an understatement. Finally, the hoarder sniffed. “Well, you going to keep mourning those corpses? That clever trick of yours sounded off like a beacon. I’d wager we have four, maybe five minutes before more show up.” He turned, tightening down the straps across his broad back before walking away.
As I turned the key to follow, I glanced down at the ghoul, deep holes still pooling blood out from the skull. I found myself oddly pleased.
What the hell? I thought. This place must getting to me. No way was that stunt anything but scary. I hurried to follow down the hall, passing the familiar alcoves. Rows of weapons and fallen torches rested in the darkness, knocked down from the ghoul’s attempt to get free. The ornate dagger that had saved my life lay apart, discarded and alone, a coat of red lining the metal’s surface. I slowed down to pick it up before tucking it in my jacket pocket. At least the burglars hadn’t taken my clothes after stabbing me.
In the distance, the hoarder had stopped beneath a lit torch, where it cast shadows against a stout wooden door that looked sturdier than the stone surrounding it.
“Home sweet home, kid,” the man said. “Let’s get you settled in before the tirade of questions start.” I closed my mouth shut at the words. It was impossible to keep all the thoughts storming through my mind straight, but I made sure to not interrupt. Mass collection aside, the man exuded both confidence and a sheer intensity that commanded respect.
I tore my eyes away and joined the man. He sighed to himself as he fished out a set of keys, more a hunk of metal held together with a row of leather. I lost track after counting for a full minute. “Damn it all,” he said. “Should have organized it ages ago. This place has more locks than a cathelic girls boarding school.”
The room he revealed after the door finally opened was not what I was expecting. Around each corner of the spacious interior lay rows of tables and shelves, full to the brim with additional items. Light shone from torches and candles, and with the addition of a makeshift fire pit, there wasn’t anywhere for shadows to hide. A bed sat in the middle of the room amidst scattered papers and notes, which a third figure occupied.
He stood up as we walked in, and it was all I could do to not stare at the bloody bandages around his arm. They failed to hide a withered arm and too-thin hand, the skin as grey as the ghoul I’d just killed. “No way,” he said. “I thought I heard something down the hall. We’re not alone, Kage!”
“Knew those ears of yours would come in handy,” Kage, my rescuer, said absently. "Look, why don’t you take a seat and we can get this round of Jeopardy started.”
“You too, Jair. We might be here a while, don’t want you fading on me mid-sentence.” I jumped in shock at the remark. How did he know my name?
“A better man than myself might tell you this is all sunshine and rainbows. People love that cozy feeling that lies give them.” Kage eyed the only barren wall in the room. I could faintly make out ordered lines next to a list of days and months. “Diabolical doesn’t begin to describe the past two years I’ve spent running around with my pants around my arse.”
He turned, moving to stand before us at the bed. The glint of white teeth shone through his trimmed goatee stretched around a wide grin.
“Fortunately for you two, I’ve learned how to survive. Put the three of us together, well, we’ll be the goddamn three musketeers before the week is through. You can take that to the bank.