Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #11 February 2015 | Page 61

in very poor condition, almost rotten through and
broken. I can see some filing cabinets lying around,
turned over. There are holes in the ceiling; rain pours
through them, but the sound is dulled as if coming
through cotton.
I’m not sure where I should start looking for any
clues, so I walk through doors, passing more and
more rooms that look like offices. If you listen hard
enough, you can hear people who used to work here
chatting and handling papers. It’s a trick of imagination, of course, but an innocent one.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice something
odd. I turn to look at it but can’t quite place it until
I switch off my flashlight. There’s a door several feet
from where I am, and there’s light coming through
it. It’s not electric light—it
looks too dim—but light means
presence. I slowly unclasp my
holster and draw the weapon.
Just as slowly, I approach the
door and nudge it open with
my foot. It creaks loudly, and
I tense, expecting whoever is
inside to become alerted.
There isn’t anybody. I check the
corners, but the room is tiny,
and there’s no place to hide.
It’s lit by a circle of candles in
the middle which instantly
makes me start thinking of
occult sacrifices. But the circle
doesn’t remind me of any shape
one would associate with the
occult, like a pentagram. There
doesn’t seem to be any connecting chalk lines between the candles either. In the middle of the
circle, there lies a thick volume.
I reholster my weapon and
crouch to e ᅵ