“Are you all right?” James asked, rushing to her and flashing the light over her. Her jeans were torn and blood pricked from a cut.
Her hands shook, making the beam wobble around the floor.
“Wh-what is this? What is this place?” Despite her unusually high voice and shaking hand, she pivoted the flashlight around slowly and so did he.
It was some sort of ballroom. And scattered throughout were dancers and guests made of…clay, James assumed. Women in full gowns and gloves sipped tea, clusters of gentlemen sat on chairs with brandy and cigars in a corner, and half a dozen couples danced on a large, slick floor. They had bumped into the dancers. And at the very end of the room was an enormous fireplace. Brick-lined, curved like a small tunnel, and tall enough for a person to walk right into it. Its black depths swallowed their lights.
“It’s…a party,” he whispered.
“It’s a graveyard,” she choked, then sputtered, “oh my God, oh my GOD, there’s something in the fireplace!”
“WHAT?” James yelled, backing up, his flashlight trained on the dark hole, but with a sob, Lenora dropped her flashlight as she ran past him. It rolled on the floor, the beam briefly illuminating raised cups of tea and clasped hands, and he heard the double doors slam.
“Lenora, wait!” He hastily found her flashlight and ran after her, just managing to make it through the kitchen in time to see her slip out the front door.
“Wait!” he yelled again and squeezed through the front door he’d left open, but he didn’t need to go far. She cried right there on the wooden steps, her arms wrapped around her knees. The moonlight was still strong, so he turned off