Second Saturday Stories offers a fresh installment of the Campfire Frights from Troop #15 serial started last week. When a scout camp is inexplicably locked when they arrive, four boy scouts amuse themselves telling scary stories around the campfire while the Scouter tries to find a way into the camp. Second Saturday Stories will be running the entirety of the story every weekend until October 30th.
Last week we met the Scouts and heard Brayden's Campfire Story. This week it's Brian's turn. Read on for a sample and come back today at 3 pm for the conclusion of this spooky installment.
Entombed: Brian’s Story
In his final minutes of life, Abbot Crenshaw wished he’d never entered the tomb. Golden accents that at first had dazzled him with wondrous splendour now seemed dull and lifeless. The jewels that seemed to radiate from every corner now seemed dull and foggy like the milky eyes of the blind watching him sprint through the miles of immaculately carved sandstone. The flame trailed behind his torch as if the dwindling fingers of heat were trying to abandon him. His chest burned and he limped through a cramp but he pushed on trying not to slow down. The same 5 words raced through his head like a mantra. One that he’d begun repeating ever since bolting from the burial chamber. “I’ve got to be close.” he whispered to the beat of his boot soles pulling him through the cobweb-lined corridor. “I’ve got to be close.” “I’ve got to be close.” The words kept him grounded in the shred of sanity he had left, though he felt like he was balancing precariously over the void where madness could enfold his mind. Around every corner, he prayed he would see the rope leading up to the safety of the light. He didn’t care, he wanted to be back to the desert where he’d admonished the heat for the whole dig, but would now welcome it if it would only warm his open arms.
He felt rumbling beneath his feet from the bowels of the ancient tomb and knew somewhere the walls were shifting. He could only hope they’d trapped what he was running from. In his mind, he saw sickly yellow eyes snap open. His foothold on the edge of madness slipped but Abbot held firm as he took a left turn and his boots slid out from under him. He tumbled to the stone floor, his torch clattering into the shadows. Mercifully he wasn’t left in full dark. Through a spiderweb-like crack in his glasses, Abbot saw the rope leading into the square of light they had repelled down from. He allowed himself a brief respite in hope before half running to the rope. His fingers brushed against it when he heard bootfalls. Abbot looked up in time to see Dr. Andrews limp into the scalding yellow light. Abbot gasped and took a step backward, and that's when he smelled it; that same molting earth fragrance that stung his mouth with bile while absurdly reminding him of pine tar. He felt the headache almost instantly, a squirming buzz that made his eyeballs itch. Abbot tried to shake it off as his vision doubled. His boots slipped again and when he blinked he was down again. The buzzing feeling intensified and when he turned around Abbot Crenshaw felt the black rush of his descent into madness as physically as if he were falling through an abyss. As the darkness closed around him, his mind played the memory of the last two hours.
Entombed: Brian's Story continues today at 3 pm, see you then!
