It was covered in blood.

The fingers gripped the edge of the stone tile, pulling a heavy weight behind them.

I stared at the opening, my heart stopping as a face emerged from the shadows of the crypt.

The eyes were wide, blinking in the candlelight.

It was my father.

His face was bruised, his collar torn, but he was alive.

“Emily,” he gasped, his voice cracked and weak.

But before he could pull himself up, another shadow rose behind him in the dark hole.

A gloved hand reached up and grabbed my father by his hair, pulling him violently back down into the darkness.

His fingers slid off the stone floor with a sharp scratch.

The iron grate slammed shut with a heavy, echoing bang that shook the stone walls.

The candle in the young woman’s hand went out, plunging the church back into total darkness.

A phone began to ring inside the crypt below.

The muffled sound of the ringtone echoed through the hollow stone floor.

I stood frozen in the pitch black, my hands pressed against my chest.

The ringing stopped.