Page 3 of Eternal Craving

Blackness.

I awoke to the sound of sobs and realized they were mine. Moonlight creeped beneath a door, and I squinted around at the four dirty walls of a small room. My aching head hindered my ability to focus.

My hands were bound in front of me, tied with coarse rope. I rolled onto my side and used my elbow to prop myself up to see better. Shirtless, I started to shake from the cold as I took in my surroundings.

Not just any room.

Resting in the center was an intricately carved white marble sarcophagus. I hoped my heart would stay in my chest and not beat its way out. I struggled to pull up my legs and then realized that my ankles had been bound together and tied to the iron leg of a corner bench. The rope chafed my wrists as I struggled to free myself. Despite the burning sting, I continued tugging, almost freeing one hand.

I had no idea how I’d come to be here, or how long.

Less than a year ago, my friends had dared me to enter a tomb much like this one, and I’d refused. Their tales of a terrifying phantom who haunted this place had convinced me I’d made the right decision. Now, laying inches away from such a marble sarcophagus, I wondered how many corpses lay within. My sobs pushed away the silence.

Make it go away.

Engravings along its sides portrayed ancient Roman battles. Years had worn away some of the dramatic images, but not all. With my struggles came the tearing of my flesh. I gnawed at the rope in frustration and then fell back, staring over at the tomb.

Dried scarlet petals were scattered nearby, a few having been strewn upon the marble coffin lid, fallen from a bouquet seemingly abandoned in the corner.

Numbness in my limbs thwarted my movements, and my lips were so dry that they stung when I grimaced. The ground felt rough against my bare back.

The walls seemed to be closing in on me, and I was struck with an awful thought.

I may die alone here.My body would be discovered by the visitors who’d eventually come back to pay their respects – maybe in a week, maybe in a year.

I needed to get out.

I had a faint recollection of scrambling down the rough vines that straddled our house and sneaking out to the amphitheater, feeling that I’d done the unthinkable and broken the golden rule of bullfighting. The bulls received minimal human interaction, never encountering a man on foot before he entered the arena. To do so would mean they’d be inclined to charge the matador instead of his cape.

But I’d done just that, barely surviving and leaving behind a bull now dangerously conditioned. With Fiesta Brava scheduled for that night, set to begin in a few hours, the bull would nowbe a deadly opponent for anyone who approached. And my brother, a seasoned matador, was expected to fight. Hours ago, I had found the fire torches had been lit by someone on purpose, perhaps the very same man who’d worked the bull so hard that a vapor had risen off his hide.

I had entered the arena to warn them.

Cobwebs covered the sides of the sarcophagus. Fear of the spiders that had spun them gave me another reason to panic. I heard a sound from outside, branches crunching underfoot, and I took a deep breath ready to call out for help.

I froze.

Something was moving in here as well, and though I didn’t like the idea of a rodent scurrying around inside the sarcophagus, it was easily preferable to the notion that I’d awoken the dead. My face itched and I reached up, slightly thwarted by the restraints, and scratched my chin. Something caked on my face crumbled beneath my touch. Dried blood was wedged under my fingernails.

I have to get out.

A gust of warm air blew over me as the door creaked open and a man-shaped silhouette appeared in the entryway. He stomped towards me, beads of sweat spotting his brow.

I tried to speak, but the words that came out had no meaning. I squeezed my eyes shut, afraid of his menacing scowl.

Silence.

Then his foot tapped against my thigh.

I peeked at the gnarly club poised above me, trying to make out the features of the stranger who clutched it. His thick black eyebrows almost met, and the cleft in his chin was barely obscured by his morning shadow. He wore a sinister expression that declared he was ready to strike at any moment. I feared this was my punishment for the bullfight that I’d unwittingly stepped into, a dance with death that should never have happened.

His knuckles whitened as he raised the weapon high.

The lid of the coffin scraped open. I couldn’t bear to look.

Something heavy landed on my thigh. The man had dropped the club instead of using it. Peeking through one blurry eye, I saw a young woman standing by the tomb. My gasp echoed off the walls and found its way back to me.

She wore a long, white gown made from the finest linen. Her porcelain complexion was flawless, her features exquisite, and she seemed to float across the floor as she approached us. Raven hair fell over her shoulders, flowing straight down her back. Gold trinkets on her wrists jangled as her startling turquoise gaze darted between the man and me.