"From the depths of darkness"~ for the Short Affair October 26th.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Challenge: The Short Affair

Author: mrua7

Title: "From the depths of Darkness"

Word count: Approximately 1000

“I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.”

― Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

The drive thus far had been uneventful, nor was it pleasant and scenic. Tall gnarly trees bereft of leaves as it was season’s end, their jagged branches reaching like skeletal hands across the rural road, made for a rather ominous view.

Still they were just trees, Illya Kuryakin told himself.

It was at that exact moment the engine in the little Citroen he was driving began to sputter, and slowly the car lost power, easing to a standstill in the middle of nowhere. Well, not quite nowhere.

Illya knew he wasn’t that far out of Munich, as he’d been driving only about forty minutes, but exactly where he was, was the unknown. His destination was Salzburg in Austria but for some reason his route didn’t just feel right. He looked at the map in the fading light and realized he'd taken a wrong turn off, heading south perhaps towards Burgrain instead of east where he should have been going.

He applied his foot to the gas pedal, turning the key again but there was nothing but a grinding sound as the engine tried to turn over. The interior of the car filled with gas fumes, telling him to stop what he was doing.

Getting out of the car, he popped the hood and a cloud of white steam rose in the cold air.

A string of Russian epithets came out of his mouth at lightning speed. The motor pool in the UNCLE field office in Munich was going to hear about this!

Illya pulled his communicator from his breast pocket.

“Channel F- Solo. Hello? Is anyone on Channel F? Channel D?”  His only answer was static.

“Aw come on!” He kicked the dirt and gravel road with his foot. Pulling up the collar of his outer jacket; he closed the zipper in one quick movement.

He could see his breath now as the temperature was beginning to drop with the sun going down.

Having no desire to sit in the cold in a cramped Citroen, he decided to find a more suitable shelter. He recalled a church somewhere back along the road, though he hadn’t paid attention as to how far. It was most likely close enough for him to walk, and moving would help him keep warm.

Illya gathered up his briefcase, containing the documents he was delivering to his contact in Salzburg. It was supposed to be a milk run.

“Right”...he groused to himself.

As Kuryakin began his walk, a fell wind began to blow, sending shivers down his spine. In the distance he could hear the echoing ‘kraw-kraw’ of a flock of crows.

He wondered for a moment if they were carrion crows, but shrugged it off. Shelter was his goal, not investigating crows.

There was an unexpected flash of light in the sky, followed by a loud crack of thunder that boomed in the distance.

He counted, reckoning the lightning was only two miles away.

Illya put a good leg under it, increasing his pace in hopes he’d find the church before the storm hit. As he walked, darkness fell and he was forced to use a small hand torch he had in his pocket.

He must have misjudged the location of the church as it seemed much farther than he’d anticipated.

Just as he nearly given up hope of finding it, he heard the lonely sound of a deep resonant church bell began to slowly toll; judging from the sound, it wasn’t much farther.

It seemed darker than dark when he saw a light in the distance; a glowing through two small colorful stained glass windows called to him.

Illya sighed with relief as he finally came upon the church. Looking about he found no sign of a rectory near the old stone edifice.

He approached the heavy wooden doors to the church, thinking first to knock, as it would be rude to just walk inside, he not being a man of faith...well it just felt wrong to do so.

He rapped three times, calling out but there was no answer. Perhaps he’d missed whoever had lit the candles in the windows and rung the bell.

Illya tried the handle and found the door locked.

“Great,” he muttered, followed immediately by another string of curses in Russian as he felt the plip-plop of rain. There was no way he could make it back to the car without being soaked. Illya couldn’t bring himself to break one of the stained glass windows, besides the opening would be too small for him to fit through.

Laying his hand against the door, he leaned forward, his head bowed in frustration. He’d have to choice but to head out into the rain…

Without warning the door creaked open.

“Hallo?” Illya called out in German as he peeked his head inside. “Darf ich reinkommen_may I come inside?”

No answer, and he took it the door was merely stuck as he stepped inside. He was met with a surprise...the church looked to be abandoned, in a state of disrepair and full of nothing but monstrous cobwebs.

There was a hole in the roof in one corner, and the rain was cascading down through it, though not pooling. The water seemed to be draining between the the flagstones that made up the floor.  No doubt there was a basement of sorts probably full of water.

The air was filled with the dank smell of mold and mildew yet one other distinct odor he immediately recognized...old death. There were no words to describe it really, one either knew it or didn’t and Illya knew it well.

Perhaps there were bodies buried under the floor as was the custom in the old churches. When it came to nobility and venerable folk, they were accorded such dubious honors, while the general populace when buried, were doomed to rot in the ground.

He scanned the rest of the small church, spotting a candelabra stand of candles, like everything else covered with cobwebs.

Strange that someone would ring the bell, much less light candles here, but at this point it didn’t matter. He decided to light the other candles as a little more illumination couldn’t hurt.

If Napoleon were here, he’d have said the place was spooky, but Illya dismissed that thought with a snicker.

As he stepped towards the candelabra, he heard a loud crack beneath his feet.  Without warning, the flagstones gave way.

The floor opened up and he plunged down into a chasm of darkness, feeling as though hundreds of hands were suddenly grabbing him, clawing at his skin…

To be continued.