Lightning flashed and thunder rolled through the night as I cinched up my cloak against a sudden bitter-cold gust and halted in my tracks. I stared at the entrance to the crypt. My heart leaped, and then stopped beating for a chilling moment. I had arrived at my destination. The yawning entrance was dark. The shape of a cherub or perhaps a gargoyle, roosted upon the sill, obscured by dark mold. Was he at watch, perhaps on guard? Or was he just resting after his journey into hell? The billowing low-lying fog hid the cold stone steps from my view, but I instinctively knew they were there, leading down into the bowels of the earth. The iron-picket gate swung slightly in the wind, squeaking an eerie welcome. (This story should remind you of the old black and whites.)
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