Chapter 9 - Eli Goes to Sleep

Chapter 9

Disclaimer:
The following is adapted from the novel Let the Right One In by John A. Linqvist and the film bearing the same name. The characters in this work are those of Mr. Linqvist and no copyright protection is asserted to this work.

Oskar woke up. He had overslept; it was already past 4 p.m., according to the alarm clock on the floor by his mattress, and would certainly be dark outside by now. He stood and stretched.

As he dressed, he thought about last night. He was both happy and sad: happy that his emotional bond with Eli had been restored; sad that tonight she would be leaving.

Eli was not around, and as he moved into the kitchen, he saw that the bathroom door was closed. Sleepyhead, he thought with a smile. Well, she’ll be up in a minute.

He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face to wash the sleep from his eyes. Maybe she’s wrong, he thought hopefully as he dried his face with the dishtowel. Maybe she’ll go to sleep at the cemetery and realize that it’s too early; come back here. Be with me a while longer.

He was pouring a bowl of cereal and wondering whether the milk they’d bought over a week ago was still fresh when he heard a sound.

Thump.

Thump-thump.

He cocked his head to listen. Put the cereal box down and moved slowly toward the hallway. Heard four more thumps in quick succession. Coming from . . . he turned and looked down the hall. The bathroom.

He went toward the bathroom door, a concerned look on his face. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the hall light, and the light from the kitchen was weaker at this end of the hall. The door was steeped in shadow; its handle gleamed.

Thump. Then softer, somehow secretive: thump thump.

With growing unease Oskar put his ear to the door. He strained to listen. Thought he heard a swishing noise. Like—thrashing?

He frowned. What’s she doing in there? Does she need help?

“Eli?”

There was no response.

Thump-swish.

He turned the handle and slowly opened the door. It creaked softly on its hinges. To his right, the porcelain enameled bathtub glimmered dimly like a ghost. He peeked in and saw a shape under her blanket in the bottom of the tub.

He recoiled as the blanket suddenly jerked and fluttered. Then he heard another thump as something underneath struck the inside of the tub.

Something’s wrong, he thought. She’s usually up by now. Is she having a bad dream? A cold finger pressed lightly against his heart as he remembered her claws sinking into his scalp.

He gingerly stepped into the bathroom with an unsettling mixture of concern and dread. She’d said she’d been feeling different, he thought. Is this part of it?

He reached toward the tub to pull away the blanket. But it seemed to tremble in the shadows, and he hesitated.

This is ridiculous, he thought. She was as close to me as anyone will ever be last night, and now I’m afraid. Foolish.

Having thus emboldened himself, he grabbed the blanket and pulled it off with a quick jerk. Then stepped back in shock and dropped it immediately when he saw her.

Eli laid in shadow, half on her side, half on her back. Her arms were rigid, but flexed at the elbows. Her head was thrown back and turned partially to the side. Her eyes were closed and her mouth hung open, bloody saliva oozing out of one corner. Her legs were stiff too, and as he watched, one of them suddenly flexed, and her kneecap hit the tub.

Thump. Then twice more, followed by the other knee.

She twitched violently and rolled onto her side, then made a groaning noise that was clearly not volitional.

She’s having a seizure. He had never seen a person having a seizure, but had seen a show about them on TV.

He flicked on the bathroom light. He crouched down by the tub and spoke her name twice; then reached to touch her. Maybe he could bring her out of it.

Before he could do so, her writhing suddenly stopped, and she seemed to relax. Her head, which had been facing away from him, then slowly turned toward him; toward the sound of his voice, he assumed. Her eyes remained closed, and her face was completely blank and devoid of expression. Her appearance was so unsettling that Oskar flinched and pulled his hand away.

Hesitantly and with a frightened, trembling voice, he spoke her name again. “Eli? Wake up, Eli.”

She slowly raised her head off the bottom of the tub and as she did so, her body jerked twice yet again. He thought for a moment that she was simply going to wake up. But then in one motion her back arched, her lower jaw was thrust forward, and her mouth opened wide to reveal her fearsome array of sharp, pointed teeth, bloody from where she’d bitten the inside of her own mouth. Another inhuman moan escaped her lips.

Oskar fell backward and hit the back of his head on the edge of the toilet with a bonk. The pain was intense, but there was so much adrenaline pumping through him that he barely registered it.

At the sound of his head striking the toilet, Eli’s eyes flew open. Her head was turned directly towards him, but she seemed to be staring, with eyes unfocused, past him at something on the ceiling. And her eyes were dead . . . lifeless and doll-like; devoid of any human quality.

He watched, paralyzed with fear, as she simply hung there, sitting halfway up, moaning with her mouth jutting open, swaying slightly as her body continued to jerk. She reminded him of deep water lantern fish he’d seen on a nature program; the ones with the enormous, fanged mouths and silvery, scary eyes.

Then he saw one hand creep over the edge of the tub. Before his eyes, her beautiful fingers changed and stretched with the faintest crackle of cartilage, transforming themselves into claws.

Oskar rolled over and crawled on all fours to the doorway, stood and ran, slamming the bathroom door behind him as he went. He sprinted blindly down the hall and stumbled over the laundry basket he’d left there yesterday, spilling dirty socks and underwear out onto the carpet. He scrambled to his feet; thought he heard another noise from the bathroom—the scrape of something on hard porcelain. He bolted to the front door in complete panic, fumbled the lock open, ran out into the hall, grabbing the door handle with one hand as he did so. The door swung shut behind him as he dashed down the stairs in two’s and three’s. He rushed past an elderly woman carrying a bag of groceries, heedless to her shout to be careful on the stairs.

Oskar ran out of their apartment building toward the bicycle rack. There he paused and turned to look back at the window of their living room, up on the third floor. Of course, he could see nothing except a faint trace of light around the edges, since they had covered it with a piece of heavy cardboard, but he stupidly stood there, panting heavily, and watched it anyway for any sign of movement. But there was none.

His mind raced. He got his bike off the rack as he continued to glance up at the window. He was so unnerved that he had to redo the combination lock three times before getting it right. Then he waited, his hands on his bike, ready to leap on and pedal away at the slightest movement from either their window, or the door leading into the apartment.

As the minutes passed, he began to realize his predicament. It was early November, and he was standing outside dressed only in a tee-shirt and pants. He had no coat on, nor even any shoes. It was close to freezing, and there was a thin layer of snow on the ground. The soles of his feet were beginning to feel very cold.

He thought about places he could go. They had not made any acquaintances in the building, so there was no one he could turn to there. He thought about going down into the basement and finding a place to hide there—maybe the boiler room or a janitor’s closet?--but then he imagined her hunting him down there in the dark, and he rejected the idea of going back inside.

He quickly checked his pockets and was relieved to discover that he had some bills. The light wasn’t sufficient for him to count it, but it made him feel better to think that he had something useful. He also found the apartment key in the bottom of the same pocket with a few coins and some lint.

He thought about some public places he could go for awhile to warm up. Plenty of stores were still open, and also the—yes, of course: the library! And just as quickly, he thought of the train station, which should be open all night.

Need to get a coat and some shoes, and fast. He thought about the clothing stores he’d seen, but he probably didn’t have enough money to buy something new. Could he steal something? It’d be hard to shoplift a winter coat. Maybe . . .

Then he remembered a used clothing store he’d seen. Down on . . . he couldn’t remember the name of the street. But he thought he could find it by memory. Would they still be open? He’d have to try. He got on his bike and began pedaling.

To his great relief, he was able to find the used clothing store, and it was open. And when the clerk saw that he had no coat and nothing but snow-covered socks on his feet, he was more than happy to sell him a jacket and shoes at a deep discount. He even threw in a pair of dry socks. The clerk thought Oskar was a bit odd, but didn’t ask any questions.

When Oskar got to the library, he went immediately to the only private place he could think of: the men’s room in the basement. He slipped into a stall, locked the door, and sat down on the toilet. Glanced around at the graffiti, the dirty messages and phone numbers; the urine-stained floor. Then closed his eyes to pray.

Lord Jesus, I know I haven’t prayed in awhile, and I’m sorry for that, but please help me. Please help me and Eli. She’s sick—really sick—and I need You to make her better. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I know You can do it. You can do anything if You want to. You could even make her a real person again. I know I’ve asked for that before and You haven’t done anything, but I’m asking again. Take anything from me that You want. I’ll do anything You want; just help her. Please. Please, I beg you.

After a few moments in prayer, his thoughts wandered. A voice in his head, what he thought of as his “voice of reason,” spoke up. Sometimes this voice sounded like his mother; sometimes, his father. But most of the time it was his own voice, just a little sterner; a little more grown up.

Oskar, get a grip. You’re living with a murderer. And not just any murderer—a mass murderer. She told you herself—thousands. So many that she doesn’t even know how many. God’s not going to help someone like that. Even she doesn’t think so—and she’s right. And sooner or later . . . she’s going to kill you. So call the police. Or call your mother. Tell someone, do something, anything. Just . . . get away.

Anger welled up inside of him. No! Well—I know she is. I know she does bad things. But I love her, love her so much. And she doesn’t mean it; she didn’t ask to be the way she is. She’s good inside--I know it. She said she’d never hurt me.

But the Voice of Reason was not so easily vanquished; it was strong. He hated its strength, hated its logic. Its logic was relentless and irrefutable. It made him feel trapped; goaded him to do the only reasonable thing, the only sensible thing: break his commitment to Eli. Give up his love; abandon her.

Do you really think she’s in control? She’s proven to you that she’s not. Grabbing you in the tub; attacking you at the waterfall. And now this. Maybe she really doesn’t want to kill you, but she will anyway—she can’t help it. You’re playing with fire, and eventually you’ll get burned. Bad. So for God’s sake, use your head. Use your brains—it’s all you have anyway. It’s time to call it quits.

His resolve wavered, and for a brief moment he imagined himself calling the police. He pictured Eli being led out of their apartment building toward a waiting police car in tomorrow morning’s sunlight. Imagined the conflagration; saw Eli spontaneously burst into flames. He shuddered and banished the thought with an unconscious shake of his head. No. No no no.

Should he call Mom? What if she answered and he asked her to come get him right now? She wouldn’t have to go to the apartment; they could meet right here. But then what? She’d demand to know where he’d been staying and all the details. And of course, he was a missing person in Blackeberg in connection with the violent death of three children. He saw his mother calling the police, and himself eventually being questioned. Cross-examined by big, burly police officers in some small, concrete room where the table was bolted to the floor. How long would it be before he spilled his guts? Probably not long. And if he called Dad, the same thing was likely to happen, although maybe not as quickly because Dad—well, he’d always been more laid back than Mom. But still, he’d eventually contact the police.

He briefly considered calling for an ambulance or a doctor to come help her. But the mere image of a paramedic or ambulance crew encountering her in the tub seemed laughable almost as soon as he thought of it. She’d kill them all. As if they could do anything for her anyway.

Oskar sat forlornly on the toilet, staring at the rust pitted on the bottom of the stall door. There were no options. He cried for a few minutes; then he pulled himself together, took a pee, and went back upstairs.

For the next few hours, he hung out at the library, pretending to read the books that other patrons hadn’t bothered to reshelve. He couldn’t get the image of Eli’s hideous face out of his mind. And to think that he’d kissed that

(shark’s mouth)

just a few hours earlier. How am I going to go back there?, he wondered. She’ll hear the door open and pounce on me as soon as I step inside. The only thing he could think to do was to stay out all night and return with the dawn, when she would have to be asleep.

He remained at the library until it closed, and then rode his bike to the train station. He had not been back since the first day they had come to Karlstad. He was ravenously hungry, and got a bite to eat. He stayed as long as he could before he began to feel that some people in the station were beginning to glance at him suspiciously. Then he went to the nearest Metro station, and started riding the trains around town with the rest of his money.

It was 3 a.m. when he finally returned to the first Metro station. His bike was covered with a fine dusting of snow. The streets were dark and largely deserted.

He rode back to his apartment, went inside, and then down to the basement. There was no sign of Eli, and he was able to find an unlocked broom closet. He snuck inside, pushed a mop bucket aside, and lay down on the floor with his head close to the crack under the door so he could hear anything coming. He made a pillow out of his coat, and stayed up for as long as he could, waiting and watching. Then, despite his best efforts, he drifted off to sleep.

He woke up when he heard someone talking in the corridor and then heard a door slam. One of the building management staff? He checked his watch; it was a little after 6 a.m. Was it too early to go back up? He decided to risk it. At least he could listen at their door and see if she was moving around. He stepped out of the broom closet and didn’t see anyone around, so he headed upstairs.

He came around the corner and started up the final flight of stairs leading to the third floor, glanced up, and froze.

Eli was standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at him. She was just about to take the first step down, and was leaning against the railing for support. When their eyes met, her expression changed from apprehension to relief.

“Oskar. Where have you been? Thank goodness you’re here.”

Oskar was so shocked that at first, all he could do was look at her. She was wearing the same nightshirt she’d had on in the tub, but now there were bloodstains by the buttons at the top. She didn’t have any pants or shoes on. Her face looked pale and sweaty, and there were more bloodstains at the corners of her mouth. Her hair was matted and damp. She held his Rubik’s Cube in one hand; the other grasped the handrail.

A feeling of relief broke over Oskar. She was awake, and—

she doesn’t remember.

But what was wrong with her? He rushed up the stairs to her side.

“Eli, are you all right? Where are you going?”

“I don’t feel very good,” she replied, leaning into his arms. “I should’ve stayed at that place last night, I think. I need to get back there now. Before sunrise.”

Oskar looked at his watch: 6:10. The sun would be up in less than an hour, he guessed.

She looked at him with a confused, puzzled expression; then asked weakly, “Where’d you get that coat?” Her question tapered off at the end as she swallowed, licked her lips, and swayed slightly.

He debated telling her about what had happened in the bathroom, and the night he’d spent roaming the city; then decided that it would just needlessly upset her.

“I . . . I thought it might be good to get a new coat, that’s all. My old one wasn’t warm enough, and the zipper got stuck. You slept in, so I figured it would be okay to go out.”

“Oh. Okay.” Her tone was one of listless acceptance. “Well . . . it looks nice.” She tried to smile. “Can you help me get to the cemetery? I really feel like I need to get there. I’m so sleepy . . . just need to rest.”

He gave her a hug. “Sure.” Then he asked, “Can’t you fly?”

“. . . thought about that. Don’t think I’m up to it.” She bit her lower lip and looked up at him unhappily.

“Well, do you think you could ride your bike?”

“Mmm . . . maybe. I’ll try.”

Oskar thought out loud. “Or maybe we could call a cab.”

“Yeah . . . I’d like that better, I think.”

They went back down the hall to their door, which was standing open, he noticed with a frown. They went inside and she laid down on the couch while he hunted for the phone book.

He found the listing an dialed the number. The female dispatcher, who sounded very pleasant, told him that a cab would be there in 30 minutes. He checked at his watch again: 6:15. He reflexively looked at the window, but of course, it was covered. He hesitated, then said, “Uh, no. That’s okay. I need one sooner.”

The dispatcher then said she’d try to have one there in 20 minutes. Oskar reluctantly agreed.

He put down the receiver and thought for a moment. The sun. Need to protect her somehow, just in case. With what? He looked around the kitchen but saw nothing useful; just his half-filled cereal bowl, still on the table where he’d left it. And an overturned chair that he hadn’t noticed before.

Heavy clothes. Blankets.

He went back into the living room and told her he’d called a cab. “Eli, you can’t go out looking like this. We need to get you dressed.”

She had been lying on her side with her eyes closed; the Rubik’s Cube was on the floor by the couch were she’d dropped it. She turned her head and looked at him sleepily, said “okay,” and then closed her eyes again.

He rushed around the apartment, trying to find the thickest pair of pants he could. He found his corduroys laying on the floor of his bedroom, and her turtleneck sweater hanging on the back of the bathroom door. He got her winter coat and hat out of the hall closet and brought everything back to the couch.

“Eli, get up. You need to help me get you dressed.” This time, she didn’t even open her eyes. “. . . ‘kay.”

With his encouragement, he got her to sit up and lift up her arms, and he pulled her nightshirt over her head. She was like a limp doll. She wasn’t wearing anything else, and her body seemed even thinner than usual. He could clearly see her ribs under her skin.

They managed to get her dressed. He pulled her winter hat down low on her head; found some gloves. Then he realized she still didn’t have anything on her feet. He spent a few more minutes hunting around for her shoes and socks, and had to put them on her feet by himself.

He picked up the Rubik’s Cube and stuffed it into his pocket. He got her standing, and she again leaned heavily against him. They were standing in the doorway, almost ready to close the door, when he realized he’d forgotten to get money for the cab. He left her leaning against the doorjamb and raced back inside to snatch a wad of kronor bills out of the kitchen cabinet; saw his flashlight, and grabbed that too. Then he realized he’d forgotten to get a blanket, so he stripped one off his mattress.

When they finally got down to the street, they sat down on a bench by the turnaround, and he wrapped the blanket around her. The sky was still dark, but his watch now said 6:32. Eli had been sitting up when they first got to the bench, but as the minutes passed, she slumped over against him, and her head drooped down so her chin rested against her chest.

He tried to keep her awake as they waited for the cab to arrive. He grew increasingly more impatient as the minutes slipped by. He stared at every car that passed by their apartment, wondering if it was the taxi. Finally, at 6:40, a blue and white Volvo station wagon pulled up.

He got Eli onto her feet and into the car. Once they were in the back seat, he put his hand onto her inner thigh and pinched her as hard as he could.

She jolted out of her haze and looked at him crossly. “Ouch! What’d you do that for?”

“You need to stay awake for a little bit longer. Just a little bit. Please.”

The cabbie spoke up. “Um . . . where to?”

Oskar gave him the name of the cemetery and asked him to hurry. The cab driver looked at the two of them in his rear-view mirror with a mixture of concern and curiosity, and for a moment Oskar thought he was going to refuse and start asking questions. He pulled the kronor bills out of his pocket, stripped off a thousand, and handed it up over the seat to him. “Please, sir. It’s important.”

His eyes widened when he looked down at the bill in his hand. “Okay. No problem.”

As the car sped down the road, Oskar kept looking at the sky in the east. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the stars were rapidly fading. He thought he could detect a faint lightening of the sky near the horizon. Then he looked at Eli and noticed that she, too, was staring toward the east with her eyes wide open. Her mouth hung open and she was breathing rapidly through her mouth.

Oskar leaned forward and dropped another bill over the seatback. “Can you go a little faster, please?”

The cabbie complied, and the speed of the car increased.

Oskar could not get the cabbie to stop the car along the road, so they had to wait while he pulled up into the main entrance and stopped in front of the church there. He started to give the man another bill, but the cabbie held up his hand and said, “you’ve given me way too much already. Do you need a ride back?”

Oskar hadn’t even thought about how he was going to get back home. But since he didn’t want the man around to see anything, he told him that it wouldn’t be necessary.

Since he hadn’t been to this part of the cemetery, Oskar wasn’t sure which way to go. He had the impression that they needed to go to the left, and they headed in that direction. He asked Eli if this was the way, and she nodded in agreement. It was 6:57, and even more of the eastern sky was brightening.

They trotted down the main driveway that they’d crossed the previous evening. Oskar still wasn’t sure where they were, and when he looked at Eli for guidance, he saw near-panic on her face. She was making a whining noise like a frightened dog, and kept looking over her shoulder at the sky.

At last they reached a crossing that looked a little familiar. Eli saw the mausoleum before he did. She pointed, shouted “There!” and broke into a full-blown run. The blanket that had been around her shoulders flew off and landed in the snow. Oskar raced to keep up with her.

As they crossed into the trees, Eli began to scream. Oskar, who was a few paces behind her, caught the pungent odor of something burning and realized with horror that wisps of smoke were beginning to drift back away from her head. Her hair started to smolder.

Even Oskar was now able to make out the tomb, about a hundred meters away. He shouted “Faster, Eli! Faster! Don’t stop!”

Eli let out another scream and put both hands onto the back of her neck to shield it from the rising sun. She was wearing the gloves he’d found for her, but they, too, quickly began to blacken and smoke. As they crossed the remaining distance to the mausoleum door, Eli began to make one long, continuous wail of pain and fear, and her entire body began to smoke. Oskar thought he saw her fingers beginning to glow. Then she stumbled, fell, and began writhing in pain on the ground.

Oskar did the only thing he could think of: he yanked off his coat and threw it on top of her, as he’d been taught to do during a fire drill in school to help smother the flames of someone who’d caught on fire. Then he tackled Eli and tried to pull her back on her feet so they could get to the building, which was now only less than ten meters away. But holding onto Eli was like trying to hold onto a bag full of angry cats. She twisted and jerked spasmodically under his coat as she continued to scream at the top of her lungs. Oskar gagged and choked on the horrifying stench of burnt flesh that billowed from her body.

Oskar began shouting at her as loud as he could as he dragged her toward the door. “Come on, Eli! Come on, dammit! It’s only a little farther!”

At last they reached the door and together they burst through the entrance. Eli’s legs and feet were the last things to escape the sunlight, and as she dragged them inside, they burst into flames. Her howl of uncontrolled pain and fear reverberated inside the crypt; Oskar thought his eardrums would burst from the noise. He turned and hit the door with all his strength. It slammed shut. Now the only light was from the flames leaping from Eli’s socks and shoes.

Oskar turned and stared, goggle-eyed, as Eli rolled in the dust on the floor, reaching for her ankles and feet to try to put out the flames, then pulling her hands away as they were burned. Her head hit the funeral urn with a bang and it rolled away and clunked against the far wall.

Oskar picked up his coat and threw it over Eli’s lower legs and feet. Again he tackled her, seizing her by the legs and holding on tight, as if riding a bucking bronco, while the flames finally died out. Then he let go.

Eli continued to flop on the floor like a fish out of water, moaning in pain and fear. She crawled to a side wall, then rolled onto her back and lay still for a moment.

Now that the flames were out, Oskar couldn't see. He called her and began moving toward the whimpering noises she was making. He got close to her and began feeling for her in the dark; then remembered his flashlight. He dug down into his pants pocket, pulled it out and turned it on.

Eli flinched and snapped her head away from the beam, but before she did he saw the black and red blotches on her cheeks, nose and chin. She was grimacing in pain.

She rolled her head back, utterly exhausted, and looked at the two narrow windows at the opposite end of the room. Although shaded by trees, they were becoming increasing visible in the gloom.

“Gotta . . . get into my hole.”

Oskar shined the light around and quickly found the vault she had opened. “It’s over here,” he said. He reached and took her hand, intending to help her up.

As soon as he squeezed her hand, she screamed in pain again. He dropped it and backed up, terrified that he’d hurt her.

“Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you! Oh Eli, I’m sorry—”

She looked over at him and to his amazement, she managed a smile with her blackened lips. “. . . ‘s okay, Oskar. I know ya . . . didn’t mean it.”

“Can you crawl?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Slowly, painfully, she rolled over onto her stomach and crabbed the last, short distance to her haven.

As she began to crawl into the vault, he spoke. He desperately wanted to do something, anything, to help her; to somehow dress her wounds, or alleviate her pain. “Eli, wait. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

She paused and looked up at him with a half-smile, half-grimace. He realized with horror that her eyelashes and eyebrows had burned away. “You already have, Oskar. You saved my life. Not just today—but yesterday, too. I’d like to kiss you, but . . . I don’t think I’m up to it. And . . . don’t worry about all of this.” She nodded down toward her body. “I’ll heal.”

Oskar kneeled down next to her. She reeked of burnt flesh and singed hair. He wanted to stroke her face, but was afraid he’d cause more pain. So he touched the top of her hat, and ran his fingers through her hair until he felt how dry and brittle it was. He lowered his head to hers and kissed her on a small patch of undamaged skin above her right eye.

“I love you, Eli.”

“I love you too, Oskar. I’ll . . . see you in a little while, okay?”

Oskar felt himself begin to cry, and fought fiercely to hold the tears at bay. “Okay. Real soon.”

“Yes.”

She turned her face away from his, looked into the hole, and slowly crawled in. When her blackened shoes were finally in, she asked him to slide the marble panel back in place as best he could, and try to find some way to block the door. With tears now running freely down his face, Oskar got the marble slab into position, but lacked the strength to lift it up and into place; so he had to leave it sitting on the floor, immediately in front of the hole.

Then he remembered that he still had the Rubik’s Cube. He swore, pulled it out of his coat pocket, and, grunting and straining, slid the marble panel back out of the way. Shining his light into the hole revealed that Eli was already sound asleep. He pushed the Cube into the cavity next to her as far as he could, and then moved the marble back in front of the vault.

Because the door to the crypt swung inward and the lock was broken, he could not think of a way to barricade the door, so all he could do was pull it shut and hope that no one would try it.

He blinked as he stepped out into the bright morning sunlight. He clicked off his flashlight and put it back into his pocket. Sat down against the front wall of the mausoleum and cried.