The voice from the grave

of shadows and suffocating anxiety, the room had changed. It felt empty, colder. Rachel's senses battled to make sense of what had just happened as the air was so quiet it felt like time itself had

he idea set off a wave of fear in Rachel's veins. She had thought she was looking into a small-town killing. That said... this was something really evil. Wiping the sweat off her forehead, her fingers trembling, Rachel stood gradually with unstable knees. A single, flickering light overhead cast long shadows stretching across the walls around her, darkening the room. She glanced around

, wishing for some consolation, but the screen was broken. It had fallen apart in the autumn earlier when all had gone dark. Although she could sense the frenzy growing in her once more, she m

ed back. Emma's death, the weird meeting with the figure, the voice from the grave-they all were joined. Rachel couldn't stop at last now. She would not. Her hand floated over the doorknob. Once more, the cold brought the hairs on her neck erect. It felt as if something was watching her past the darkness. As she gradually turned the doorknob, Rachel could feel her heart pounding in her ears. Opening, the door creaked wide down a long passage. She couldn't see where the darkness led; th

aut and poised toward running. Still, there was no one present. Just the nothing of the corridor, stretching ete

off. "The truth will always come out to the surface," claimed it. "But are you prepared to stand up to it?" Rachel'

he place. She kept being urged on, farther into the unfamiliar. Deeper along the hallway came still another thud. This time even louder. She stopped breathing. She had to se

ut what drew her more than the door was the small symbol etched into the wood-a

by chance. Rachel started heading for the door without thinking, her pace quickenin

pread somewhat across the table on several items. It was what was next to the table that caused her to stop. An image. Her attitude could change stage. It was a photograph of Emma Turner, but not the Emma Rachel

hadows. As she went for the picture, her breathing caught in her throat and he

y handwritten on the back of the picture. Rachel's pulse was sluggish. She looked about the room, then focused on the papers distributed arou

e. Her hands trembling, she opened it. The notes on the pages were written in a peculiar language, in cryptic symbols

ing-before she could make sense of this. Rachel t

in the room, Rachel hears the threatening sound of someone of something coming. She seems to be swallowed whole