Sam Kates
It was difficult to be certain over the harshness of his own breathing and with the flashlight failing, but he hadn’t thought there was anyone with him in the mausoleum – the shuffling footsteps could be the echoes of his own, the flickering shadows a symptom of the exhausted batteries, the icy draughts on his neck the air entering through gaps in the rockfall at the entrance. It was the dead, grasping weight of a hand on his shoulder that wasn’t so readily explained.
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