Page 32 of Sin Eater

Where's that damn ghost hiding? Now's the time I need him to glow in the dark!

“Hello?”

My voice, already weak, chokes without finding an echo.

I'm on my own.

For now.

“Roland[1], answer me...” I beg, not knowing whether to scream to get him back or whisper to avoid being spotted.

I'm really going to have to give my sidekick a name, as calling him out without offending him is becoming increasingly complex.

What the hell is he doing?

I should have grabbed the old man's flashlight when I left him because right now, if I get to the end of the tunnel without spraining something or getting mauled by vermin, I deserve a medal.

“Casper? Yoo-hoo!”

I oscillate between terror and exasperation. Why is it that, in critical moments, I always find myself without support? When it came to feeling me up, there were plenty of people around, but now that I need a guide, my stiff is nowhere to be seen. Shit, it's for him that I'm throwing myself into the lion's den; he could at least pretend!

“Shhh! We're going to be spotted!” he asserts in a whispered shout that sends me over the edge.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Scouting. It's this way,” he points out, while I'm still drowning in the gloom.

“Light?”

“Ah, yes, forgive me.”

And there he goes, phosphorescent again, moving forward into the tunnel, which I discover to be infested with rodents of all kinds. A real pleasure. After a few meters, the discomfort of the situation becomes even more pronounced. Not only am I folded in half, but the track is winding as it climbs. The cobblestones are dotted with hollows and bumps, a veritable obstacle course, which alone demonstrates the motivation of those who once walked it.

I don't know if my ghost is aware of the point to which I'm physically surpassing myself. If not, I'll be happy to remind him. And it's all for nothing!

I grumble inwardly. Yes, well, no one has physically restrained me, let's be honest, him less than anyone. I'm doing all this to... The answer won't pass my lips.

Finally, we come to a grayish wooden door—probably original, given its faded appearance—which seems to lead to a basement. Or more accurately, a crypt.

“What do we do?”

Panic overwhelms me. That my job is creepy as hell, I freely admit, but this is the first time I've broken into private property—okay, the second, if you consider Sir Jones's mansion—and desecrated a religious enclosure. Not that I'm particularly observant or even religious, but it does give me a strange feeling.

“The wisest thing to do would be to wait until nightfall. I imagine that after a certain hour, the corridors are less crowded.”

He has a point there.

“And where do we start?”

Here I am, getting annoyed by his slightly anxious questions, and now I'm imitating him. On the other hand, my ghost never loses patience and answers calmly, without panicking.

“Upstairs. That way, we'll be back down here at the end of the night, and we’ll only have to leave in the early hours of the morning. Hopefully, we'll have found the answers we were looking for in the meantime...”

The memory of my expedition around the abbey comes flooding back. I may have been slowed down by my inspection, but the estate was nonetheless immense. Will a single night be enough to complete the tour?

“I'll have a look around in the meantime, scouting around in case I spot something...”

How convenient to be a ghost!

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