Page 34 of The Lies We Steal

“Yeah.” Lyra finishes, nodding her head quickly. Her face is just as pale as mine.

We silently start to turn off the oil lamps, pulling our bags onto our shoulders without mumbling a word. Still not sure how we are going to get ourselves out of this situation when we don’t even know what’s outside waiting for us.

I look over at her, my hands sweating as I clutch my flashlight.

“We need to go see what’s up there, then we can figure out a way to get away, okay?” I say, her face shining from my white light.

She nods, clicking hers off making the room much darker.

I take a shaky breath, recoiling as I hear another agonizing cry. Like someone who’s being shredded apart by an animal. Visions of the worst possible scenarios enter my head.

Someone being eaten alive by a blood-soaked bear or wolf. Even worse if they are being tortured by another human. Dragged out into the woods where no one could hear them scream because of the crashing waves and constant wind that howled.

I swallow the bile in my throat, clicking my flashlight off. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face it’s so dark. I feel Lyra reach out and grab the back of mybook bag, clutching to me tightly as I start to feel my way to the steps.

My hands feel the filthy wall, my foot finding the first step. My teeth are clenched so tightly they are pulsating, trying so urgently to be quiet, terrified even the faintest of breaths will tell the thing outside we are down here.

I take each step gradually, seeing the metal gate still open and the cast of the moon gives us light to the outside. I can see the trees violently rocking, once again I can smell the ocean and I know we are about to see what is making that noise.

The farther up the steps we travel, the more I can hear. Like the low yelps and muffled groans. When we reach the top, both of us peering out to bear witness, the breath in my lungs ceases to exist.

The cords of dread inside me quiver.

Four tall men surround a body a few yards away. Their presence is an ominous one. That of evil and torment.

I lick my lips, their dryness coming on suddenly as cottonmouth sets up in my tongue.

“What are they—” I place a tender, yet firm hand over Lyra’s mouth, silencing her beside me. My eyes wide as I shake my head, placing my free hand over my lips and making the shh face.

They are all dressed in black, head to toe. Their bodies blending into the night, one of them stands behind the man kneeling on the ground. From this distance, I can see how enlarged and beaten his face is. His eyes so bruised they are hardly open, dirt and blood coats his cheekbones.

The acid swishes around in my stomach and I want nothing more than to throw up right now. We are witnessing a crime. One that I’m not sure I or Lyra can stop.

I can only hear mumbling, nothing more. Just the hushed whispers and the sounds of one of their fists connecting to his bones. It’s maddening, how powerful the impact is. I can particularly hear his jaw break from over here.

It felt like a waiting game.

Do we run for it? Do we wait until they are done?

Lyra and I sit here. Huddled down inside the mausoleum, straining our eyes to watch the horror in front of us. They beat him. Over and over again. No mercy, no sympathy. Just unadulterated rage and vigor.

This man, who would have to be identified by his teeth because his face was so unrecognizable, groaned. But he didn’t beg for his life, he simply took it. When they would pause, possibly to ask a question, and when he didn’t answer with what they wanted it was another stroke to the face.

The pause this time was a little longer, their focus completely on him. A second later, I could hear the hiss of creatures most associated with the devil. One of them, the shorter of the group, drops a bag of colorful, slimy snakes on top of the guy. They wither and curl around his body, and I’d never heard terror like I did right then.

It wasn’t just a scream of fear. He was horrified. This would traumatize this man for life. The memory of the snakes moving around his skin, hissing and snapping at him. The sound ripped from his lungs and tore through the forest.

I grabbed Lyra’s hand, guiding the way past the open gate noiselessly and to the left of the mausoleum. Keeping our distance from them, but still headed towards the direction of the school.

We needed to get help. We needed to get out of there before we were caught.

We crept leisurely, each leaf that cried beneath our shoes made us pause, hold our breath to make sure they hadn’t heard before we kept moving. It was almost painful. How tightly I was straining my body. How careful I was being not to make a sound.

My jaw was sore from clenching and my head ached from all the blood pounding inside of it.

“Briar, is that a knife?” Lyra whispers nervously.

I turn to face the wicked group of people, even though I was trying to ignore them, hoping if I did the pressure in my chest would subside.

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