Jones's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

Jones lay still on the dry stone, listening. Something breathed in the dark. Not close, not yet. He needed to see, but a light would mark him as surely as a shout. He weighed the risk and reached into his coat. His thumb found the small metal lighter. He flicked it once. A weak orange flame jumped up and pushed the dark back a few feet. Iron bars lined the corridor on both sides — old cells, rusted shut, stretching further than the flame could reach. Long scratches scored the stone floor between them. Deep ones. Fresh. A wet click sounded from inside the nearest cell. Jones turned the flame toward it. Pitch black eyes caught the light. A hunched shape pressed against the bars, claws curled around the iron. The bars held. Then another click answered from a cell behind him. And another. Jones stood slowly, lighter raised. The cells were cages, and the cages were full. He was not trapped with the thing in the dark. He was walking a hallway lined with them, and every one of them now knew exactly where he was.