'Hidden Places' by Tilly Greenland

I walk through the small opening in the wall of the stone dome, stopping to let my eyes accustom to the gloom.  Away, now, from the blazing heat of the sun and into cool darkness, I pause and slowly open my eyes, standing stock-still before moving again.  I catch my breath as I see that, just one step in front of me is… nothing; in front of me the stone floor gives way to a deep, dark pit.

Slowly, I begin to look around.  The walls are covered in dry, green algae, dead for centuries.  Light strains in through small openings in the side of the dome above me.  The bottom of the pit, maybe 5 metres below, is covered in dark mud, cracked and peeling.  This must have served as a water chamber at one time, filled from the mountains above.

I feel like I am not alone.  It feels… foreboding; like something once lived within the waters; it is still here but no longer keeps form, dried to dust.  It once was strong and claimed the waters of the dead, calling to others to fall within its grasp, drowned, dead, drained.

I can feel it calling me further, wanting me to fall.  It wants me to bleed, wants my water to give it life, to rehydrate its desiccated soul, give form again to the bone dust that lies within the mud beneath.  That cemetery outside was never filled with flesh, just bone and skin and desiccated corpses.  All moisture reclaimed, human life extinguished, daemon fulfilled.