Chapter Text
Rita drove. That was all she could think to do. Connor may be missing, but that doesn't mean he's dead, that can't mean he's dead.
She stepped out of the car. She wasn't entirely sure of how she had gotten there or how fast she had driven, but she found herself on the outskirts of the archaeological site. The site had never been known for its beautiful views, but seeing it now, massacred by greenery, left Rita horrified. Every other area of the forest had vines scattered over everything, she had never seen them this dense before. A mass of intertwined rope covered every inch of the site, making the ground completely undetectable. Everything she knew and built had been completely written over.
She grabbed a pocket–knife out of her car that had been given to her a few months ago, before locking it and beginning to climb over the ocean of plants. Every step uncomfortably arched the soles of her feet to accommodate for the unevenness of the vines as she ventured closer to a structure at the centre. She tried to remember how Connor had described the crypt to her. She could see the grey bricks, weathered from being exposed to the elements for seven years, but something about the structure seemed unfamiliar. She could remember Connor running to her excitedly, not too long before the incident, that there were two levels to the structure, but as she was looking at it now, there was no way it was tall enough.
When she finally reached the crypt, a gaping hole deteriorated into a wall stared down at her, the shadows inside inviting her in. She carefully climbed over the vines leaking into the building and stood for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Once they did, Rita flinched and clenched her fist around the pocket-knife, as she found herself met with a collection of hooded figures. Though, after a moment, her clutch loosened as she saw they were nothing more than statues. She let out a sigh and closed her eyes as a wave of relief washed over her. Now without the panic of the hooded figures being in the room with her, she took a better look around the room. It was an elongated room, with not much else other than the statues and signs of decay. The floor was made of dark, almost rotted wood, and the walls were just the same as the exterior. Just like every other place in the dark forest, there were vines crawling over the walls, but here they lacked the feeling of randomness and uncontrolled chaos, as every one led to the ground below her. She passed statues as she walked down the length of the room to the largest statue, the only one with a base. She could almost feel the eyes of the figure following her as she moved towards it, but she pushed as much unease as she could out of her mind as she dragged her feet towards it, intrigued to see the engraving on the base of the statue. She found, once she was close enough, that it wasn’t an engraving at all, at least, it was no official engraving. Instead, it was three words, messily and desperately scratched into the stone:
‘AVOID THE WRAITHS’.
Wraiths. So that must be what they are. Rita looked up at the stone creature, knowing what they are, but still being as confused as the first time she saw them. The name answered one question and raised another thousand. It was stone, she knew that. She could reach out and feel the coarse surface of the rock. But as she looked at it, she could swear the hood had moved in the breeze, or that the hand outstretched from the figure was reaching out to her.
She was pulled out of the questioning of her mind by the sudden feeling of something climbing up her leg. She looked down to see a single vine twisting and gripping onto the fabric of her trousers, clinging to her. Her eyes widened and she jerked her leg away, causing the vine to fall to the ground. It didn’t stop moving though, it continued slithering slowly across the ground. As she stepped backwards, something else caught her eye. There was another vine creeping towards. And another one. And so, so many others. She turned to run, only to find that they were all moving. Every single vine reached out to her, closing in on her. Rita stood, frozen, until she felt the vines brushing the back of her ankles and lurched forward. Soon she had been herded into the centre of the room, the vines advancing on her, encircling her like prey. She wanted to run when they began to coil round her shins, but there was nowhere to go. They rose higher and higher as they tightened around her. In her panic, she had almost forgotten about the knife in her hand. She leaned down to try to cut away the vines, only for them to lunge at her hand, pressing itself over her hand.She tried desperately to pull away in any possible way; backwards, upwards, down; she barely moved an inch. She continued to struggle until-
Creak.
The floor lowered slightly.
There was a moment of stillness.
Then, all at once, she plummeted into the darkness below.
