Monday, December 31, 2007

Ritual Chant



Six tall pillars in a wide circle characterise the Georgian aspect of the mausoleum. Harold pushes the door open, aware that the daylight is slipping away into dusk and he really doesn’t want to be here at nightfall. The creak of disused hinges echoes down the staircase and is complemented by a cascade of dust from the sepulcher above. Harold treads carefully, aware that noise upsets the occupants and he’d rather remain on the very best of terms with them. At the bottom of the steps he takes the lantern from the niche in the supporting column and lights it from a zippo carried for the purpose. He raises it high enough to reveal the three occupants of the tomb, their faces expectant though their bodies have long since rotted away. Harold smiles: “Happy New Year.”

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