The Catacomb
Bon Appetit.
I was thinking how much I missed my run-down apartment above a veterinary clinic when I heard the voice:-
“Lost your way?”
A row of skulls gaped back at me from both sides of a catacomb, their sockets vacant of jest.
I heard a tooth dislodge like a bean from its pod.
(Or did I?)
Something had undulated away from the corner of my eye leaving a chill in its wake.
I returned to searching for the exit when the voice, heavily accented, said:
“Pardonez-moi, but I thought it was time…”
An icy drip landed on my head.
“Time for what?” I asked into a gloom that would make any warm-blooded mammal nostalgic for sunny windowsills and geraniums.
“Do you know the way out by any chance? I’ve been here for…”
“… 16 days, but it could be longer…” the voice trailed off.
I looked at the skulls, thoughtless under moss and mildew and my bones ached for their marrow.
Strange, it felt more like 16 years than 16 days.
“ Tourists should have common sense, non?” chided the voice gently.
“Nevertheless, we’re grateful for more than a skinny rat or a jambon sandwich.”
I felt an itch inside my cheek and scratched it.
“We?” I said.
“We who escape the harvest for the dips.”
I heard a restrained belch.
“It’s all part of the cycle, mon ami. Think sustainable Ultra Eats.”
The itch was now feeding off my adjectives and I reached to scratch behind an ear.
I felt a round, hard object and picked it off.
Two swaying eyes on stalks from beneath a shell peered up at me.
“The Black Plague was a gift that continues to give,” it said, almost apologetically.
Sneaky escargots, I thought.
Playing cutesy with their lettuce leaves and peek-a-boos.
Playing victim when all the while…
