The Crypt

– By Adam Wilby Kayleigh was pissed off, there was less than two hours to go before the stroke of midnight and she hadn’t received so much as a birthday card from any of her friends. Pausing for a moment at the entrance to the churchyard which she regularly used as a shortcut on her way home, she glanced upward. The last vestige of the sun was barely visible on the horizon, the rays of which appeared to cover the sky like a red blanket. Kayleigh had of course seen the crypt before, older than the church itself someone had even today clearly gone to considerable lengths to keep it restored, if she was to hazard a guess the descendants of those buried inside were still rich enough and still cared enough to keep it this way. Traversing her way through the network of graves Kayleigh walked over to the crypt. The outer design was of Tudor architecture unless she was very much mistaken; history had always fascinated her, ever since a very young age she would set aside the comic books that her peers read and instead pour over history books, paying particular attention to the pictures of old building contained within. As she had done countless times before Kayleigh approached the crypt and silently marvelled at the skilled workmanship. Tracing a finger along the marble which had been artificially darkened in the manner of the gothic style of the Tudors she could see the hard work that gone into carving religious imagery into the stone, all of which lay in the shadow of a statue of Saint Christopher on the top of the crypt. Measuring approximately half a metre high the statue depicted the saint carrying a staff and staring out across the horizon, looking every bit the patron saint of travellers. Traversing the crypt round to...