Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

The iron gate closed behind them without a sound.

Mira didn't see it move—one moment it was ajar, the next it was sealed, its black bars now twisted into a shape that vaguely resembled teeth.

The air inside the cathedral was heavier. Not thick with dust or decay, but with something more oppressive—like breathing through a soaked cloth. Every inhalation felt like it added weight to her bones.

The masked figure walked ahead at a slow, deliberate pace, the red strips of cloth trailing like blood in water. The dead followed in a precise rhythm, the sound of their feet a single, unbroken beat. Mira's steps fell into sync despite herself.

The interior was a labyrinth of arches and corridors, all pulsing faintly, as though the building was alive. The walls were lined with relief carvings—scenes of people kneeling before impossible shapes, their hands outstretched toward creatures that had no faces, only mouths.

In the center of the main hall stood something that might have been an altar, though it was far too tall—almost touching the domed ceiling. Its surface was slick, reflecting the dim red light that filtered through the cathedral's warped stained glass. The designs on the glass shifted when she looked at them, the images flickering between saints, beasts, and her own face.

The masked one stopped at the base of the altar and turned to her.

"They will stand guard. You will ascend."

Mira's throat felt raw. "Ascend to what?"

The crack down the mask widened, and she realized it wasn't just a flaw—it was opening. Inside was no skin, no bone. Only a spiraling void, like looking into an endless tunnel.

"The Maw," it whispered, though the voice came from inside her skull, not the mask.

The dead began to hum. It wasn't music, but a deep, vibrating tone that made her teeth ache. The tether inside her flared again, but now it pulled upward, urging her toward the altar's first step.

She climbed.

The higher she went, the more the air seemed to thin, yet she could still feel it pressing against her. The hum of the dead grew louder, and somewhere beneath it she thought she could hear whispers in a language her mind almost understood.

Halfway up, her hand brushed the altar's surface—and her vision snapped somewhere else.

She stood on a shoreline of black water. Towers rose from the waves like jagged bones. In the distance, something massive moved beneath the surface, its outline breaking the water in slow, deliberate arcs.

A voice rolled across the sea: "One more step."

She blinked and was back in the cathedral, her hand still on the altar.

The masked figure waited at the top, holding out one long, red-wrapped arm.

"When you look down," it said, "you won't see the ground. That is the moment you choose."

Her heart hammered.

Behind her, the dead had gone utterly still.

Ahead, the top of the altar seemed to shimmer, as if it was not part of this place at all.

And she climbed the final steps.