Entering the tiny room, I gratefully closed the door behind me and turned on the tap over the sink to let the water run cool. I allowed the water to wash over my hands and wrists for a moment, then with some wet paper towels, I dabbed at my sticky forehead and temples, relishing the cool dampness. Turning off the tap, I leaned back against the wall, pressed the moist towels over my eyes and slowly slipped down into a sitting position, my back against the cool marble. Alone now, my duty to my grandmother finished, I finally let my grief escape. Resting my head on my knees, I wept silent tears and though not actively religious, I nevertheless prayed to whatever god there might be for the gentle soul of my departed one.

I awoke, much to my surprise and alarm, still crouched in that small flower room, my muscles much stiffened by long and cramped immobility. I looked at my watch and was shocked by the time--it was after ten o'clock. I had somehow allowed my fatigued body to cajole me into sleeping for nearly six hours! Lurching to my feet amid pinprick attacks of recirculation in my legs, I flung open the door onto a darkened hallway.

I stood there for a moment, holding to the door frame for support, then voiced a tentative, "Hello?" The sound of my voice echoed hollowly down the dark passage without answer. The silence of that night black tomb seemed broken only by the hammering of my terrified heart. Reeling back into the flower room, I turned on the tap over the sink and splashed cold water on my face, both to help shock the sleep from my mind and to try and calm my growing fear. Cupping my hands under the flow of water, I drank several times, trying in vain to quench a sudden thirst and an unnatural dryness of my throat.

Calmed only slightly, I braced my hands against the cold, hard porcelain of the sink and tried to take stock of my situation. What had happened seemed painfully obvious. My exhaustion must have overcome me as I crouched in that out of the way room and as I blissfully slept, I was apparently overlooked when the mausoleum was closed for the night. Now, it appeared that I would have to attempt to arouse a watchman or failing in that, try to find my own way out. The thought, however, of wandering through that maze of darkened corridors, surrounded on all sides by the recumbent dead sent a new shiver of terror through me. For even though I might, at times, revel in the exploration of ancient graveyards and moldering tombs, and could both read and pen tales of crawling horror which depicted acts of the walking dead, the actuality of my present situation brought back my childhood fears of the dead crashing to the forefront of my mind as I realized that I was now trapped in a gigantic stone necropolis with thousands of rotting and decaying corpses surrounding me.

To be continued..