Margot’s mouth opened and closed. She knew she was supposed to continue the blessing: pour water, ask for mercy. But her hand wouldn’t tilt and no words would leave her mouth. She was locked in perfect terror, her heart threatening to give out from it, every muscle in her body rigid.

And then the man moved forward.

The dirt appeared to bubble around him as he drew one withered leg forward, stepping into the hall. His arms pulled free as they reached toward Margot. She scrambled, but with her back against the wall, she was only able to move to the side. Her feet slipped on loose soil. She fell, landing hard, the bottle of holy water spiraling out of her grip and pouring its contents across the soil.

The dead one continued toward her, and Margot realized she’d fallen between the advancing figures. Metal rang out at her back. The man from the wall blocked the path ahead. She was trapped between the two dead ones, in a passageway barely wide enough for a single person.

“Show me mercy.” The words flowed from her in a stream, almost unintelligible, as she repeated every phrase she remembered Witchety using. She clamped her hand around the talisman across her wrist, feeling the smooth button under her fingers, the sharp edges of her nana’s wedding ring. “I wish you peace. Show me mercy, please!”

The man from the wall reached out, one enormous, pocked hand grasping for her leg. Margot kicked back, felt her shoe connect with soft flesh, and dragged herself backward as he lunged forward again. The metal was almost deafening. She tilted her head back and saw, upside down, the monstrous deer skull swaying as it moved over her.

The hand fastened over her ankle. He dragged her closer, the atrophied muscles unnaturally powerful as he hauled her across the floor. She bit down on a scream as the fingers dug into her skin, threatening to crack the bones in her foot. His second hand reached out, aiming for her face.

“I’m sorry!” she yelled.

The metal rattles fell silent. The hand froze, inches from her head.

Margot hung there, eyes squinted as she stared into the creased, soil-darkened hand. She couldn’t breathe. Pain radiated from her ankle where the dead one pinned her in place.

“I’m…sorry.” That was what had stopped them. She didn’t understand why. The hand slowly, achingly withdrew. The grip on her ankle loosened but didn’t entirely let her go.

They want…an apology?

She stared into the blind, disfigured face ahead of herself. It stared back, the jaw straining behind the black threads. She barely had enough air in her lungs to breathe, but she forced herself to speak.