Friday Fictioneers photo prompt:
Panting, trembling, nearly blinded with sweat, they rushed down the stairs that would take them to the crypt. They had never experienced such darkness. One tiny light flickered, showing them the path.
Hand grasping sweaty hand, they entered the arched tunnel. They had nowhere else to go. Whatever waited for them at the end would spell life or death.
They heard no pursuit, and felt they might make it. Running, running,running.
The end of the tunnel. The opening before them widened. The crypt. Musty. Dark. Dank.
No light, and then. . .Floodlights! Caught!