The Dark Spirits Beneath

it. Slowly, quietly, she made her way over to the door. She undid the chain latch and turned the deadbolt cautiously. Her pulse racing, she placed her hand on the scratched handle, and turned it to its limit, before flinging open the door, and raising the mug high above her head.
There was, of course, no one there. Feeling a bit stupid, Layla began to shut the door when the glint of something on the doorstep caught her eye. The mug fell to the linoleum floor with a loud clink, and Layla instantly jumped back in absolute terror. As if she'd just seen a ghost. She creaked the door open fully, and gazed down to take in what it was she was seeing. The smooth image of the serpent, carved in time-worn wood, crept down, winding it's the way toward the handle and hafted hilt, giving way to the sharp, jagged ebony glass blade of an obsidian dagger. The obsidian dagger. The danger she very reasonably thought she would never see again, because the last time she saw it, she was burying it into the chest of Dr. Ruiz, as he fell and was consumed by the stone pit, and the writhing beast that was held within.
On the blade was a yellow Post-it note, with a message, hastily scrawled on it, in blood-red Sharpie. Three simple, direct words, that held a weight that cut Layla to the quick:
You’ll need this.
Layla swallowed hard. Kneeling, she reached out a trembling, hesitant hand, as she lifted and turned over the blade by its handle, and shut the door.
THE END