The Sculptress' Gallery

"That's Sarah Winslow," I said. She had a look of terror in her frozen eyes. She stood on a pedestal,  her arms up in a defensive posture.

"Be careful not to touch her," Baraddock said.

He turned away and walked deeper into the chamber, he and his light were being swallowed by the darkness. I ran to catch up.

"This one," he said, his breath visible in the cold air. "He looks like Jackson."

"Yes that's Barry Jackson," I concurred. "That's everybody in the last expedition except Beulah Lapis."

"I count thirty people here. There were six previous expeditions with six members. There is one missing from each expedition," Braddock concluded. He had figured something out but wasn't sharing.

"You boys in here? The feminine voice echoed throughout the cavernous gallery. "I've brought hot tea."

"Over here Euryale," Braddock called.

She carried her lamp chest level and the shadows cast by its flame undulated among the statuary as she approached.

"You two look like you could use something warm," she said.

"None for me thanks. But make sure the drawer here gets some. He'll need to start sketching soon. I want a complete record of this entire chamber," Braddock said looking around.

"Oh I'll take special care of him," she replied. "I am very fond of artists."

The sound was so loud it nearly shattered my ear drums. Euryale was lifted off her feet, her eyes rolled to the top of her skull as if trying to stare at the entry wound on her forehead.

"Are you mad!" I screamed.

"Listen, " Braddock said donning his weird goggles.

A sound, like a nest of vipers started to grow from where Euryale landed.

"It's probably too late for the others," he sighed. "No matter what, don't look directly in her face."