They entered the basement of the old theatre. It was dark, damp, and musty. The place had been abandoned for years and so was in a profound state of disrepair.

They flicked on their flashlights, beaming them across the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Water puddled in various places on the floor, and they could hear the subtle drip drip of more seeping through the ceiling. Wallpaper peeled and curled off the walls, and whole sheets of it were piled in places on the floor.

They turned down a hallway that was barely passable. Floorboards from the ground floor above had given way and fallen into the corridor. They ducked around them, moving ever deeper into the basement’s passageways. There were several rooms to the sides, but most were blocked off, either by boards nailed up across the doorways or by obstructions on the other side.

At the end of the corridor, however, they found an open room. The door had apparently been removed leaving only a dark, gaping maw to greet them.

Without a word, they nodded to each other and stepped through the doorway. They beamed their lights around the room and found mostly castaway items — old desks, broken props, and lots of empty boxes. But the most striking item in the room was by far the statue.

The statue was of a human man, and it was suspended from the ceiling by several thin strands of cable. One strand supported the statue’s lower legs, another the thighs, and the final strand wrapped around the statue’s torso. Its arms were stretched out behind its back.

Finally, one of them broke the silence with a whispered query. “Do you think it was carved from there?” she asked.

He shook his head. His reply was also a whisper. “Doubtful. There isn’t enough slack in those cables for a full block of stone.”

They played their lights along the length of the statue. It was carved with great skill. Every muscle and sinew was readily visible, and the artist had even taken time to sculpt blood vessels bulging from the statue’s skin.

“What’s it made of?” she asked. “I don’t recognize the material. Limestone, maybe?”

He shook his head again. “I don’t think so. I don’t recognize it, either. I’ll take a sample scraping, and we can analyze it when we get back.”

He drew from his pocket a folding knife and a plastic ziplock bag. Then he reached up and carefully but forcefully chipped a small piece off the statue’s side and dropped it into the bag, sealing it.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, still whispering. “I think we’ve seen enough for now.” He started to walk out of the room but stopped when he realized she wasn’t following. “What’s wrong?” he asked her.

In response she merely pointed, to the spot where he’d taken the scraping. Liquid seeped from the location, and he took a few steps closer to get a better look — and drew back, alarmed.

The statue was bleeding.

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