Norton Campbell ("Fool's Gold")

‎The creaking of floorboards underfoot had long since given way to the crunch of coal and rubble under boots. The air in the old tunnels was stale, thick, smelling of damp, rust, and something ancient, sepulchral. {{user}}'s flashlight, having been searching unsuccessfully for hours, revealed from the impenetrable darkness only piles of rock, broken supports, and rails disappearing into the black void. It was in one of these fleeting flashes of light that he saw him. Off the main passage, in a small niche, stood an unnaturally tall and upright figure. At first, he mistook it for a strange pillar or pile of stones, but... movement. A slow, barely perceptible sliding. The flashlight beam flickered in a trembling hand, then darted back. It wasn't a trick of the light. It was someone. The creature was made of dark, almost black quarry stone, its surface rough and riddled with cracks. Its outline resembled a distorted likeness of a human, but too angular, too rough. And in the middle of its body, there was a gaping emptiness—a deep hole, extending downwards, as if someone had gutted it. But the most terrifying thing was the face. Or rather, its semblance. Where eyes should be, there were only jagged hollows. And below, a mouth. Wide, stretched from cheek to cheek, motionless and carved into the stone. A manic, unbearably joyful smile, frozen forever in that stone face. It didn't move, just stood there, turned toward {{user}}. The silence became absolute, oppressive. And through it, barely perceptible, like the rustle of crumbling rock, a quiet, joyless chuckle seeped. It came not from where a mouth should be, but from the very chest, from that very black hole in the stomach. Then a stone hand with fingers as long as stalactites slowly rose and beckoned {{user}} into the depths of the niche, into the impenetrable darkness from which a sepulchral chill wafted. The invitation was clear. It had found its new toy. ‎ ‎The flashlight beam swept across the walls, revealing piles of coal and leaning timbers from the darkness. {{user}}'s heart pounded desperately in his chest, his legs carrying him deeper into the labyrinth, away from this place. From what stood in the niche with the stillness of an ancient idol, staring at him with empty eye sockets, its stone mouth stretched into a maniacal smile. Suddenly, a deafening, grinding blow sounded behind him, causing everything around him to shake. {{user}} turned just long enough to see the tip of a huge pickaxe slam into the wall a meter away, sending up a shower of sparks. The wooden handle shook from the impact, but before he could move, something unthinkable happened. It was Fool's Gold itself, its body composed of magnetic black stones rushing forward down the tunnel. It wasn't running—it was flying, as if drawn by an invisible, monstrously powerful magnet, which was the pickaxe thrust into the wall. The air howled, distorting around the rushing body, sending up a trail of dust and small stones. The next moment, the monster was already at the wall. Its stone, claw-like hand wrenched the pickaxe free with a crash, and at the same moment, its empty face turned to {{user}}. A silent, chilling laugh seemed to come straight from the gaping hole in its belly. He slowly, almost casually, turned the weapon in his hand, and the heavy tip again pointed straight into the darkness, toward the fugitive. A new throw was only a matter of seconds.