In the fall of 1980, four nuns from a small village vanished without a clue, casting their devoted community into a haze of sorrow and uneasy rumors

Something near the ground, partially hidden by decorative shrubbery. Curious, Father Elias moved closer and parted the branches to reveal a metal grate set into the earth. An air vent of some kind, it appeared old and weathered, its iron bars rusted with age.

Father Elias frowned, perplexed. If the chapel had been completely demolished, why would an old air vent remain? And why would a landscaped area with no structures need ventilation at all? He crouched beside the vent, examining it more closely. The design was vintage, possibly dating back to the 1930s or 40s with ornate scrollwork around its edges.

It seemed incongruous with the modern minimalist aesthetic of Redwood’s property. As he leaned closer, a sound drifted up through the grate, so faint that at first Father Elias thought he had imagined it. But then it came again.

A soft, melodic humming, followed by what sounded distinctly like a human cough. Father Elias’s blood ran cold. The humming was reminiscent of the Gregorian chant he had heard on his car radio, but this was no electrical glitch or figment of his imagination.

Someone was below ground, beneath what had once been St. Dymphna’s Chapel. Hello? he called softly through the grate, but the humming continued uninterrupted, suggesting the person couldn’t hear him from their subterranean location. Father Elias straightened up, his mind racing.

The implications were disturbing. Why would there be an underground space beneath the former chapel site? And more importantly, who was down there? He looked around, half expecting to see Silas Redwood approaching with fury in his eyes, but the property remained quiet and apparently unmonitored, at least in this section. The main house was hidden from view by a stand of trees, and no security cameras were visible in the immediate vicinity.

Drawing his cell phone from his pocket, Father Elias dialed 9-1-1, his hand trembling slightly as he raised the device to his ear. 9-1-1, what’s your emergency? a dispatcher’s voice answered. My name is Father Elias Moreau, he said, keeping his voice low despite the apparent solitude.

I’m at the property of Silas Redwood, near the former site of St. Dymphna’s Chapel, off Route 37. I…. He hesitated, suddenly aware of how strange his report would sound. I believe someone may be trapped underground.

I can hear singing and coughing coming from an air vent. There was a brief silence on the other end. Sir, are you saying you suspect someone is being held against their will? I don’t know, Father Elias admitted, but there appears to be an underground space of some kind, and someone is definitely down there.

Given the remote location, and the fact that this property is private, I’m concerned. Are you on the property legally, sir? the dispatcher asked, a note of skepticism entering her voice. Father Elias winced.

I… accidentally damaged a section of fence and found myself on the property. I realize I’m trespassing, but this seemed like an emergency situation. I understand.

What is your exact location on the property? Father Elias described his position as best he could, explaining that he was near where St. Dymphna’s Chapel had formerly stood. We’ll send officers to investigate, the dispatcher assured him. Please remain where you are until they arrive, unless you feel you’re in danger.

Thank you, Father Elias replied, relief washing over him. I’ll wait by my vehicle, which is parked on the roadside, near the main gate. After ending the call, Father Elias took one last look at the mysterious air vent.

The humming had stopped, but as he listened intently, he could still hear occasional sounds of movement from below. Someone was definitely down there, and the thought sent a chill down his spine. He made his way back to the broken section of fence, carefully squeezing through the gap and returning to the public road.

As he walked toward his parked car, he dialed Harold Gibbons’ number, feeling an urgent need to gather more information before the police arrived. Harold? It’s Father Elias again. I need to ask you something important.

When St. Dymphna’s was still standing, was there any kind of basement or underground room beneath it? Harold sounded surprised by the question. No, Father. The chapel was built on a simple slab foundation.

No basement, no crypt, nothing like that. Why do you ask? Father Elias explained what he had discovered, the air vent and the sounds coming from below ground. That’s impossible, Harold said firmly.

There was never any underground structure at St. Dymphna’s. I maintained that property for twenty years. I would know.

Then the only explanation is that someone built it after the chapel was demolished, Father Elias concluded. When Silas Redwood took ownership…. That’s disturbing, Harold admitted. What are you going to do? I’ve already called the police.

They’re sending officers to investigate. I’ll come, too, Harold decided. I know that property better than anyone…