The lack of any reaction on the girl's face who herself was reading a book in whatever language it was that she assumed was used in her country of origin reassured Heather that her little admiration session may have gone unnoticed and so she tried to return her thoughts back to the sights and sounds of South London.A few minutes later, as the bus passed that cute little Lebanese place that she promised herself that she was going to try one day but after three years of riding past it every day still hadn't, Heather felt something on her knee. She glanced down but there was nothing to see other than the stonewash jeans she had changed into before walking to the bus stop.Heather returned her gaze to the window and the second she did so she once again felt something on her knee, but it wasn't just something this time, it was a hand, and somebody was stroking her knee. Heather looked down once more yet again there was no perpetrator to be seen. Every passenger within a viable proximity was. He heard voices, though whether with his ears or in his mind he could not say. Many voices, speaking in languages he did not completely understand. He thought he caught a few words of French, but there was another language underlying that which more closely resembled the Creole patois he heard the natives around here speaking. The voices seemed to emanate from deeper within the cave, so he followed them. It was not until he had gone about twenty feet underground that he realized he was still able to see. It was as if the walls of the cave were luminescent, a cold light that did nothing to comfort but only to light the path. He continued deeper still and noticed that the light was taking on a more golden glow… the smell of smoke growing stronger as he pushed deeper inside. Finally, rounding a low corner, he found the source of the light and the smell. A fire was blazing away there in the middle of this chamber, the flames licking up and touching the ceiling leaving patterns of soot on.
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