Jake huffs a surprised breath at the sudden cold as he runs into it, then motions his nearest companion to cover him, sweeping the entirety of the room for the source of the sound, which is now very close. Seeing nothing to account for the continued crying above the access rungs or what his torch can show him of the next chamber, he carefully approaches the skeleton, not without the crowbar at the ready.

"Hey," he tries, since it makes as much sense as anything, descending into Hell, "-this you?"

Sully sweeps his lamp beam around the room, seeing nothing but the skeleton. "god almighty," issues from him as a plume of frosty breath.

He moves over to direct his light up the rusty rungs and follows them with it up to the limit of its reach. Seeing nothing, he moves to cover down the next stretch of tunnel with his gun. The sourceless weeping is beginning to get on his nerves.

As soon as Jake asks his question, the crying ceases, an abrupt silence overtaking the chamber which is deep enough to make each investigator’s breath seem impossibly loud.

Then, without any apparent source, a sharp breeze passes through the room, the cold movement of air briefly numbing the men’s exposed skin before rushing down the adjoining eastern corridor.

Not sure as to whether that was a 'yes' or a 'no', Jake flinches somewhat at the utter iciness of the sudden movement of air and gestures Arthur at the human remains. "Get 'em photographed, at least. Might just be a friend of Frosty and they're going to show us something else."

Sully bends to throw his bright carbide light over the skeleton for the benefit of Art’s photograph. As he does, he observes the spot more closely, looking for traces of clothing. Could the person have wandered these tunnels naked with just a candle?

"These are souvenirs of their deeds, so the book said. It spoke of canine humanoids that feasted equally on the living or the dead, and they kept these bones as trophies. Servants of a dark power called Nyogtha," he said quietly, to himself or whoever would hear. He didn't know that it was particularly helpful, but better to have some idea of what might be lurking here, now that myths and legends were showing themselves to have some relationship to fact.

Arthur, crestfallen to see the truth of it, took the photograph and tried to swallow, finding that his mouth was quite dry.

He turned to the professor and admonished him, "Don't use that name."

Sully’s careful examination of the area surrounding the skeleton does not turn up any evidence of clothing, not even a lingering thread or tatter. However, the reporter is able to see that both of the corpse’s wrists are broken, splintering injuries that appear to have been the result of a terrible struggle against restraint. Arthur is able to obtain clear shots of the entire skeleton, as well as the noted breaks.

Moving to the east, toward the direction of the icy air’s shift, Jake momentarily believes that he can hear some kind of muttering, a voice that sounds low and human, but faint. The noise lasts only a moment before succumbing to silence.

Jake pauses and makes a careful sweep with his torch in the area that seemed to be remarked upon. "What?" he hisses to the thin air, aware the others aren't quite caught up yet. He licks his lips and spares a glance that way, but is too on edge not to keep the majority of his attention ahead.

"Hey, ghost? If it's hard to talk, you're real frosty to us live guys...you want to try tapping my hand instead, one touch for yes, double-tap for no?" he whispers to the dark.

Sully straightens up as Art finishes his photographs. He badly wants a cigarette and a drink, but decides against either.

Hearing the conversational rhythm of Jake’s voice, though not the words, he hurries to catch up.

Arthur stepped away and followed along with Sully. Hearing that name had grated on his ears, but as far as he could tell, there was nothing more to see here, and Jake was headed onward.

For a moment, Jake’s question hangs in the seemingly empty air, the detective’s steaming breath misting in the darkness. The silence lingers long enough for him to wonder if he was heard at all, or if the disquieted spirit might have fled off into the gloom, to keep company alone with its sorrow once more.

Then, he feels a touch. The icy, but gentle, sensation of a hand briefly clasping his wrist and giving it a single squeeze.

As the other investigators move to join Morris, they begin to also discern the sound of muttering from somewhere further east. The faint voice is disquieting, the rhythm of its indecipherable words suggesting the stumbling, nonsensical talk of someone in the throes of terror, or madness.

"OK, OK..." Jake's saying as the others come up. He glances at them and starts into motion again, tense and searching ahead with his beam. "You taking us to some people we can help?"

He asks other questions as they go along, giving options in steady rhythm for that one strong pulse of 'yes': "Are you a Mister? A Missus? A Miss? Are you Christian? Jewish? Something else? Did they kill you, or you died of starvation, injury, exposure? _{Is that why you're cold?}"

The last question is mostly to himself, but the mine-like temperature of the place compared to the summer night outside makes him struggle to retain an awareness of time, and even that a surface world exists at all, down in this unlit place.

Sully wonders how far gone Jake is, muttering to himself, not enough unlike that other voice for comfort. But he turns up his collar against the cold and follows faithfully.

"Are you communing with the deceased, Morris?" he asked quietly as Jake seemed to mutter to himself.

Jake looks round a little too fast at the living voice, but calms and looks ahead, swallowing the temptation to sarcasm. It was the kind of place you might forget what gender or religion you were, forget even that you had been a man and not some strange kind of mole. His nostrils twitch, seeking more than the sewer scent and the drifting carrion reek from far behind, instinct raising the hairs on his neck and body to be communicating with something he can neither scent nor see.

"...yeah, our friend has enough will left to try 'n talk, just not the body and lungs and stuff. Playin' one-tap-two-tap with my hand." He manages not to add most exciting discovery you'll never publish, huh, since Wells doesn't need the misplaced spite, nor the temptation set before him to do something other than help this lost soul to where it ought to be, and rest.

Arthur listened to Jake's questioning, and when Professor Wells had guessed at Jake's intention, Arthur tried to hear exactly what Jake was responding to.

This was distressing, but it was best to...help someone, if that was what they were doing right now. So he was happy to follow Jake's lead and try to help in whatever way was possible.

He simply nodded slowly at the response, but did nothing further to interrupt, allowing the communication process to proceed. He took some mental notes of what was happening for his own personal records; this was the most exciting discovery that he would never publish.

With Jake and the others engrossed in impromptu Spiritualism, Sully redoubles his vigilance, sweeping the gloomy environs with his light, eyes, and gun barrels.

When Jake poses his question about the unseen presence taking the investigators to people in need of help, he receives another single cold grip of his wrist. It is followed by a brief tug, a pull in the direction of the east, as if urging him to follow further down the dark passageway.

His further inquiries inform him that the restless spirit is female and Christian, though his questions about how she died are met with an uncertain chill fluttering at his wrist, as if his guide is having difficulty communicating the circumstances of her untimely death.

Although Jake follows the ghost’s promptings, it is Sullivan Quinn who first sees the silhouette of a figure further down the corridor, in what appears to be another chamber. The figure is slumped on the ground, its arms raised over its head, as if they are fastened somehow to the wall behind it.

"I'm coming," Jake assures their ghost friend, hastening onward. He fills the others in as they go: "She knows where some hostages are. Needs to go in a...Protestant? cemetery if we get the chance to get her body out, and it's like she died of all the things I mentioned to her: attack, injuries, starvation, cold, so...I guess have the whiskey ready."

To their fifth companion, he starts working on the slimmest bit of identification: "All right, so are you a Miss A, B, C, D..." He does not slow in his step until Sully pauses momentarily to parse some shape ahead, trying to read what's up from the reporter's pose.

"Hold on, Jake. There's someone sitting in the passage there."

He moves his head and lamp to more fully illuminate the figure. As he does, he steps up beside the detective and trains his shotgun on whatever it may be.

Jake does hold on, and squints to make out whether the 'someone' is among the living or a potenially hostile corpse. "Easy there," he says, noting that threat or not, the figure before them seems in a state of collapse. He raises his voice to seem decisive, though it's only as far as the softest speaking volume. "Come on, let's go up - this one's tied."

Jake runs rapidly through the alphabet, receiving a confirming squeeze upon reaching the letter M. He feels another tug from the unseen hand, urging him toward the chamber ahead.

Coming within a few steps of the room, Sully can see that there are five individuals lined against the bare stone walls, each one’s hands held above their heads by iron manacles which have been hammered into the stone. All five persons, two men and three women, appear to be alive, though most seem to be barely conscious. The first of the captives that had been noticed is clearly the most recent addition, clad in a torn shirt and trousers. The clothing of the other prisoners is filthier, resembling rags in some cases.

”Going to die here,” one of the women mumbles, as if talking in her sleep. None acknowledge the investigators’ presence.

At the eastern end of the room is an opening in the floor, iron rungs set into the northern side of the pit, which descends into darkness. The scent of carrion rises from the aperture and from somewhere below, a vaguely canine snarling is briefly heard.

At the sound of the snarling, Wells bit back the oath he had been about to unleash. He cast about, using the light from the helmet to illuminate portions of the room to give him a better look. He was hoping to see whether there were any tools about that he could use to free these people. Of course, Jake had brought his crowbar and that might be the best they had.