marieldraconis

Come closer, my child, and here tell what happens to those who disturb the dead....

There was once a girl, naive and curious about the world, who sought to learn of the past in the only way she knew how—through books. She read and read, but in the end learned not enough to satisfy her curiosity. As she looked for more to read, she fell into archaeology. Soon, an archaeological expedition set out to unearth the garden of a college, and she was among those who offered to help dig.
At first, all went well. Every day, they arrived at the dig site, and removed the tools from a chilly basement room. That would be their last escape from heat until lunchtime, when they fled to nearby restaurants and coffee shops, only to return an hour later and dig until collapse. Then they would place the tools in the basement, and leave, only to repeat the process again the next day.
One day, the girl noticed two doors in the storage room, doors that did not blend in with the architecture of the rest of the building. She asked one of her comrades, “What lies behind those doors?”
“Lord Botetourt and the Randolph family. They were fairly influential in this city, soon after it was founded, so they got to be buried under the college.”
The girl wondered at the wisdom of storing their digging tools near dead bodies, but she said nothing and went back to work.

On the last day of the dig, a great storm rose up and they had to take shelter. The group fled to their storage room, the anteroom of the crypt. A few, including the girl, huddled under an overhang waiting for the storm to subside, while the others went into the storage room itself. The girl stared out at the storm for some time, finally turning to ask a question of those who remained inside—to find them gone.
“Where did they go?”
“One of the doors was open, and they went to explore the crypt. I’m going too; do you want to join me?”
The girl declined. One by one, the rest of the group fled inside to wait out the rain. There was no noise but the drops of rain. Eventually, those also stopped. The girl called for her comrades. No response. She called again. No answer. Finally she went into the tomb, and saw....

Note: this is not yet finished. I ran out of time. It’s also my first ghost story, and I don’t read much horror, so any advice on how to write this sort of story would be much appreciated.