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equipment took prominence.

"This equipment is normally used to listen to the earth's movements at different levels. That's why we're were there. This was taken at about fourteen and a half kilometres down, about nine miles." He took a deep, steadying breath. When he released it curls of white vapour clouded the air. "at fist we thought it was the equipment. We knew it was pretty hot down there and some of the men seemed to think the heat was distorting the microphone. But we checked it, and it seemed fine, so we tried again. That's when we heard it." He wiped a pale, trembling hand over his face, mopping up the sweat clotted on his forehead.

"Can I hear it?" The priest asked. Fear and curiosity warred inside him. But fear, he knew, was what kept men ignorant and he wanted no part of it.

Without another word, Craddock reached out and pushed some buttons on the immense piece of equipment. It whirred slowly into life, sending out a short burst of static into the tiny hut. A second later a sharp, high sound replaced the static, like metal being twisted against it's will. Then came the voices. It sounded like hundreds, thousands of them. And they were screaming. Screams of pain and agony, desperate screams of terror and hopelessness and despair.

"Jesus," the young priest muttered, barely conscious he had done so. Though he didn't know is, his face had gone the same ashen grey as Craddock's. tears sprang to his wide, unblinking eyes.

Abruptly the tape ended and the machine clicked off. The silence was suddenly like a physical presence. For a moment neither man spoke, what they had just heard reverberating through both their minds, drowning out any other thoughts.

"In Mathew, 13:42, Jesus says And I shall cast them into a furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth'."

Craddock's head snapped round at this. "I don't think Jesus has anything to do with this."

"If you believe in Hell, Mr Craddock, you must believe there is a heaven. Otherwise what is the point?"

"That's what you think this is then? Hell? Satan, or Lucifer, or whatever you call him?" His tone was sceptical, fear making it that way more than any latent disbelief.

"Don't you? Isn't that why I am here?"

The older man didn't answer. He picked up his torch from the bench and opened the door. Tom followed, his legs no longer steady, feeling as though they belonged to someone else, to a different time a place. They fought their way back through the storm to the large fissure which dominated

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