I walk the Paris catacombs. Me and my torch. The only living boy in the ossuary.
They moved the bones down here when the graveyards overflowed. That’s what we tell people, at least.
In reality, they’re what’s left of the ones who didn’t read the sign. There’s always some who aren’t satisfied with the tour and go exploring.
So every night, I come down here. See who walked off the path. Find their skeleton, stack them with the rest.
We did warn them. It’s there on the sign: Il est tout noire. Vous êtes susceptibles d’être mangés par un grue.