The stairway was exactly where the scroll you found in the university’s library said it would be. Down you go, step by step. The damp walls reflect the fire of your torch as you are descending deeper into the confines of the earth. White, translucent salamanders scuttle off as you find a door at the bottom of the stairwell. With a racing heart you push it open. In the hall behind it there is a little blonde girl with books under her arm. Or rather her ghost, transparent, hovering over the stone floor. She mutters something and you draw nearer to make out the words:
„Why nICHt? Gothic Time – Winter 2016.
Send your gothic-themed prose, poetry, short drama and fragments to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Up to four A4 pages, not more. German, English and French are accepted. Visit our submission guidelines if you dare.
Now, submit your writings, otherwise off with your head…”
And the door behind you slams shut…