‘Just mind your heads coming down the last step, this one’s a good low ceiling. We’re going to head to the right just after you take a look in this room over here. Rumour has it if we turn the lights out, there’s a ghost of a wee boy who likes to tug the clothing of women visitors. Shall we give it a go? Spread yourselves out so that none of ye are near each other – wouldn’t want you to think it’s a con, would we? When I turn the torch off, it’s going to be pitch black in here. You won’t even see your hand in front of your face. Everyone ready?’
She turned the torch off, didn’t move though – the rumours really did say there was a ghost. Sometimes women shrieked and she’d turn the torch back on quickly to find everyone still stood where they had been, other times there was no noise at all and no one reported anything strange. Heather had never felt the presence of a cheeky boy. She didn’t believe in ghosts of any kind.
No noise today so she turned the torch back on and shone it round the room.
‘No one feel anything? Och, he must be asleep or playing elsewhere!’
Heather wasn’t Scottish – she originated from Leeds, but she shoved a few Scottish words into the tour to make it more realistic. The customers had paid, after all. It was only fair she made it as real as she could.
‘We’re going to head down some steps momentarily into what looks like a tunnel. It’s actually a street. We’re underneath some of the Scottish parliamentary buildings. Instead of knocking down the old city here, they just built on top. These vaults and tunnels cover much of the city centre. Some are owned privately but we, and other tour agencies, own the majority. They’re all haunted, not just with the wee boy, but lots of other ghosties from the past. We’ve even featured on shows like Most Haunted. Low dip again, folks, mind yer head. The street you’ll see at the bottom is narrow. If you look up either side, you’ll see the old buildings. Back then, the poor folk lived on the bottom floors, the posh folk, well they didn’t want to be anywhere near all the animals, people and markets, not to mention the emptying of the buckets. Can anyone remember what was shouted?’
All four people shook their heads.
‘Guardaloo!’ shouted Heather, making them all jump and giggle nervously.
She shone her torch up the building sides to show the extent of the concrete walls. ‘The posh folk essentially had ladders to get up to their homes – weird huh – you’d think they were too lazy to climb but it got them away from the smell doon here.’
Changing sides, she shone her torch down the tunnel, about to launch into the speech about it leading down to the river at the bottom, but she paused. Something illuminated by the torch light looked out of place.
Is that… it can’t be? Feet?
The torch beam moved past the feet and legs, up to the face of a young man, his chin on his chest, his eyes open. Two of the people on the tour gasped, then laughed nervously. She knew what they thought: this was obviously part of the tour. Except it wasn’t.
Never in her two years had anyone else ever been present in the old streets. There was no other access that she knew of.
‘Excuse me, sir? You can’t be down here.’
The people on the tour shifted nervously behind her. The man didn’t move.
Heather’s heart was beating like the clappers. The last thing she wanted to do was confront some smackhead that had somehow got into the tunnels. But she was the tour guide, she couldn’t let him stay, as much as she might want to.
‘Sir? Hello.’ She took several steps towards the man, the torch illuminating more and more.
The dark stain across the front of his shirt should have given her some warning that he wasn’t alive, but her brain told her it was the design of the shirt. It wasn’t until she slipped on something sticky that she noticed the stain was red, and that the air held the hint of a metallic smell. She stumbled backwards, the torch spraying its unsteady beam over the red streaks covering the ceiling and walls.
The tour group realised exactly what it was at the same moment, and screams echoed through the tunnel, as they turned and ran back up the steep steps to the higher level, with Heather following rapidly.
Chapter 3
17th December, 1020 hours – Edinburgh City Police Station
Mark had spent a good twenty minutes at the computer checking missing person’s records and the incoming jobs for anyone called Aaron. It had been a fruitless exercise. He was no further forward on proving Toni’s thoughts about a murder. The only deaths that had come in today had been one in A&E, which was an old man brought in from a nursing home, and an unexpected death at the home of a suspected drug user. Neither was called Aaron.
He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, not quite sure why he wanted to believe Toni so much. And it was there – the want to believe – there just wasn’t enough detail to prove it to his sceptical mind. He knew psychics existed – they’d been around forever. Some were scammers but they couldn’t all be – it had to have stemmed from something real for so many people to believe in it. His mother was a believer – swore she’d seen a psychic years before they were all born that told her how many she’d have and that her husband would die young.
All things that had come true.
Wonder if Alex or Ali have ever had call to deal with one on the job?
Picking up the phone, he decided to ask them.
‘Hey bro,’ said Alex, answering after just one ring. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah – just a quick question if that’s alright? You ever dealt with a psychic on the job? One that’s not been a con artist?’
‘Once, yeah. Years ago now. He was wrong about the case stuff – or we thought he was. He saw shit like trees and water. The vic was found in an abandoned factory; but there was a picture on the wall of a forest scene with a river winding through it. So, he was right as well as wrong, if that makes sense. Proper creepy though – he told me that my brother-in-law was going to be paralysed – how hard it would make it for my sister. At the time Hamish wasn’t even married to Mary so I figured it was a load of tosh, thought no more of it until the accident. Why you asking? You have cause to deal with one now?’
‘Yeah – you might remember her actually. Toni? I hung around with her at school?’
‘The gyp… I mean the traveller – Romani, wasn’t she?’
Nodding and forgetting Alex couldn’t see him, Mark continued, ‘She came into the station, said she’d seen this that and the other. I didn’t believe her – still don’t really – we haven’t had a report of any murder matching what she’s said.’
‘You want to though, don’t you? Believe her, I mean? Weird how they get under your skin like that. Maybe it’s not something happening today?’
‘She’s insistent it is today, though.’
‘Well I’d just say stay open-minded. Know what you’re like for needing proof so it computes in your mind. Just don’t let that need for proof let you overlook possible facts. Oh crap, Izzy… what the heck… gotta go, Bro. Sorry.’
Mark wondered what Izzy, his niece, had done to warrant a quick hang-up. He’d find out when they got there tomorrow he was sure.
What Alex said made sense. He knew he had a tendency not to take things as gospel – he liked to think he got that trait off his dad. He’d been the same – even when they were kids his dad liked to see they’d done their chores rather than being told about it. Mark remembered him trailing his finger along the bookshelves in his room when Mark had said he’d dusted but hadn’t really. His dad hadn’t got angry – he wiped the dust off his finger, got the duster, and showed Mark how to do it properly on one shelf before leaving him to do the rest. He grinned at the memory – it had never been that he didn’t know how to dust – he did. He’d been lazy. But he loved that his dad was practical enough just to show him the error without yelling.
The phone rang beside him and he grabbed it and answered, the grin soon vanishing off his face when comms told him about a suspicious death coming in. Dread settled in the pit of
his stomach like it always did when such calls came in.
17th December, 1030 hours – vaults under The Royal Mile, Edinburgh
He’d been standing well out of view in an alcove in a room off the main street – it was a room the tour guides didn’t go into. Small and pokey, it wouldn’t have held more than five or six people comfortably. The guides didn’t normally bring people this far down anyway. Had no idea that the shadow at the top of the room was actually an open section that led through to another private vault, one he used for access.
Even his white teeth hadn’t shown in the darkness as he’d heard the tour guide approach. He waited with bated breath as she shouted ‘guardaloo’, knowing she’d be almost in view of his spectacular showpiece.
When her voice trailed off, he chanced a glance round the wall to see what was happening. He felt like a kid in a candy shop when the torchlight lit up the body of the lad on the floor. Then the screams came and it was like applause for the grand unveiling. It wouldn’t be long now until the place was crawling with police.
It was time to leave.
He went on his stomach through the crawl space into the next vault, trying not to breathe in the dust that lay all around. A good fifteen minutes later, he surfaced, wiped his trousers down and pulled his mobile from his pocket. The number he needed was already in his speed dial – his own number set to be withheld.
‘Edinburgh Daily, which department please.’
‘Headliners, please.’
‘Kim Smith, how can I help,’ said another voice after a short pause.
‘There’s been a murder,’ he grinned, putting on a fake Taggert-style accent. ‘In the vaults under The Royal Mile. His body is for the progression of medical science. The world needs to know that Burke and Hare are back, and they have a better method of killing than the suffocations of old. Burke and Hare left their message on the body – a postcard.’
He didn’t wait for a response, just hung up the phone and put it back in his pocket.
Chapter 4
17th December, 1040 hours – Toni’s flat, Harrison Gardens
Duke Bain sat in his car outside her flat. He could see her sitting in the window – her expression blank as she stared out into the park opposite. She’d been sitting there every time he’d been here, goading him.
Antonia was meant to have been his wife.
And she’d been hot, way hotter than any of the other prospects. He’d been approaching eighteen – young, dumb and full of cum as the old expression went. He’d wanted her in bed – and her being his wife was the only way he’d have been able to. Otherwise she’d have been soiled. Sex with Romani women just wasn’t done at that age, not unmarried. He’d had sex by then – lots of it, in fact – but never with the young women of his community. It had been drummed into him from a young age that it was forbidden.
So, he’d begged his parents to arrange their marriage. To get it sorted so he could have her. And they had – they’d spoken to her dad and got the dowry sorted. Then she’d up and left – before the wedding details had even been confirmed.
And he’d ended up with Bette – who’d been okay, but nowhere near as hot as Antonia. She’d haunted his dreams for years, taunting him with her flowing curls and fantastic tits. He’d been thinking of her when he’d banged Bette so hard she ended up with both concussion from hitting her head off the wall behind the bed, and a very fast impregnation. Only the second time they’d had sex and that was it, she was up the duff. With the child that should have been his and Antonia’s. That was way back when his first kid came along. He had four now – Bette was no longer in the picture. His kids were raised by his mother, the proper Romani way. His oldest had just been married off to a girl of good standing. The other three were still with his mum. For now.
He saw Antonia glance down towards his van, silently acknowledging his presence, then she stood and backed away from the window.
He had seen her a couple of days ago, for the first time in years, and following her home had been a stroke of genius on his part. He didn’t even know if she recognised him, but it was about time to find out.
Duke got out of the van, and strode to the communal door of the flats, banging on the door loudly and shouting her name.
Eventually the door opened and she peeked around it.
‘Duke Bain? Is that you? What do you want? You’re yelling and making a scene.’
‘I’ll do more than make a scene. You owe me an explanation.’
‘I don’t owe you anything. What’s this about?’
‘You were meant to be my wife. It was agreed.’
‘That was a stupid promise from our parents. We didn’t even really know each other. This is ridiculous. How did you find out where I lived? I’m not part of the community anymore.’
Duke felt his anger burn – who the hell did she think she was, talking to him like that? Condescending bitch.
His hand flew forward, his palm connecting with the door with a loud bang, making Toni jump. She tried to disguise the look of fear but he caught it and he knew she was scared. As well she should be.
‘You were meant to be my wife. For days I’ve followed you, trying to get you to understand that. I’ll take you back – you can live with us again. You never should have left.’
Toni stared at him, incredulous. ‘You’ve been following me? What the hell? You’re an adult for fuck’s sake. I’m not coming back. I have a life, friends, a job. Even if not for those things, I don’t want to go back. I never wanted to. I wasn’t forced to leave. That just wasn’t my life.’
‘You’re willing to turn your back on your whole heritage, our culture. Just because you think it’s not your life? Your life doesn’t matter. You should know that by now. You’re meant to be a wife, raise kids, keep the house tidy. It’s the man’s job to go and work. It’s fucking sad that you’re a pathetic thirty-odd-year-old virgin living here with these… people. I’m offering you the chance to come back, with me. You know me, my family. I’d make sure you were accepted back without any consequences.’
‘I don’t care about the consequences. I’m not coming back. That life, your life, is not my life. I’m a grown woman. I don’t need my life dictating by you or anyone else. Can’t you understand that? And what the hell makes you think I’m still a virgin? Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not. I’ve not been for a long time.’
Duke paled – he’d always just assumed – not that it mattered really. He knew other women had sex before marriage. It wasn’t exactly traditional but he could overlook it – and prove to her what a real man felt like. Because whoever she’d had before, they weren’t him.
He leaned forward. ‘You’re making a big mistake. Word will get round where you live. You know it won’t be accepted.’
‘Don’t you dare threaten me. Do I look like some helpless kid who’ll just take all that shite? I don’t need you or any other man telling me what to do with my life. You know nothing about me. Piss off, Duke, and don’t come back. Or I’ll ring the police.’
The words sent a chill down his back – Romanis didn’t involve the police. Never. Any issues were handled themselves.
Not trusting himself to speak, he stepped back onto the pavement. Keeping his voice low, he said, ‘Just watch it – see what’s going to happen. Now I’ve found you, I’ll not be letting you go again. I give you a week – you’ll change your mind. Guaranteed. And you’ll bloody well learn to behave like a woman should.’
17th December, 1115 hours – vaults under The Royal Mile, Edinburgh
Mark paused at the door to the vaults – the crime scene tape secured the entrance and the cop on scene guard acknowledged his need to enter with a swish of his hand.
‘CSI is already downstairs. Landed a couple of minutes ago.’
‘Where’s the first on scene?’
‘He walked the CSI down – said it’s narrow and fucking dark. You’ll need a torch.’
Mark nodded and pulled his penlight from his po
cket. The cop moved the tape aside and allowed him access. The ramp was steep, and immediately Mark felt as if the walls were closing in on him. He put his hand on the cool concrete wall, steadying himself for a second. He hated small places like this – always had. As a kid, he’d got stuck in the cupboard under the stairs. And by ‘stuck’ he meant locked in there by his brothers. They knew he hated the dark and thought it hilarious. Since then he’d managed to avoid tight spaces like this one, until today.
It was freezing, but beads of sweat littered his forehead as he gingerly made his way down the ramp, focussing on taking long deep breaths so his anxiety didn’t take hold. He’d never told anyone about this fear, or any fear for that matter.
The feeling of dread he’d had earlier hadn’t gone – it sat like a hard ball in his stomach. The phone call from Toni hadn’t helped – Aaron – that’s what she’d said the body would be called. Quite possibly the body he was on his way down to see. He paused for a moment, getting his bearings. Every section of the tunnel looked the same to him – all concrete and swallowing darkness. Somewhere ahead he could hear the steady drip of water hitting the floor.
He followed the ramp down to the steep steps and stopped, flashing his torch up and down the tunnel. He couldn’t see anything or anyone. So, when he felt a presence somewhere near him, he jumped back, his elbow connecting with the wall and his torch dropping to the floor, instantly going out.
Shit, fucking bastard shit. He couldn’t move, his back pinned against the wall. He knew he was being stupid, his head was screaming at him to run, while a small part told him not to be such a wuss and to bend down and pick his torch up. He felt something brush past him, tug ever so slightly on his sleeve. His mouth opened of its own accord – the loud gasp that escaped impossible to stop. Then before he could react further, it was gone. The sensation that he wasn’t alone passed and he knew the tunnel was empty but for him.
From the Dark Page 3