by Blake Croft
Linda did as he asked. It helped that she didn’t have to look at the mine coming closer and closer like some nightmare monstrosity. It was a charge sheet that listed the names of several men and a few women. The date was August 1928, right smack in the heart of Prohibition. Linda could figure what the charges were.
“Are these the bootleggers?” she asked, scanning the names hoping one would ring a bell.
“Not all of them,” Scott said. The car crawled to a stop. “The distillery belonged to the Coleman brothers, and the Shaw family financed the whole operation. The ladies you see on there, Lilly and Penelope Shaw? They expanded the business beyond county lines because no officer would check the cars they drove.”
“Wow.” Linda examined the charges. The list was long, but it all came down to the same thing: illegal distillery encourages drunk and disorderly behavior. “But what does this have to do with the secret tunnel?”
“I’m getting to that.” Scott opened his car door and let the breeze in. It rustled the papers in Linda’s lap. Taking the second file from her, he opened it. Black and white photos, damaged by age, spilled out on the car floor. “God damn it!” Scott bent down to retrieve the photos.
Linda leaned down to retrieve some as well. “Mrs. Grady said she found some distillery artifacts on her trips in the mine.”
“Yeah,” Scott said shuffling through pictures, a great frown creasing his forehead. “Small time stuff. Levers, old bottles with liquor gummed up inside. She showed us in class. But the official location of the speakeasy isn’t easy to pinpoint. No one who has ever gone in had said with much confidence where the speakeasy had officially been.”
“Again,” Linda said, losing patience. “What does that have to do with the secret tunnel?”
“Because,” Scott finally stopped shuffling the pictures, a small glow of triumph illuminated his eyes. “The tunnel and the speakeasy are one and the same!”
He flipped the picture around and Linda gasped.
It was a grainy black and white, one corner completely white due to exposure. Uniformed men in the background stood together, arms over each other’s shoulders, their guns hanging on their hips. In the foreground, lay two bodies. Both were tall and dark haired. Their faces were obscured by flecks of black. She could make out the broken nose of one, and the swollen lips of the other.
They were dead.
But more than the police crowing over their kill, it was where they stood that caught her attention.
It was a cavernous place. The ceiling vaulted up, nearly five stories high. Jagged stalactite teeth zigzagged down, their sharp points picked up in the cameras flash. A black diaphanous pool sat perfectly stagnant beside the subjects of the photo. Behind the congregated men, along the base of the far wall were unmistakable graves. Linda counted ten mounds. Many had makeshift crosses, one of which was lopsided and threatened to topple over.
An itch ran along her scalp like the tiny prickly feet of spiders.
Linda had seen this place before in her dreams.
Chapter 27
Linda hugged herself as they entered the mine. A deep sense of foreboding washed over her and she wanted to turn on her heels and run back home, but Scott pushed forward, his flashlight skimming the walls.
Rusty rail tracks guided their way.
Linda was sure whatever the source of the haunting was, it was in that cavern Scott had shown her the picture of.
“So you think there is a tunnel that leads underneath the manor?” Linda asked trying to keep her mind off the scary images of falling somewhere in the shaft and breaking her legs.
“Yes,” Scott said. “I read the reports from the bust on the speakeasy. The arresting officers were appalled to find the distillery setup amidst the shallow graves of the poor murdered miners. I wanted to interview some of the officers, but they’ve all passed away.”
Linda followed him closely. The light was receding as they went in deeper, and she couldn’t help but feel reality slip with it. Was she walking in the mines or was she back in her stumbling dreams where she was blind even though she could see everything?
“What about the perpetrators? One of the Shaws or Colemans?” Linda asked.
“The Coleman brothers were the two dead boys in the picture I showed you. Out of the Shaws only Lily is left, but she’s in an old age home battling dementia.” He grunted and kicked a stone out of the way. “None of this would have turned into a bloodbath, if the stupid Hackridge police had stayed out of it.”
“What did they do?” Linda could feel eyes boring into her back. She tried to ignore it but it was too strong. As soon as she had entered the mine she had felt it, a shift in the air around her as if the place was suddenly sentient.
“They’re the ones in the picture,” Scott spat, his anger palpable. Linda was glad for it because it distracted her from the nasty thought of being prey in some big predator’s game. “As Milo tells it, most of the patrons came out easy enough, as did the Shaw sisters. They had just negotiated release with the Shaw men when the Hackridge police arrived. They think they’re city police, so they have more experience. Heck, I know my town and these people, and I’m more qualified to talk my townsfolk off a ledge or out of a stupid idea.”
Linda could tell all this anger towards the city police was coming from a very personal space, but she didn’t want to pry.
“Anyway, the Coleman’s smell trouble and retreat deeper in the mineshaft where they have their distillery. The city cops threatened, and then opened fire. I can imagine the pandemonium. Sound carries in these shafts, and nearly everyone must have been scared hearing gunshots.”
For a second Linda thought she heard the exchange of gun fire and the startled screams of innocent bystanders.
“The scene was cleared. Everyone goes home and the place is cordoned off and kept off limits, so as not to stir town sentiment about the recent killings and the old ones.” Scott stopped walking. They had arrived at a crossroads. He consulted a piece of paper and went left. “Everyone stays away, and the mine develops a sinister reputation.”
“So what are we doing here, if you already know all this?” Linda asked. Her gut had squeezed suddenly, her body telling her to walk back while there was still time.
“I want to find the cavern and the secret tunnel,” Scott said.
“But no one knows where it is,” Linda stepped carefully on the uneven ground. Her motivation to come to the mines was to find the remains of the miners. She still wasn’t sure about the Shannon and Tara theory, so her best guess was that a female had been murdered with the miners and buried down here. But that’s not what Scott was here for. “Why did you want to find the tunnel so badly, Scott?”
“Two girls have disappeared, and one died yesterday.” Scott looked back at her.
The flashlight was angled away from his face so it was hidden in shadows, but his eyes were two pinpricks of yellow light. Linda shivered and took a step away.
“It won’t prove anything, but if I can find the tunnel, maybe it would give some merit to the theory that the girls slinked off in the tunnels and got lost. And maybe Marisa experienced all that because someone found access to the house through the tunnel. I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I feel like I’m running in circles, grabbing at loose strings that go nowhere.”
“Don’t lose faith,” Linda responded to his frustration.
He was one of those rare police officers who were dedicated to the job. It was endearing, yet at the same time rang of naivety. Linda had seen the worst of them for nearly a decade, and Scott’s sincerity rang false before she had to tell herself otherwise.
“You seem to know where you’re going, so that’s something,” she said.
“It was in a report one of the officers made.” Scott consulted his paper again. “He gave detailed instructions about the layout of the mine and which tracks they followed. It’s ironic because everyone else in town seemed to know the location of the speakeasy like the back of their hand
.”
They walked on for a few minutes in silence. There was no sound but the low hum of air moving through the tunnels. Linda turned back to see nothing but darkness behind them. Her bruised throat became tighter as claustrophobia invaded her mind. There were dead bodies up ahead somewhere, and a malevolent spirit tracking them, and no trace of light. It was a veritable tomb, and Linda was walking into the heart of it. The earth pressed down on her. It felt as if a single slipping pebble would trigger an avalanche, burying her in there forever.
“It’s just up ahead,” Scott whispered. The feeling of eerie anticipation must have hit him too. His breath plumed in the flashlight’s beam. “Is it just me or did it just get really cold?”
“It did,” Linda gasped. It had felt like being doused with cold water. She shivered, her eyes darting all over the place. Her gut was twisted so tight with tension she could hardly move. She didn’t want to see that horrible cavern from her dreams. Nothing nice had ever happened in there, and she had a feeling it would do her more harm than good if she were to set foot in it. “I think we should head back,” she stammered. “This place is old, and we have no proper light. We could get in some accident if we’re not careful.”
The tunnel walls were closer than before, the uneven ground littered with rocks and debris. Water trickled along the walls making it glisten like a large shiny intestine. More than ever Linda felt like she was walking in a monster’s gut.
“It’s just beyond this shaft,” Scott said. He sounded just as spooked, but there was an underlying strength which Linda latched on to. What other choice did she have? She couldn’t go back without a flashlight and she really needed to find the source to all this misery if she wanted to survive this nightmare. “Just a bit more… Oh, come on!”
Linda came to a stop behind Scott. His shoulders fell and she could tell without looking at him that he was more disappointed than frustrated.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “It was supposed to be here.”
Linda peeked over his shoulder.
The tunnel opened wider a few feet from where they stood, a natural progression for a small fork. The tracks they had been following diverged in two only they didn’t go anywhere. The entrances to the tunnels ahead were buried underneath rocks and silt.
Linda stared at the ceiling where a notch of darkness indicated where the earth had fractured and caused a natural landslide. Broken glass lamps and bits and pieces of metal piping littered the ground.
She felt unimaginable relief. Her twisted gut loosened up a little. “There is no way in.” Then guilt and devastation hit her. If there was no way in and that was the source of the haunting then she was doomed.
“Or out,” Scott frowned.
Linda didn’t know why but that observation sent chills down her spine.
“Let’s head back,” Scott rubbed his eyes. “I can’t take much more of this dark.” He turned on his heels and began walking back up the passage they had come from.
“Yes, please,” Linda said, walking behind him. If she never had to step into another mine, it would be too soon.
Chapter 28
Scott dropped Linda off at Blackburn Manor. She hoisted the book Grady had given her up under her arms, and she waved goodbye to Scott. She went inside noticing that Stewart’s car wasn’t in the drive. She was glad she hadn’t met him.
Stifling a yawn, Linda went into the kitchen. Her stomach rumbled, and she realized she had been up most of the night giving her body caffeine and very little sustenance. Maybe a quick breakfast would make her less drowsy.
She cracked a few eggs in a bowl and whisked them to make a simple omelet. Adding salt and pepper she left the mixture on the counter and headed out to the back garden to grab some fresh tarragon.
The air was fresh, dewy, and promised rain. It was a shame she was too strung up to really enjoy it but just being out of the house was enough to lift her spirits a little. She snapped a few sprigs of tarragon from the communal garden and turned back to the house.
Lightning flashed above the house. Three things happened at once.
Linda stubbed her toe on a rock.
She bit her tongue in surprise.
And she saw a face, clear as day, staring down at her from the tower attic.
Linda winced against the rush of pain and blood in her mouth.
She forced her eyes to remain dry and looked back up at the window. A hand was pressed against the glass and a figure stood a little way back. It was definitely a person, not a tailor’s dummy.
Who was Stewart kidding? Who had he been hiding in his attic? Was it one of the girls who had supposedly run away? Or rather who had disappeared? Was he keeping them captive?
She calmed her own running thoughts.
No, it couldn’t be. Yes, Stewart was somehow greedy, but that didn’t make him some psychopath. She thought of how sweet he had been otherwise, the way he had treated Marisa in her time of need, and his general care giving of Evelyn.
She was wrong. There was a reasonable explanation. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind that she spotted Cindy May in the kitchen window scrapping leftovers into the bin. The hand print was still visible on the attic window. It was not humanly possible for Cindy May to have come down two stories in the blink of an eye.
Linda glanced up at the attic window. There was no one there. According to the book, the monstrosity that attacked through dreams was invisible. Then who was the figure in the attic?
Linda knew that Cindy’s shift ended at lunch and from the looks of it she had just finished feeding Evelyn. There was now a sixty minute window in which Evelyn would be home alone.
Linda walked onto the back porch and spied into the house until she saw Cindy leaving.
Once she was sure the nurse was gone, she tried the back door. The knob swung easily in her hand and the door opened soundlessly. Linda came inside the Blackburn’s kitchen. There were dirty dishes in the sink, and a half-eaten apple on the table. Through the kitchen, she caught a glimpse of the living room. Evelyn sat in her wheelchair in front of the TV. Her back was to the kitchen. Linda recalled the word she had scratched onto the back of her hand.
Kill.
She shuddered.
What did Evelyn know?
The kitchen smelled of soap and lavender, yet the feeling Linda got from her surroundings wasn’t warm or sweet. There was a rotting stench underneath that was just beyond the realms of perception, but there was decay here that she hadn’t noticed before.
Evelyn’s back was firmly towards her, her head resting to the side. Her iron-grey hair was tied in a messy bun, tendrils of hair sticking out in all directions. Her shoulders were covered by a thin shawl, and Linda thought she heard the old woman snore, though the TV was too loud to be sure. Taking confidence that Evelyn was sleeping and wouldn’t hear her footsteps, Linda took the stairs between the living room and kitchen. There was no sign of anyone else in the house.
The stairs were gloomy, but grey light from the landing hit the pictures that lined the wall. Linda could feel the tiny faces in the frames follow her progress and the tribal masks on the shelf ahead were deeply sinister in the half light.
Up on the first floor landing Linda scouted the ceiling for the entrance to the attic, but there was no faint outline, or even a dangling string to pull down the stairs. She opened the first door. It was the bathroom; it had 1990s fittings. She stepped inside and checked the ceiling… nothing. She put the door exactly as it was, then slowly pivoted to face the room opposite.
It was Stewart’s room. The room was fairly large and neatly kept. Framed posters of Slayer, and Korn adorned the walls. There was a queen size bed. A desk sat along the opposite wall under shelves stocked with books and various decorative items.
She went inside this weird teenage-like bedroom that was inhabited by a man in his mid-thirties. Linda spied another tribal mask with moldy feathers, a Darth Vader action figure, and a magic eight ball. The only personal pictures were of a golden ret
riever. The window looked over the back garden. Linda closed the curtains firmly. Another empty ceiling, though. There were two other doors on the landing.
Was it possible that the entrance wasn’t in the ceiling at all but behind a simple door? Linda opened one door. It was another bedroom, neatly kept but with less furniture. It had a generic nautical print above the bed, and pale blue wallpaper.
She hit the jackpot on the last one.
Dark mahogany stairs climbed up into the pale gloom of the tower. The door to the attic must be up there.
Linda took a deep breath, and she climbed the first step. The temperature was much cooler than it had been on the landing. She placed both hands on the walls beside her and climbed, getting chillier by the minute.
Her head emerged first in the attic.
Linda stood confused on the landing. She had thought the attic and the tower windows were two separate rooms. She scanned the floor, and there were fragments of a broken skirting rising at least two inches above the floorboards. The wall that had divided the two had been broken down.
It was a huge place. It was also a complete mess.
Broken furniture, boxes of clothes, and assorted knickknacks littered every surface. There were snow globes, and a few broken toys that looked like they were used by children at the turn of the previous century. An old navy uniform lay yellowing on top of a chest of drawers. There were plumed hats, and broken tennis rackets. There were clear demarcations of time. It had all been lobbed together to rest in a hodge podge mess. The tailor’s dummy stood sentinel at the front of the attic between two windows so the light caught either side leaving the middle in shadow.
Linda kept an eye out for any hunkered figures hiding behind some of the larger pieces of furniture. She hadn’t been mistaken; she had seen a figure in here. Her sleep deprived mind was already on edge, and now her pluming breath was fogging up her glasses.