The Raven Watcher

by Amy Cross

  And then she stops, and I see the fear in her eyes replaced by something else.

  Anger.

  “You're part of her,” she says suddenly. “You're part of it. You're part of what that thing did to him!”

  “Wait,” I reply, “I don't -”

  “You're part of her!” she screams, lunging at me. “You're -”

  “Okay!” Jerry says, scooping me up into his arms and starting to carry me toward the door. “You're getting delirious, Maddie. I'm going to take you downstairs to wait for the ambulance. I don't think being in this room is very good for you at all.”

  “Wait!” I gasp, twisting so that I can look back at the bed, only to see that there's now no sign of Catherine Grazier at all. “I saw her! She was right there!”

  “You're running a fever,” he continues, taking me out onto the landing and then quickly to the top of the stairs. “Who were you talking to there, Maddie? Huh? You sounded like you were talking to somebody, but there was nobody else in the room. Just me. Just poor old Jerry, sitting there and trying to make you feel better.”

  “But -”

  “No-one else.”

  “I saw her,” I whisper, still watching the door to the master bedroom as Jerry carries me downstairs. “It was Catherine Grazier, I -”

  Suddenly my head bumps against the wall.

  “Sorry,” Jerry mutters.

  “I saw her...”

  “Catherine Grazier has been dead for over a hundred years,” Jerry points out, interrupting me. “Come on, Maddie, don't start hallucinating now. If you keep on like this, you're going to scare me.”

  “She said I'm part of something,” I reply, although I'm starting to feel a little groggy. “She said -”

  “Don't think about it!” he snaps, and now it sounds as if he's starting to panic. “Let's just get you out of here, away from all the scary rooms and general spookiness. I'm sure everything will seem a lot better once you're in a better place. Some ghosts should just be left well enough alone.”

  “But I saw her,” I whisper, and now Jerry is carrying me across the hallway. “She wanted me to save someone, but then she got angry. Then she -”

  Suddenly I hear a clicking sound, and I turn to see that Jerry is opening the door to the basement.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear my increasingly-blurred vision. “I thought you were taking me outside.”

  “Ghosts on beds,” he mutters as he starts carrying me down into the darkness. “Dead women telling you all these mysterious things. Your hallucinations are really strong, Maddie, did you know that? Have you been watching too many horror movies lately? You need to learn better what's real and what's not, or you're going to be very confused in life. You get let off for now, seeing as you're so badly hurt, but at some point you're going to need to figure it all out.”

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask.

  My feet bump against the cold stone wall, but I can't actually see anything now. A moment later I feel a faint bump, and I realize that Jerry seems to be carrying me across the basement. And then, just as I'm about to ask him again what he's doing, I feel myself being set down on the slab in the middle of the room. Somehow, after everything that's happened, I've ended up down here yet again.

  “There we go,” he says, although I can't see his face in the darkness.

  I hear him shuffling back across the room, muttering to himself, and then a moment later a bright electric light is switched on over in the far corner. Turning, I have to shield my eyes from the light's intensity, but I can just about make out Jerry's silhouette as he makes his way toward the stairs. My vision is so blurred, I can almost see two of him.

  “Where are you going?” I ask. “Why did you bring me down here?”

  He stops in the doorway and turns to me, and I can just about make out his face. He looks so utterly sad as he stares at me.

  “Jerry?” I continue, trying not to panic. “Why did you bring me to the basement? I thought we were going outside to wait for the ambulance and the police?”

  “I'm sorry, Maddie,” he replies, stepping back and reaching out to grab the door, “but I lied. The police and the ambulance, they're not coming. I just said that to...”

  His voice trails off. He hesitates for a moment, and then he swings the door shut. I hear a key in the lock, and then the sound of Jerry scuttling up the stairs.

  “Jerry!” I call out, shivering slightly now as I sit up on the slab. “Where are you going? Jerry, you can't leave me down here! Jerry, what's wrong with you?”

  Chapter Nine

  “Doctor Charles Grazier”

  Sunday October 7th, 1888

  What are those fools doing out there?

  For the past few minutes, I have been standing at the window in Doctor Grazier's study, watching as a gaggle of ladies and gentlemen arrange themselves in a row outside. They're in the street, and it would appear that they are celebrating some kind of petty achievement. Several of the woman are holding up peacock feathers, forming some kind of bizarre display. Now a photographer has arrived, and he is setting up his apparatus so that he can capture their likenesses. I watch with detached amusement, trying to understand precisely what motivates these people, but suddenly a flash detonates on the camera and I realize that the photograph has been taken.

  Fearing that I might have been caught in the image, I step back behind the curtains so that I cannot be seen again. The progressing world is a strange place, and I do not understand people who rush onward to see what is new. Especially since it is quite clear that most of them have barely scratched the surface of the world that is already laid out before them. Those fools out there, for example, are so intoxicated by the camera's flash, and they probably have no idea of the ancient truths that lurk in the streets.

  I have never had my photograph taken before. And although I'm sure I was only caught in the background of that particular picture, I worry that a slice of my soul has been taken. If that makes me a superstitious man, then so be it.

  ***

  “What are you doing?” the voice asks, having hitherto remained silent for several hours since I returned to the house. “I can hear you working out there. Tell me what you're doing!”

  Continuing to ignore her, I slide a needle into Delilah's new heart and then out through a section of her open chest. This task has taken much longer than I expected, but I have worked diligently and with great care. I have certainly experienced none of the tremors that afflicted Doctor Grazier, and which I can only ascribe to his weakness of character. Indeed, now that I have assumed his life in every manner, I have come to understand that the man must have been extremely barren in so many ways. Any achievements he made must have been – at best – complete accidents.

  Honestly, the man was an utter lunatic.

  “Are you working on the girl?” the voice continues. “Come on, speak to me. You know I can help. You also know that your task is hopeless. Or are you so utterly delusional that you really think you'll get her back? Are you following the path laid out by your predecessor?”

  I continue to ignore her.

  “I know you're not him,” she adds. “You're wearing his clothes, you're living his life, but your not Charles Grazier. I can tell from the smell in the air. You're a different man, a rougher man.”

  “Still your tongue,” I mutter under my breath, although I immediately regret saying a word. After all, by speaking I have only let her know that I've been paying attention to her words. I am under no illusion that she will stay quiet, but I can at least refuse to give her the satisfaction of answers.

  “I was alive once,” the voice explains. “I was flesh and blood, just like you. I was just reaching my peak when I was murdered by bandits. Not just murdered, either. I was raped and tortured, and kept in the most awful conditions for weeks until finally I died. Then my body was mutilated and I was dumped in a river. I don't know how many years ago that all took place. I should have passed on by that
point, to the next life, but I refused to go. I could have returned as a ghost, as a whisper of myself, but that wasn't enough either. I need to touch. To feel. To taste. I need a physical form. So instead I waited at the edge of the void, near the vents from which human souls are loosed once they depart their mortal bodies.”

  I cannot help but smirk as I hear such nonsense. I have heard many accounts of the next life, but never one that is quite so ludicrous.

  “It felt like a billion years,” she continues, “and I almost gave up trying to find a way back through. Sometimes I saw a soul depart, and I raced to climb through before the body was closed to me. I was never fast enough, but eventually I stopped next to one particular vent and I could somehow sense that a soul was about to depart. That would have been Catherine Grazier, I assume. At least, that's the name I've heard since. When her soul finally left her body, I tried desperately to crawl inside. Still I wasn't quick enough, or strong enough, but then something unusual happened. I felt the body opening up to admit me, as if here in this world somebody was making changes that would allow me to enter. The process was painful, of course, and terrifying. Especially at first. Oh, do you remember how much I screamed? I screamed and screamed until I thought my new head was going to crack open.”

  At this, my smirk fades. After a moment I realize that I have stopped working on Delilah's new heart, so I force myself to resume the task of stitching her back together. This time, I shall try to block out the voice entirely.

  “Even when the scream stopped,” she goes on, “it was not a simple matter to use her body. I had forgotten entirely how they work. Also, two human bodies are very different. This body feels nothing like the body that was once my own. I couldn't walk, not for the longest time. I couldn't even speak. I could barely even tell where I was. I began crawling through this house, and then I tried to get up the stairs. I was terrified, and nobody helped me. I was aware of people calling me Catherine. Over and over they used that name, and for the longest time I did not understand what they meant. I was weakening, and then suddenly a dead man was thrown down at me. Thank you for feeding me, at least. I desperately needed the nourishment, although I'm a little shocked that I consumed human flesh.”

  “That was not the intention,” I reply, before catching myself again.

  I must focus on my work.

  “Those symbols won't hold me forever, you know,” she adds. “I'll find a way out. It burns when I approach them, but you'll need many more to truly hold me back. Even then, I'll find a way out of this basement eventually. This might come as a surprise to you, but I'm no fool. I will find a way.”

  “Not if I have any say in the matter,” I tell her.

  I hesitate, telling myself yet again that I must remain focused, but then I hear faint ripples of laughter coming from behind the door.

  “The longer you wait, the harder it will be to get your loved one back,” she continues finally. “It might even be too late already, but I can at least try. Tell me, what was she like when she was alive? The more I know, the more I can tell you about whether or not I might be able to bring her back. Time is of the essence, however. Will you risk losing her forever, simply because you do not trust me? Is that truly a price worth paying?”

  Ignoring her once again, I swiftly finish sewing the heart in place. Truthfully, I am not entirely sure what I should do next. I know what not to do, having watched Doctor Grazier, but it is rather more difficult to determine the correct path. After a moment I step back and set the needle aside, and I try to work out how best to proceed. At the same time, I can feel a slow rumbling pain in my head, and I am worried that a fresh burst of agony is about to strike me at any moment.

  Finally I realize that I must get out of this basement for a short while, so as to clear my head. Turning, I head toward the stairs.

  “You'll let me out eventually,” the voice calls after me. “You'll have no choice. The desperation will take over, and you'll unlock this door. Why not do it now, while I still have a good chance to help? While you can still get her back...”

  Chapter Ten

  Maddie

  Today

  “Jerry, let me out! Jerry, this is a joke, right? What are you doing?”

  I bang on the door again, but there's no answer. I've been trying to get him to say something for several minutes now, ever since I managed to climb off the slab and get over here, but I'm starting to think that Jerry has left the house. I keep telling myself that I've misunderstood, that he's a good guy and this is just his way of keeping me safe, but to be honest my faith in him is rapidly draining away. I saw the fear in his eyes as he shut the door, and the sorrow too. He was scared of something, and he left me down here for a reason. Plus, he specifically said that he'd lied about calling the police, which means no-one's coming to help.

  He's been keeping something from me this whole time.

  “Jerry!” I shout, banging harder than ever on the door. “Let me out of here! You have to let -”

  Suddenly my knees buckle. I let out a pained gasp as I drop to my knees, and then I have to steady myself by leaning against the door. I swear, I feel as if I might pass out at any moment, and the room seems to be swimming all around me.

  “Let me out,” I whisper, with pinpricks of cold sweat breaking out across my face. “Jerry, you have to let me out.”

  I wait, but still he doesn't answer.

  The craziest thing is, this is not the first time I've been trapped down here in this basement. In fact, the more I think back over the past few days, the more I feel as I've almost been trapped in a loop. I've been bouncing around between the walls of this place, constantly going up and down the stairs and in and out of the various rooms, but at every stage I've felt like there's a reason to stay. Each of those reasons seemed fine at the time, but added together they're starting to make me worry. It's like something's been keeping me here in the house, when any sane person would have left long ago.

  There's something I'm missing.

  Despite the fact that my knees still feel weak, I force myself to stand. I'm worried I might collapse again at any moment, but somehow I'm able to stay up. My first instinct is to call out for Jerry again, but I know he's not going to come back down. Not until he's good and ready, anyway.

  There has to be some other way out of here.

  After a moment, I finally turn and look at the one thing that I've been trying to not look at ever since I came down here. Alex's body is slumped on the floor just a few feet away. I can see one side of her face, and her dead right eye is staring down at the stone floor. There's a lot of blood, including on her hands, and I can't help thinking that maybe she survived for a few seconds after Nick threw her down here. There's even smeared blood on the floor, as if she tried to drag herself away from the bottom of the steps. Whatever she did, it's clear that it didn't work, and there's no hope for her.

  Alex.

  Matt.

  Nick.

  That's a lot of people who've died in this house over the past few hours.

  “I'm not going to be one of them,” I whisper, although the words sound so pitiful as they leave my lips. “I don't want to die here. Please don't let me die here.”

  Turning, I look back across the basement. The electric light at least means that I can see the whole space now, although to be honest I don't understand why Jerry wanted me to see so well. I mean, he must have run the power cord all the way from his place, which seems excessive. It's as if there was something down here that he thought I definitely had to be able to notice. Shielding my eyes, I look toward the light and see that not only did Jerry bring it all the way down here at some point – probably when he claimed to be calling for help – he also ran a cable back through a gap at the bottom of the door. He really went to extreme lengths to make sure that I'd have light down here, which seems unusually considerate given that his overall plan was to dump me here.

  Maybe he's insane.

  Maybe he's just a crazy old man, and his craziness is
completely separate from anything else that's been going on here.

  Maybe I've just been really, really unlucky.

  One thing's for sure, though. Yelling his name isn't going to achieve anything, and from the look in his eyes just now I get the feeling that he wasn't planning to come and let me out of here any time soon. If anything, it was almost as if he was leaving me down here either to starve or to wait for something.

  I turn and look around the basement again. After a moment I spot the far wall, and when I squint I'm just about able to make out the shapes and patterns that are carved into the stone. And then, for the very first time, I notice another door.

  I've been down here in this basement so many times, but I never noticed before that there's a wooden door at the far end. I guess it was always very dark before, whereas this time I've got a proper light, but I still find it hard to believe that I could have completely missed the fact that there's another door down here. It's almost as if something was keeping me from noticing certain things.

  Wait...

  Did I notice the door before?

  For a moment, I genuinely don't know. I feel like maybe I did notice, but then it slipped from my thoughts. Maybe I noticed it in brief flashes, yet somehow I never managed to remember.

  Despite the ache in my belly, I start limping across the basement. I have to stop halfway and steady myself against the slab, but then I force myself to keep going until I finally reach the door. I'm not particularly surprised to find that more of the strange markings have been carved into the wood. In fact, the door is covered in these strange scratched patterns, and some of them even overlap. It's almost as if they were carved here by someone who was frantic, by someone who was so scared he couldn't even keep his hand steady.

  There are more of the carvings on the wall, too. I definitely remember seeing these before, but I never quite realized how many of them had been left down here. The entire wall has been scratched all over, although in some places the markings are very shallow and barely visible. Reaching out, I run my fingertips against the edges and find that while some of the symbols are deeply cut into the stone, others are almost not there at all. Still, it must have taken a long time to cover the door and wall this way, and I can't help wondering why anyone would go to all that effort. Then again, during my time on the streets I've seen enough crazy people, and I know that sometimes – when a person's mind goes – they can get into some pretty repetitive habits.