One Night at a Soul Auction

by Amy Cross

  I know I should close my eyes, but at the same time I want to see who's here. After all, despite the weird sound, it might turn out to be Mummy, or maybe Johnny, or maybe somebody else I know.

  Suddenly a set of legs comes into view, stumbling past the tiny turning point that has become my hiding place. These are definitely not the legs of anybody I recognize. All I can really make out are two painfully thin, grayish legs with thick veins running close to the surface of the skin. The feet are wearing shoes, but they're horrible, almost broken shoes that look like they fell apart long ago and have since been held together by string. The tattered ends of rags are handing down from around the knees, like some kind of ancient, rotten skirt, and a moment later I see that the legs are followed by the bulging lower section of some kind of large, over-filled rope bag.

  Whoever this person is, she – and I think she's a she – seems to be carrying a huge burden. There are the edges of various items poking out through gaps in the bag, and I can make out what looks like an assortment of toys, dolls, shirts and dresses, books and even small items of furniture. It's as if somebody put all their belongings in a big bag and started carrying them around, except that the items don't really seem to match. There are old clothes, for example, but also newer things. Clothes for young people and clothes for old people, and all sorts of toys. As the bag is carried past and disappears from view, I can't help thinking that I've just seen some kind of bric-a-brac collection. The sound, meanwhile, is immense, as various pieces of metal clank together.

  And then another set of feet comes into view.

  Pulling back even further, I watch as these feet – stockier than the last, and so large that they barely have ankles at all – walk barefoot across the sharp rocks. A moment later I hear a rumbling sound, and I watch with a growing sense of shock as a large set of wooden wheels comes rumbling past. The wheels are bucking across the uneven rocks, and the first wheel has a large split that looks like it might come apart at any moment. There are thin strands of fabric hanging down into view, trailing slightly along the rocks, and several more sets of wheels come past before finally this truck – and it seems to be a kind of truth – rumbles out of view.

  Then there are more feet.

  More and more, as if a whole army of thin, poorly-dressed figures are stumbling along the corridor. Some of the legs and feet have wounds, thick gashes cut into their skin, while several more feature heavy scarring. Some of them have thick, curling toenails that look almost painful, and one or two even seem to be walking with the aid of crutches. I can hear gasps coming from above, but of course I don't dare peek out and look up at the faces of the people who are walking past. I just want them to get out of the way and disappear along the tunnel so that I can scramble out and run the other way.

  Later, I'm going to get Mummy to explain why all these people are in Aunt Alice's basement, but for now I only care about getting out of here.

  As more and more figures stumble past my little hiding point, however, I'm starting to notice a really foul smell. The figures are all wearing dirty, stained scraps of fabric, and there's a stench in the air that reminds me of the time our toilet overflowed at home. Although I don't really want to move – in case I attract attention – I can't help moving my hand up to pinch my nose. After all, I'll definitely get noticed if I start properly retching. I can already feel the back of my throat tightening, and I'm certain that -

  Suddenly a big dollop of gray sludge runs down the side of one of the passing legs. I watch with a growing sense of nausea as the sludge gets left behind, and a moment later another foot steps straight into the middle of the mess, splattering gray goo across the rocks.

  I instinctively pull back, taking care to not get any of the goo on my hands.

  I don't know how long I have to wait, but I sit curled into a ball for at least half an hour as more and more figures trudge past this little hole in the wall. Nobody seems to be in very much of a hurry, and most of the figures are lugging huge bags and carts behind them. In fact, I'm starting to genuinely wonder how Aunt Alice could ever fit so many people into her basement, but I suppose she probably must have some kind of reason. Mummy should have warned us, though, and I can't help worrying that maybe they're all going to want dinner.

  Finally, just as I'm starting to think that I might be trapped here forever, one more sets of legs trudges past and then the rocky corridor falls still. I wait, convinced that there'll be more passersby, but after several more minutes I start to realize that maybe – just maybe – the seemingly endless parade is over. I still don't dare peek around the side, not yet, so I remain completely still and start counting to myself.

  I get to one hundred, then two hundred, and then three hundred, and then I take a deep breath as I realize that it's probably safe to get out now.

  Taking care to keep from touching the puddle of gray sludge, I slowly maneuver myself out from the hole in the wall, and then I start brushing myself down as I get to my feet. My dress is even more badly damaged than before, and my bottom is a little damp from the wet rocks, but I suppose I'll just have to find my way upstairs and then get changed. Mummy will be upset at me for ruining this dress, but in the circumstances I don't think she can be too angry.

  It's all Johnny's fault anyway.

  After brushing myself down a little more, I decide to go back a little the way I came, and then -

  Suddenly I hear a bumping sound over my shoulder. I spin around, just in time to see a haggard, ancient-looking old woman grinning as she throws a rope net over me. I try to push her away, but she's cackling loudly and I'm quickly hauled up until I'm upside down.

  “I thought I saw something hiding in there,” she grins, as I shout for help. “Every little helps.”

  Chapter Three

  “Let me go!” I shout, as I'm dragged along the rough, rocky corridor, bouncing and bumping against jagged edges that easily hit me through the gaps in the rope bag. “Mummy! Help! Get me out of here! I'm in the basement!”

  I hear a chuckle from up ahead, but the woman doesn't stop. She doesn't even slow down. Instead, she keeps pulling me along, and I still can't quite manage to scramble to my feet. For one thing, the constant bumps are really hurting, and for another my ankle is throbbing worse than ever. I try twisting around in the bug so that maybe I'll be able to force my way out through the top, but at that moment my bum hits an extra-big rock and I cry out in pain.

  The woman laughs again.

  “Leave me alone!” I yell. “Do you know who I am? This is my aunt's house! You can't just come in here and start dragging me away!”

  When she simply responds with more laughter, I look around, hoping against hope that I might spot a crack of daylight somewhere nearby.

  “Help!” I scream, shouting at the absolute top of my voice. “Mummy, help me! Johnny! Someone! Help me!”

  Sobbing wildly, I try again to force my way out of the bag, this time by trying to tear some of the ropes apart. I pull and pull and pull until my hands hurt, and until I feel the skin rubbing sore on my fingers, and then I keep trying some more until finally I turn around again and try to come up with a new plan. I know nothing too bad can happen to me, not while I'm still somewhere inside Aunt Alice's basement, but I don't quite understand why Mummy still hasn't heard me.

  Unless these people have done something to her.

  I feel a flash of panic in my chest as I realize that maybe the house has somehow been overrun by some kind of freaky gang. They might have come storming into the place and captured Mummy and Johnny and Aunt Alice first, and then they came down here and found me. As I'm dragged bumping along the rocky ground some more, I feel a growing sense of fear rising through my body, and for the first time it occurs to me that maybe nobody is going to come and help me. Maybe we're all in trouble, and we're going to have to find some other way out.

  Suddenly the bag hits a particularly big ridge, and I let out another cry as I tumble forward. When I try to right myself, however, I look out be
tween the latticed ropes and see that we've left the corridor, and that we're in some kind of large, sloping-walled chamber. Grabbing the ropes, I peer through one of the gaps in the bag, and I stare in astonishment as I see that I've been brought to some kind of massive room. There are loud voices all around, talking and yelling, and I realize after a moment that there are lots and lots of people standing nearby, mostly next to large, over-burdened carts.

  I think we've finally caught up to all the people who passed me earlier in the corridor.

  “What is this place?” I stammer, turning this way and that in the bag as I try to work exactly where I am. “Why have you brought me here?”

  The bag bumps against another large section of rock, scraping my knee, but as I cry out I suddenly feel the bag slump down against the ground. Aching and injured, I steady myself for a moment before sitting up, and I find to my surprise that suddenly the old hag seems to have dropped the bag onto the ground. I immediately start trying to find a way out, first by tearing the ropes apart and then by searching for the opening, but neither of these plans work. I keep trying, however, filled by a sense of panic, and by a growing feeling that I'm going to have to get out of here without help.

  Suddenly I hear a loud, ear-piercing shriek coming from nearby, and I turn just in time to see a figure stumbling toward me. As the figure leans down to take a closer look, I see to my horror that its face is long and pointed, culminating in a horse-like snout and lips that bare back to reveal huge, sharp, blood-stained teeth. Immediately struck by a foul rotten stench, I pull away, and the creature tilts its head a little as if it wants to get a better look at me.

  It's a mask.

  It has to be a mask.

  Nobody – no matter what kind of hideous accident they'd been in – could have such a hideous face.

  The creature lets out another, slightly lower shriek, and I'm once again struck by the foul smell. This time, however, the smell is accompanied by a rush of warm air, and I watch in horror as the creature turns its head to one side and stares at me with one of its large, bulbous brown eyes. For a moment the eye stares at me calmly, although after a moment it blinks slightly. The eye is so large – like a fist – that I can actually see my own reflected face staring back at me.

  Letting out a snort of derision, the creature stands and walks away, and I immediately notice the old woman hurrying after him. They seem to be talking about something, although after a moment the horse-faced creature shoves her away with such force that she stumbles back and falls, landing hard on her bum.

  As the creature stalks away into the crowd, the old woman gets to her feet and glances at me, watching me with an expression of great hatred. It's almost as if the horse-faced creature didn't react to me in the right way, and as if the old woman blames me for something.

  Stepping closer, she peers down at me for a moment before muttering something under her breath as she gives me a gentle kick.

  “Hey, stop that!” I yell angrily. “You're not allowed to be here! This is my aunt's house and you're trespassing!”

  She chuckles, before turning to walk away.

  “You have to let me go right now!” I shout. “If you don't, I'll call the police!”

  She stops and turns to me, but she still seems amused rather than worried.

  “I will, you know,” I continue, trying desperately to sound determined, and hoping that she won't be able to tell that I've been crying. “I'll call the police and I'll get them to come and take you all away. You won't be laughing then, will you? Your only hope is to let me go, and let my family go, and leave this basement and this house forever. Do you understand? If you do anything else, I'll have to -”

  Suddenly she steps toward me, and I gasp and pull back. She takes another step closer, and I realize I'm starting to tremble. No matter how hard I try to hide the fact that I'm scared, something about this woman is terrifying me.

  “You have to leave us alone,” I tell her, but I can already hear the fear in my voice. And tears, too. “Please,” I continue, starting to sob, “I don't know who you are, but we've never done anything to you. Why are you in our house like this?”

  She leans a little closer, still grinning, and then she slowly reaches her left hand toward me.

  Disgusted by the sight of her wart-infested fingers and her blackened, split nails, I pull back a little further.

  She moves her hand between two of the ropes, into the bag, and then she stops as if she's waiting for something.

  I think she wants me to touch her hand, but the thought is enough to make me want to vomit. At the same time, I'm starting to wonder whether she might be kinder to me if I show her that I don't find her absolutely disgusting, so I figure that maybe I should force myself to at least touch her for a second. I'm worried that I might catch warts, but maybe Mummy can find a cream for me, so I slowly start reaching my hand toward hers.

  “Is this what you want?” I ask cautiously. “Is this right?”

  She doesn't reply, but she's staring at my hand and there's a hint of wonder in her eyes. I suppose – given that her own hand is so ugly and covered in warts – maybe she's mesmerized by the sight of a hand that's young and healthy. I should probably just let her touch me, just for a second, and then maybe she'll be willing to do me a favor in return.

  “Okay,” I stammer, finally moving my hand closer to hers, until our fingers start to touch. “How's that?”

  I flinch as I feel her crusty warts brushing against my smooth, clean skin. At the same time, I force a smile in the hope that at least the old woman won't see that I'm disgusted, although I honestly don't know whether I'm keeping my true feelings completely covered. After a moment, just as I'm starting to think that I should move my hand away again, the old woman suddenly moves her hand closer and grabs mine, holding tight and squeezing my fingers a little, and again I flinch.

  I'm still just about smiling, but deep down I can't help imagining all those little wart spores – or whatever causes warts – transferring to my skin and burrowing deep. I want to pull away, but I still don't dare.

  “Is that enough?” I ask, my voice sounding high-pitched and terrified now. “Will that do? What more do you want?”

  I wait, but she's simply staring at my hand as she holds it in her own.

  “Okay,” I continue, “maybe -”

  Suddenly she twists her hand and slices one of her old, crusty fingernails against my knuckles. Crying out, I pull back and clutch my wrist, and I see to my horror that she's cut a line through my skin. A few beads of blood are already dribbling out, and a moment later I hear cackling laughter.

  Turning, I see that the old woman apparently finds this hilarious.

  “Why did you do that?” I shout. “I was being nice to you! Why did you hurt me?”

  She steps back a few paces, still grinning as she keeps her eyes on me. Finally she starts looking around, and I feel as if she's waiting for something. Looking back down at my hand, I see several more beads of blood running down to my wrist, and I feel a sharp stinging pain. That woman's fingernails looked so dirty, I'll probably catch something now, but after a moment I start wiping the blood on the side of my dress. I hate hate hate the fact that my most beautiful dress is now in such a state, and I can only hope that Mummy will get me a new one as soon as we're out of this mess.

  “Mummy, where are you?” I whimper, before turning and looking out past the ropes. “Mummy!” I shout. “Where -”

  Suddenly I hear a loud sniffing sound over my shoulder, and I turn to see that a figure is stepping past the old woman and coming this way. A moment later I see a couple more of these figures, all stooped low as they shuffle this way, all sniffing frantically as they get closer. I squint, trying to make them out better, but somehow they seem not to catch the light at all. Instead, despite the flickering glow from a torch on the wall, these figures are shrouded in darkness to such an extent that all I can really make out is their silhouettes.

  I pull back, still tangled in the rop
e bag, until I bump against the rocky wall.

  Still the figures come closer, and now one of them is reached out toward my bleeding hand. I shift away, just as the figure tilts its head slightly and I see the silhouette of a huge, beaked nose that seems to take up half its face. Not wanting to let this thing get too close to me, I somehow manage to scramble a few feet away, although in the process I catch my injured hand and let out a faint gasp. Turning, I see a few drops of blood falling onto the rocks, and I watch in horror as the nearest dark figure leans down and starts sniffing the little red stain.

  And then, slowly, a long, thin tongue extends from its mouth and starts delicately licking the spilled blood.

  A moment later, two more figures join the first, and they extend their tongues as well. The three creatures spend a moment attending to the blood, as if they're determined to get every last drop, and then one by one they retract their tongues and turn to look at me.

  I still can't make out their features at all, but I'm certain that they're staring at me, and I can hear the sniffing sound coming from all three of them.

  Slowly, they start shuffling toward me again.

  “Stop!” I shout, although my voice sounds more terrified than ever. “I'll scream! If you don't stop right now, I'll scream and you'll be in so much trouble!”

  One of the figures is a little ahead of the other two, and he leans toward me. I try to pull away, but I'm backed against the wall now, and a moment later I see the long, thin tongue flicking out and moving toward the wound on my hand.

  So I scream.

  I scream louder than I've ever screamed before, and I kick at the creature's face. When that doesn't work, I kick again – while still screaming – and again and again, each time failing to push the creature back at all.

  “Mummy!” I shout, convinced that she has to be able to hear me now. “Help!”

  Suddenly I feel something long and thin and wet starting to wrap around my leg, and I realize that the nearest creature is extending its tongue once more. I pull back frantically, horrified by the slimy sensation, but there's nowhere else for me to go as the other two creatures join the first. Their sniffs sound more urgent than ever, and I'm powerless to stop them as their tongues slip through the gaps in the rope bag and start snaking toward my injured hand. It's as if they're desperate to get more of my blood, and even when I turn my hand away from one of them, I quickly find that a different snaky tongue is slithering closer from another direction.