One Night at a Soul Auction

by Amy Cross

  “Leave me alone!” I yell, grabbing one of the tongues and pulling it away, just as it begins to lap at my wound. “You're not allowed to do this! You're not allowed to touch me! I won't -”

  One of the tongues flicks against the side of my face. I push it away, but then I touch my chin and find a thick line of sticky saliva running all the way to the bottom of my ear. A moment later I feel a sharp pain on my hand, and I have to push one of the other tongues away. I roll over and curl into a ball, while keeping my injured hand covered, and now I can feel the three flicking tongues slipping and pecking at my curved back, as if they're trying to find a way through me to get to the wound.

  “Please help me,” I sob, with tears running down my face. “Somebody, please...”

  I squeeze tighter into a ball, as I feel the tongues slipping around my neck and searching for any tiny gap that might allow them to reach my hand.

  “Please,” I whisper, “please, please...”

  Suddenly I hear a bumping sound, and the tongues pull away. I don't dare to look, not yet, but I can hear a series of scrabbling noises, as if feet and hands are frantically bumping against the rocky ground. I have no idea what's happening, but I'm certain it's going to be the end of me, so I keep my eyes squeezed tight shut as I wait for these monstrous creatures to do whatever they want with me. I'm certain I'll feel their thin tongues again in a moment, and I won't be able to keep them back forever. Eventually they'll get to the wound on my hand, and then they'll probably drain me dry and I'll be dead forever and ever.

  “I'll take her,” a voice says.

  I freeze.

  Did I hear that right?

  “Well?” the voice continues, and he sounds like a well-spoken Englishman. “What are you waiting for? Here's your payment, now get her out of this thing. And hurry. I don't have all night.”

  Still not daring to turn and look, in case this is a horrible trap, I remain curled tight into a ball until suddenly I feel the ropes starting to loosen all around me. Finally I open one eye – only one – and look to the left, and I'm startled by the sight of a pair of legs dressed in smart, smooth black trousers. The old hag is moving around me, freeing me from the rope bag, while the black-clad legs stand just a little way back. Waiting. Watching.

  A moment later the hag pulls the last of the bag away, and I'm left shivering on the ground.

  “What have you done to her?” the voice asks skeptically. “She shouldn't be like this.”

  “I didn't do anything to her,” the hag replies. “She was like this when I found her.”

  “Somehow I doubt that,” the voice says with a sigh. “You've damaged her. I overpaid.”

  “No returns!” she snaps.

  “Relax, I'm not returning her. Although if I did, believe me, you'd give me my money back.”

  “Come on, dear,” the hag says, scuttling toward me and grabbing my shoulder. “On your feet. Show the gentleman what you're made of.”

  I pull away, hating the sensation of her touch.

  “She's quite tall,” she continues, with a hint of desperation in her voice. “At least a meter. Oh, and look, I forgot to mention that she comes with a free doll.”

  She reaches down and tries to grab Lucy from my hands, but again I pull away.

  “Can she walk?” the man asks.

  “Of course she can walk. How do you think she got here?”

  “With your type,” he replies, “one never knows.”

  “There's nothing wrong with her,” the hag says firmly. “In fact, I reckon there's a lot right with her. She's got meat on her bones, and she's got a good mop of hair on her head. There are plenty of things you can do with her, although obviously as a soulspiece she -”

  “She's not a soulspiece,” the man says firmly.

  “Well, you can't be -”

  “She's not a soulspiece!” he says again, and this time he sounds angry.

  There's silence for a moment, and finally I open my other eye and dare to look around. There are lots of people on the far side of the chamber, fussing over their wagons and carts and sacks, but there also happens to be an opening in the rocky wall just a few feet away, and I'm starting to think that maybe I could try to make a run for it. I stay still for a moment, trying to pick the perfect moment, and trying to figure out whether I can run at all on my bad ankle.

  “Well,” the hag says after a moment, sounding a little disgruntled, “I suppose I'll defer to you on that matter. You're the expert on soulspieces, after all.”

  Just as I'm about to run, I spot frantic movement nearby, and I turn just in time to see three dark, silhouetted figures struggling to loosen their tongues, which appear to have been tied together in a knot. The sight of horrific, and I stare for a moment before looking back toward the opening in the wall. I only have to get to my feet and stumble maybe five or six feet, and then hopefully I can scutter away into the darkness before anyone even notices that I'm gone. And then, finally, I should be able to find my way out of the basement and go up into the main part of the house for help.

  “About the price,” the hag says, “I was thinking that perhaps I let the girl go for too little.”

  “It's all signed now,” the man replies.

  “Yes, but fair's fair, and I might have made more if I'd put her to auction.”

  “She's not a soulspiece. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “She's not a soulspiece, no,” the hag continues, “but she might still have value.”

  As they continue to bicker, I turn and start crawling toward the opening. It's difficult to remain entirely silent, but I manage to not make too much noise as I get closer and closer. Finally, however, I feel a rush of panic in my chest, and I scramble to my feet and start running. Just as I reach the opening, however, I realize that my right hand is empty, and I turn to see that somehow I managed to drop Lucy. I hurry back over, before grabbing her and racing through the opening. My right ankle is agony, but I force myself to keep running along the increasingly dark tunnel, desperately trying to get away from these freaks so that -

  Suddenly a hand grabs my shoulder from behind, pulling me back with such force that I let out an involuntary gasp. A moment later, a hand reaches around and holds a scrap of paper in front of my face.

  “I don't know where you think you're going,” the man's voice says calmly, as I turn and look up at him, “but you're mine now. Bought and paid for. And we have places to be.”

  Chapter Four

  “I want to go home,” I stammer, taking a step back. “Who are you?”

  “I'm the person who just saved you from a magnificently dreadful fate,” he replies, as he carefully folds the scrap of paper and slides it into his pocket. “I can only assume that you're as lost as you look, because otherwise you'd be on your knees by now, thanking me profusely -”

  “Who are you?” I shout.

  “- and begging me for mercy.”

  I take another step back, but this time I bump against the corridor's rocky wall.

  “I want to go back upstairs,” I tell him, trying hard to sound brave. “Please, just show me where the stairs are.”

  He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Stairs?”

  “I want to get out of the basement!” I yell.

  “Basement?”

  “Mummy!” I scream, turning and looking along the corridor. “Mummy, I'm down here! Help me!”

  “You're drawing attention to yourself,” the man says calmly. “Please, I'd rather you didn't do that.”

  I turn to him.

  “Tell me how you got here,” he continues.

  “I fell down a hole!”

  “What hole?”

  “The hole in the bedroom upstairs!”

  I wait for a reply, but he's simply staring at me with a slightly quizzical expression.

  “Okay,” I continue, starting to feel a little angry now, “I've had enough of this. I don't know who you are, or why you and all these other people have come down into my aunt's basement, bu
t I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to be here. So I'm going to give you one chance to get out of here before I go upstairs and get Mummy to call the police, and then you'll be in so much trouble, you'll probably end up in jail.”

  “Where exactly do you think you are?” he asks.

  “I'm in the basement!”

  “Huh. I've never heard it called that before.”

  “Are you crazy?” I ask. “Is that it? Are you some kind of wandering lunatic?”

  Staring at him, I can't help thinking that maybe I'm right. Sure, he has a handsome face and well-groomed, jet-black hair, but his clothes are all very dark and he seems to have an old-fashioned dress sense, like something you'd see in a painting from a hundred years ago. He also seems completely relaxed, despite being an intruder in my aunt's basement, and I'm starting to think that he and all those other people might be inmates who've escaped from some kind of asylum.

  Looking down at my hand, I see that the trickle of blood has stopped.

  “Those Blood Weepers weren't going to hurt you,” the man says after a moment. “They just like the taste and smell of human blood, but they're never aggressive. Think of them as harmless junkies. In fact, their saliva actually helps a little with the clotting process. In terms of danger, Blood Weepers are pretty much the most benevolent, harmless things you'll ever find down here in the Underworld. Frankly, I'm surprised they even came here on the night of a soul auction.”

  I look up at him, as I try to figure out what he's talking about.

  “My name is Duncan,” he continues, “and I don't know your name, but let me assure you, you shouldn't be here. You're human, I can tell that, and your name -”

  “I'm not telling you my name!” I shout.

  “Your name is Milly.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He tilts his head slightly.

  “You have a mother, but no longer a father. You have a brother, and lately you've been staying in somebody else's house. You have an aunt, I think, and -”

  “How do you know all of that?”

  I wait for an answer, but he narrows his eyes slightly as he continues to stare at me. And then, just as I'm about to tell him to leave me alone, I realize I can feel a faint tickling sensation in my head, almost as if somebody is flicking through the pages of a book and causing the edges of the pages to brush against my brain.

  “You've been staying with your aunt because she's sick,” this Duncan person continues, with a hint of fascination in his voice, “but you haven't been enjoying yourself very much. Your brother, I think, has been tormenting you. Just normal childhood bullying, the kind of thing that's quite natural between siblings, but I suppose it seems very much more important and horrible from your point of view. Your doll, Lucy -”

  “Stop that!” I yell.

  “Stay still,” he mutters, still staring at me as the fluttering sensation continues in my head. “Your doll Lucy is very important to you. More important, I would wager, than is natural for a child of your age. And you are still a child, aren't you? You're on the verge of tears, Miss Milly, and it's very important to you that nobody should know this.”

  “That's not true!” I hiss.

  “I want to return to the subject of your aunt,” he continues, narrowing his eyes a little more. “You and your mother and your brother have been staying with her.”

  “That's none of your -”

  Before I can finish, my mind is filled with the memory of our arrival at Aunt Alice's house. Unable to think of anything else, I find myself replaying the walk up the driveway in absolute, excruciating detail. If I'd chosen to remember the moment myself, I would have only remembered the barest details, but somehow now I see every little moment of the walk. In fact, I think I see more now – in memory – than I noticed at the time.

  I try to tell Duncan to stop whatever he's doing, but my jaw is locked and I can't utter anything more than a very faint gasp.

  And now the memory continues. I remember stepping through the front door, except that now my mind is flooded with every conceivable detail. I can see each and every crack and warp on the door-frame, and even the tiniest imperfections in the glass panel seem, now, to burst into my mind and demand my utmost attention. In truth, my thoughts are being pulled this way and that. A moment later, when I remember setting my little ladybug suitcase down in the hallway, I also remember each and every distinct fiber in the carpet, stretching all the way to the farthest doorway. I never noticed such things at the time, yet evidently the detail entered my mind and is now being drawn out.

  “This is going to take forever,” Duncan sighs. “I want to see...”

  Suddenly the memories start flashing faster than ever, as if I'm being forced to race through them at breakneck speed. I re-witness my fights and squabbles with Johnny, and that boring dinner with Mummy in the evening, and then finally the images and sounds and smells slow down a little and I let out a gasp as I remember being led into Aunt Alice's room. Mummy took me up there so that I could say goodnight, and I was so shocked to see that Aunt Alice – who was in fact my mother's aunt, not my own, with the name having merely stuck since forever – had become so very old and infirm.

  “Let me take a closer look,” Duncan whispers.

  My eyes are wide open, but I can see nothing of the world around me. Instead, all I see is the memory of walking over to Aunt Alice's bed, and the sight of her weathered face. Her eyes were milky white, and I remember Mummy telling me later that poor Aunt Alice could barely see anything at all. I remember her reaching out with a thin, trembling hand, and I remember forcing myself to let her touch me, even though -

  Here, suddenly, the memories slow even further, and I'm forced to experience them in the most shocking detail. I swear, I can see and feel every flake of skin on Aunt Alice's hand, every wrinkle and line, and I can feel her heartbeat pounding with such force that it's as if somebody has taken a paddle and begun beating my ears. In Aunt Alice's eyes, meanwhile, I see every blood vessel and every scar, not just on the front but also extending all the way back into the socket.

  And her breaths, which sounded so dry and faint in the room, now seem to fill the universe.

  “Stop!” I cry out, dropping to my knees and putting my hands on the sides of my head.

  Yet still the memory – if it can even be called a memory – continues.

  I feel Aunt Alice squeezing my hand gently, except that this time I'm aware of every sinew. I also feel, for the first time, the sensation of a little warmth passing from my skin to hers, as if in that brief moment – which now seems to last a lifetime – I gave her some strength. The warmth only travels between us for a few seconds, from my hand to hers, before my hand starts to slip from her grasp. At first I'm not sure why this is happening, but then I remember that I didn't like touching Aunt Alice very much, and that I pulled away from her as quickly as possible. I didn't want to seem rude, of course, but she was sick and very obviously dying. I didn't want to catch anything.

  Now I remember letting go of her hand, and I feel a little bad.

  “Her face,” Duncan whispers nearby. “I need to see her face.”

  Suddenly my memories rush forward again, until I reach the moment when I look directly at Aunt Alice's face. Here the memories screech to a halt, and I find myself staring at her once again. Except that this time, I see more than just a bunch of wrinkles and two white eyes. I see several faces at once, all overlapping one another, all similar but seemingly coming from different periods of time. It's almost as if, for one brief moment, I'm seeing every face Aunt Alice has ever had, from childhood all the way through to the present day. I don't remember how old she is – Mummy told me a few times, I just didn't pay attention – but I'm sure she must be in her eighties, maybe even her nineties.

  And yet right now, I see her when she was young, and when she was middle-aged, and when she was a child, and when -

  “Enough.”

  As soon as Duncan says that word, I fall backward and land h
ard against the rocky ground. Flat on my back, I stare up at the ceiling, and I realize that I can see properly again. No longer feeling the sensation of pages flipping in my head, I find that my memories have gone back to normal, although I've been left with a very faint headache.

  Realizing that I can't hear anybody nearby, I sit up and look around.

  Duncan is standing just a few feet away, but he seems lost in thought.

  For a moment, it occurs to me that maybe I could take this chance to run away. I look both ways along the corridor, but I have no idea how to find the steps that lead back up into the main part of the house. Besides, I doubt I could really run very fast with this damaged ankle, so Duncan would just catch up to me again. My best shot might be to simply lull him into a sense of security and make him trust me, so that then I can slip away when he gives me a better chance. If he really thinks that I've given up trying to escape, he might leave me all alone in one of these chambers, and then I can properly give him the slip.

  It's a good job I'm so smart.

  “There are no coincidences,” he says suddenly, clearly still concerned about something. “When one thinks one has encountered a coincidence, it simply means that one has not yet observed the hidden engines of existence.”

  I wait for him to explain what he means, but now he's silent again.

  “I don't know what you mean,” I say finally.

  “What?” He glances at me. “Oh. No. Of course you don't. You're only human.”

  Taking a deep breath, I get to my feet. My ankle is hurting more and more, and after a moment I have to lean against the wall.

  “Can you show me the way home, please?” I ask. “I never meant to come all the way down here. I was just trying to get away from my brother, but somehow I fell into the basement.”