One door swung suddenly on its hinges and clouted Bob in the side of the head. He grunted and dropped to one knee, stunned.
“Go away, boy.” The Anzac had reappeared a few feet in front of him, glowing in the darkness. He vanished again, like a light going out. Had Caroline fainted or was the ghost using some last vestige of stored power to make these fleeting appearances. He did not seem able to manifest himself for long.
Bob moved away from the doors lest they swing again. In the distance, he could hear fire engines approaching. Why not just run and let them find the cut-off switch? No, they might not be in time, he decided, or the Anzac might destroy it somehow. It was still up to him. He shouted desperately into the darkness.
“There are no sliding doors down here, no monitors, nothing electronic! You have nothing to attack me with! You go away!”
There was a dry chuckle from the darkness. “You were never in the trenches were you, boy? You never experienced that muddy, stinking Hell for month after month. After a time you almost get used to it. You even get over your natural loathing for the other trench dwellers, the non-human kind. After long enough you develop an affinity with them. You become almost friends.” There was a dry chuckle again, low and soft and menacing. “My friends will sort you out, boy.”
Bob moved forward, wishing desperately for some sort of light source. How was he to find the switch? He moved reluctantly from the faint glow of the light outside into the utter darkness of the basement, telling himself it was only darkness and he could cope.
Then he heard the scratching, scuttling noise. Not through headphones this time but for real, and he knew they were out there waiting for him.
Rats.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bob wanted to run away. He was in a dark basement with rats. He was cold and tired and almost naked, his white Anglo-Saxon skin exposed to their attack. When a helpless child he had been sometimes trapped in a dark basement with rats and all he had wanted was to get out. That had not been possible, then. Then, filled with fear he had felt the normal animal urges – fight or flight. But flight had been impossible because of the locked cellar door and it was hopeless, in the darkness, to fight the scurrying rats. The adrenaline rush had no outlet so his mind had turned in on itself and the result was his terror of darkness, carried with him into adult life despite all the social stigma, despite all the detached logical analysis he had bought to bear on this phobia over the years. Reason was an excellent tool but useless when applied to unreasoning animal fear. Reason was simply not the right thing for the job. It was like trying to pick up soup with a fork.
Bob wanted to run away. He more than wanted it, he needed to run away. He stood poised at the edge of the dim light from outside, the darkness before him filled with the small noises of small creatures, and the thought filled his head, screamed at him.
I need to get out of here.
The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few; or the one.
“A heroic thought,” Bob said aloud. “But I’m not really a hero.”
There was a soft chuckle in the darkness and the Anzac’s voice. “Run away, boy. I’ll let you live. The others will be sacrifice enough.”
The others were upstairs, flames licking their way up the building towards them and the shutters down preventing a rescue. For a few seconds, Bob had almost forgotten the others. Reminded he felt a surge of rage and frustration. He stared into the blackness and did not know what to do. He didn’t even know the location of the switch he sought. He could stumble around in that darkness gnawed by rats and still not help his friends in the slightest. What was the point of that? There had to be another way. Not reluctantly, he turned to leave.
There was a flicker from the light fitting over his head, a small patch of illumination, just enough to see the hand in front of his face. Another light came on in the far left- hand corner. By its faint glow, Bob could just discern a box on the wall. There was a sign above the box in large red letters: Do Not Touch.
The Anzac screamed: “Damn you, Raja! Mind your own business!”
That must be the switch I want, thought Bob. The Rajah had provided a glimmer of light, and hope. But there was still a long patch of blackness between him and the target, blackness filled with rats.
“Oh, to Hell with it!”
With that, Bob made his decision. He put one hand down to cup his groin for protection and stepped into the darkness. His free hand he waved in front of his face. He didn’t think rats could leap that high from the ground – though he wasn’t sure – but they might have other perches higher up on the walls concealed in the darkness. The last thing he wanted was one on his face.
He felt their fur on his legs and kept moving. It wasn’t quite a run, more of an awkward shuffling jog. Then came the first bite. He yelled. More bites followed, just nips really but many of them. Blood trickled down his legs. The ground was smooth concrete underfoot, smooth and cold. It became horribly warm and squashy as he stepped on a rat which bit him on the side of his foot for its pains. The rats were making a high pitched screech. One got underfoot again and he almost slipped on it. He drew in a deep shuddering breath and slowed almost to a walk. To go down would be the end of him. If he went down they would swarm over him and devour him alive while the Anzac laughed and his friends were burned alive above him. The target switch was not very far now. A few more careful steps would get him there.
The bites were agony. One rat got as high as his groin and bit his hand. He swung wildly, exposing himself for a few deadly seconds, and hurled it across the room before its teeth could sink in properly. His hand shot back to his groin. If they got him there, he would surely go down.
He vomited and bent double reflexively as he did it. One bit his inner thigh. He dropped the hand protecting his face and knocked it away. Then a huge heavy one got a grip on his right knee and hung on. He could feel the weight of it. He shook his leg and screamed in pain but it would not let go. He was barely three steps from the switch. He could see it clearly, a large U shape with a thick rubber handle. The top bar of the U was resting just below a red ON sign. Below it was the wonderful red sign that said OFF.
The rat on his knee bit deeper. Having no choice he dropped heavily to one knee and crushed it, a gruesome crunching under him. The rest bit his arms and elbows. There were dozens of wounds already on his legs. He was about to go down.
With a roar of frustration, he rose to his feet and scrambled desperately for the switch. Abandoning all self-defence he reached for it with his right hand and yanked it down. Bleeding and exhausted he turned around and slid down the wall. He ended up slumped on the ground just beneath the switch, barely conscious, eyes closed against the horror. Rats swarmed over him, biting his torso and arms. He sank down further until he was almost on his back; shoulders pressed against the wall, helpless to do anything except cup one hand over his groin. He felt a bite on his ear and opened his eyes wide in shock.
He stared straight into the Anzac’s face. One eye blazed with fury, the other was that terrible black pit. The whole face was white, pitted with sores. The Anzac was bending over him, roaring a last message.
“You’ll live, boy. Don’t let them build here again, or I’ll be back.”
A jet of cold water hit his shoulder and he heard voices shouting. He glimpsed someone silhouetted in the doorway. Cold water sprayed over him and the rats squealed and fled. Then he blacked out.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bob felt very warm and comfortable. He was dully aware of some pain in his legs but felt detached from it somehow, as if it was happening to someone else. He was led flat on his back and slowly became aware he was in a soft bed. Unfamiliar scents filled his nostrils. He realized he was in the hospital and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Caroline. She stood at the foot of the bed looking very attractive in a white blouse, red cravat and short black skirt. He smiled. She gave a rather wan smile in return. She seemed sad.
Bob tried to raise his head
but felt a stab of pain through it and sank back to the pillow. He paused to get a breath then said, “Are the others safe?”
She nodded. “Everyone made it. They’re waiting outside. I said I wanted to see you alone.”
“Oh.” He stared at her for a second wondering why she looked so forlorn. Then he recognized the expression. “Is this going to be one of those conversations where you start off with ‘We need to talk.’?”
“I’m afraid it is.”
He felt a moment of sadness. She was so pretty and he had cherished high hopes for their romance. A long, dry spell without a girlfriend had given him unrealistic expectations when one was acquired. Really they had only been on two dates though. He sighed and sat up straighter in the bed. “Out with it.”
“After last night I realized I need to see my mother. I have kept in contact but I need to see her and be with her and sort out my feelings. She’s in America. She has citizenship. I can go there and work and be well paid too. I’ve already given in my notice at NHS Direct and by the time you return to work I’ll be gone. I guess this is good-bye.”
Bob pursed his lips. His mind hovered between pleading and telling her to go to Hell. Pleading, he decided, was not appropriate after only two dates, and they had already been through Hell. He decided to act like an English gentleman, retain a stiff upper lip and conceal his emotions while maintaining a polite exterior. Twenty years of Sunday afternoon black and white war films starring Jack Hawkins had conditioned him thus.
“Good-bye then,” he said. “I wish it could have worked out better.”
“It’s not your fault.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “You’re a nice bloke, Bob. There will be other girls.”
She turned abruptly and walked away.
As she exited through the swing doors of the ward the others came in. They approached his bed and Pauline gave him a warm smile.
“My hero,” she said.
“You did it,” said Eddie. His broken arm was set in plaster hanging in a sling. “The shutters went up just in time and the firemen were able to rescue us. Carrying several scantily clad nurses on their shoulders was not the most unpleasant night’s work they’ve ever done. They must have thought Christmas had come early. I think they drew lots and the loser got me.”
“The second shortest straw got me,” said Nancy.
“At least you’re not heavy,” said Pauline.
“Nor are you dear. Don’t be silly.”
“Talking of silly,” said Eddie, “I did a silly thing. At least you may think it is.” He looked a little embarrassed.
Bob was intrigued. “What did you do?”
“I went to a little Catholic church up the road, Saint Gerard Majella it’s called. Very nice too. It was built when churches looked like places of worship, not community centres or bingo halls.”
“Did you see a priest? Did you ask for an exorcism?”
“It’s a bit late for that. No. I lit a candle for the Rajah, and one for the Anzac too.”
“The Anzac! Why light one for him.”
“Maybe it will help him rest easier in future.” Eddie shrugged. “I don’t believe that stuff but it seemed an appropriate gesture. It’s a nice church.”
Nancy suddenly bent over and kissed Bob on the forehead. “I have to go. You did well, Bob. You were very brave. I’ll see you soon.”
She turned and walked out of the ward. On the way out she passed a young Asian doctor who was advancing in their direction. He stopped at Bob’s bed and brusquely took the clipboard off the hook, studied it.
“What’s the prognosis?” said Eddie.
“He’ll be discharged in a few hours. He has some wounds but he can walk and we need the bed. He’s young and healthy. He’ll be up and about in no time.”
“Damn,” said Bob. “I was looking forward to a few weeks off work.”
“You might have that anyway,” said Mandy. “Our workplace has burned to the ground, remember.”
“I imagine they’ll slot us in somewhere at Acuma House for now,” said Eddie, “though they’ll be hard-pressed to find enough seats and computers for all of us, not to mention car parking spaces.”
“Not our problem,” said Mandy. “Are you okay, Bob?”
“I’ll live. I’m disappointed though. After surviving his trials the hero walks off into the sunset with his girl. My girl walked off into the sunset without me.”
“Hero?” Eddie stomped his foot in mock outrage. “You are not the hero of Arnos Hell. I am. And I got the girl at the end.” He put his arm around Mandy and hugged her. She did not demur.
“Since I didn’t get the girl, you may be right.” Bob looked glumly at his feet.
Pauline said, “She’s not the only girl in the world.” She sounded a little cross.
Bob was startled by the tone of voice. He shot a glance at Mandy. She was looking at the ceiling and wearing that expression by which women let men know they are fools. He looked at Eddie. Eddie winked. Then he regarded Pauline and considered her many virtues. She was much better than Caroline in a crisis and just as pretty. She was slightly plump but agile enough to do well in her fifties dancing classes. Above all, she was easy company and pleasant to be with. Bob took a deep breath.
“Pauline, will you go out with me tonight?” he asked humbly.
She beamed. “Absolutely,” she said. “Where shall we go?”
Bob slowly raised his one good leg and pointed to it. “Let’s go to the hop.”
Afterword
A FEW YEARS BACK AN entrepreneur bought Arnos Vale cemetery in Bristol for a song with the idea of using it for commercial development. At about the same time NHS Direct was looking for a new headquarters as the lease on its base at Almondsbury was running out. The coincidence of new development at Arnos Vale and my employer planning to move gave me the idea for the story. As it happens, neither event came to pass but this is my notion of what might have taken place if it had.
Raja Ram Mohan Roy existed and there’s a statue of him at College Green, Bristol close to the Cathedral. He also has a splendid tomb in Arnos Vale cemetery. The Anzacs are buried nearby. Although they are the villains of this fantastic tale, I meant no disrespect to the memory of the brave men who died at Gallipoli.
Arnos Vale cemetery is a beautiful piece of green land in a busy urban setting. It receives no government or local authority funding and is maintained by a charity, The Friends of Arnos Vale Cemetery. More information on is available at https://arnosvale.org.uk/support/
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Other Free Books
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My self-published ‘pay what you want’ books are:
Consarn Christmas and Other Stories
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Arnos Hell
My Other Books
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The Brigstowe Dragons: Dragon Eggs
The Brigstowe Dragons 2: Return of the Black Magician
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The Union Man and Other Stories
The Spirit of Mars (short story)
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About the Author
EAMONN MURPHY LIVES near Bristol, England and has spent the last 58 years growing up, reading Marvel comics and Golden Age SF, doing many different jobs. Finally, he has settled with a nice
lady in the countryside and is trying to make a career of writing.
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