by Shane Staley
He parked the car in a designated area—there were no other vehicles there, not a single one—and turned off the engine.
“Are we still serious about buying somewhere, or are we just going to kill some time?” Ria’s eyes looked huge. As usual, she wanted him to tell her what to think.
“It’s a bit remote out here, isn’t it? And where the hell are we anyway? I was lost half an hour ago.”
She laughed. “That’s a good point…I have no idea where this is. There must be a town or a village close by, otherwise why would they be building a new housing complex?”
He glanced ahead, through the windshield, at the half-built houses, the partially constructed garage walls, and the empty plots marked out with string lines for other buildings. There was an artist’s impression of the finished estate on a large board to his left. Its fake, bright colors depressed him.
THE NETHERVIEW ESTATE: WHERE THE WORLD LOOKS NEW!
Good grief, he thought. Who the hell comes up with this shit?
He tried to remember the last place he’d recognized during the drive here. He knew they were somewhere between Leeds and York, but that was about it. He’d never driven this route before; they’d taken the slip road off the motorway because they were sick of the sight of big trucks churning out fumes in the slow lane.
“Should we go?” He felt it right then: a sudden, strong desire to leave, to find the motorway and head home. He had no idea where the sensation had come from, but it gripped him with a sense of ferocity. But he couldn’t be the one to make them turn back. It had to be her, so he wouldn’t lose face.
“Let’s just take a quick look,” said Ria, already taking off her seatbelt and opening the passenger door. She turned and kissed him lightly on the cheek, then got out of the car.
Roy looked again at the signboard…WHERE THE WORLD LOOKS NEW! He shook his head and followed her out of the car.
They walked together to the sales office. They didn’t hold hands, but their fingers kept brushing together as they walked, an almost casual form of contact. They’d been married for six months now, and Roy was still unsure if this was what he wanted. Ria had intimated that she wanted to try for kids, but he was holding back. He didn’t want to feel trapped. He loved her—at least he thought he did—but being this intimate with someone, sharing your life with them, living so close that you could smell one another’s farts, made him nervous. He knew he was being selfish, but that was the way he’d always been. Ria knew this; he’d never made it a secret.
The door to the sales office was open. There was a wooden box set down in front of the step to allow people to step up into the office. Roy went first, pushing open the door. Inside, the prefab had been decorated with great care and taste, and a wide-screen television flashed three-dimensional images of how the houses would look when they were done—more artist’s impressions; brief glimpses of a cartoon lifestyle.
A short woman with her long, dark hair pulled up into a tight bun appeared behind the counter. She wobbled a little, as if she were adjusting her balance after sprouting directly from the floor, and then smiled. “Hello. Pleased to see you.” Her accent was odd and cold, perhaps Eastern European. Roy couldn’t be sure. He’d never heard one like it before.
“Hi,” said Ria.
“Would you like to take a look around? Our show homes are open today. They never shut.” She flashed a smile. She had no lines around her eyes and mouth; her complexion was flawless. She was, in fact, staggeringly beautiful.
“Well, we just popped in because we were passing. We don’t want to be a nuisance.” Ria nudged him, expecting him to say something.
“Yes,” he said, not even thinking about it. “Why not…let’s take a look around.” He was imagining the saleswoman naked. He wondered how she would look in his bed.
“Oh, good. Please, to be following me?” She walked around from behind the counter. Her suit was darker than her hair. The jacket was buttoned up tight; the skirt ended an inch or so above the knees. Those shapely knees.
Roy felt uncomfortable. He never usually thought like this. He was not the kind of man who saw every woman as a possible sexual conquest. But there was something about this woman that was intensely sensual.
They followed the saleswoman outside. Ria grabbed hold of his hand, as if she could read his thoughts and was reminding him that she was here with him. He squeezed her hand; she squeezed back.
“Have you seen our brochure?” The saleswoman stopped, turned around, brandishing a glossy booklet.
“No, we haven’t,” said Ria, taking the brochure and opening it at random.”
They started walking again. The woman kept to the gravel pathways. She was wearing flat shoes, but they weren’t suitable for trudging across the muddy site. Her movements were quick and deft.
“What is this place?” Roy let go of Ria’s hand. “I mean, it’s obviously a brownfield site—there are still traces of the demolition. What was here before you started building?”
“It was an old asylum,” said the saleswoman without turning around or changing her stride. “A Victorian monstrosity, it was empty for many years. We tore it down to build these beautiful new homes. They are beautiful, aren’t they?” She asked the question as if she needed reassurance. Her wide eyes begged them to agree.
“Oh, yes,” said Ria, flicking through the brochure. “They’re very nice.”
As they approached a flagstone pathway leading up to one of the show homes, Roy noticed for the first time that the high wire fence around the compound was topped with rolls of razor wire.
“Is that really necessary?” He motioned towards the fence, the lethal-looking wire.
The saleswoman seemed to know what he was talking about without looking. “We have had things stolen from other sites, so now we make sure security is in place. In this economy, building materials can fetch a nice price on the Black Market.”
It seemed logical, but Roy couldn’t stop thinking that something was slightly off about the whole situation. This didn’t look like a rough area. It was isolated, and in a pretty setting.
“Here we are,” said the saleswoman. “This is our best show home. Everybody loves this one.” She pushed open the door and stepped aside. “Please, go in. Explore. I shall wait out here and if there are any questions I’ll try my best to answer them.” Her smile was piercing, like that of a movie star. Once again, Roy felt a great and unwelcome surge of desire towards her.
They stood inside the doorway and waited for something to happen. The stairs were dead ahead; the hallway went along to the left of the stairwell. The wallpaper was nice, tasteful; the carpet was expensive, a type they’d never be able to afford.
“Well,” he said.
“Well,” she added.
“Shall we?”
“Yeah, why not? Let’s just have a little nosey around and then get the hell out of here.” She let go of his hand and stepped forward, jinking left at the stairs to follow the hallway. There was a wide double doorway on the left hand side, which led into a room that he assumed was the lounge, and the kitchen doorway lay ahead. He could see the workbenches and the edge of a dining table, a cluster of pan handles dangled from one wall.
He followed her into the kitchen. It wasn’t dark in there, but she reached out and turned on the light. “It is nice…”
“Very,” he said. The work surfaces were all done in granite. The appliances were brand new, stainless steel, expensive. “Be nice to be able to afford a place like this.”
“If we could, I wouldn’t want to live here.”
He looked at her. She didn’t turn around. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you feel it? Despite being brand new, this place feels…I don’t know. Empty?”
He laughed, but it didn’t sound right. It was hollow. Put on. “Maybe it’s just the old asylum…I bet that place had a lot of ghosts.”
“Maybe,” she said, moving forward.
He had the odd urge to reach out and stop her. T
hen an image flashed through his mind: Ria, pregnant, rubbing her swollen belly and smiling. Do I want this? he thought. Do I really want this? The answer, it seemed, was difficult to nail down.
“Look at this.” She handed him the glossy brochure. It was open in the middle, displaying a one-page article that was split by the staples. “It says the tunnels under the asylum were retained and turned into an underground car park. It says there are miles and miles of tunnels, and they had to seal some up because they didn’t have the time to see how far they went. How deep. So they built new walls, poured concrete caps, and just sealed them over. Isn’t that weird?”
For some reason he thought about a heavily pregnant Ria lost and weeping in those underground tunnels, walking barefoot over the stone floor, looking for something. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, it is weird.”
“Eerie,” said Ria, taking the brochure. The images had disturbed him: photographs of the tunnels before work commenced. Tall stone arches, smooth rock walls with marks etched into their surface, a floor that sloped gently downwards into darkness.
Ria turned and left the room. “Let’s look in here.” She vanished into the lounge. He followed her, trying to stay close. “Wow,” she said.
There was a granite fireplace containing one of those gas fires that were made to look like real ones—he couldn’t remember the name; a friend of his had bought one and it cost a lot of money. The wallpaper was luxurious, the floorboards were reclaimed timber from the asylum (or so the brochure had said), and all the furniture was top notch. The room was huge, with a dining area against the kitchen wall. There was a massive disembodied television screen fixed to the wall above the fire.
“I’d hate to think how much a mortgage on this place would be.” He walked over to the fire, stared at it. The flames barely flickered, as if they too were false.
“I’m sure that saleslady will tell us when we go back out. She seems very keen…” Ria walked out. He followed. “Upstairs,” she said.
They climbed the stairs and explored the four bedrooms and two bathrooms. Again, they were kitted out with high-spec fittings. It all looked so beautiful, yet there was an element of contrivance, as if this had all been put here to hide something unpleasant: nothing but a pretty façade.
They went downstairs. The front door was ajar. He could see the saleswoman, or part of her, standing behind it. She was unmoving. He had the crazy idea that when there was nobody around she simply shut down, as if she were a machine going into sleep mode.
“I don’t want to talk to her again. Is there a back door?”
Ria giggled. “You want to sneak out, like a naughty child?”
“Yeah… She’s creepy. I don’t have the patience to try and deflect her sales patter.”
“I think the other door was through here, in the kitchen.”
He followed her and, just as she’d said, there was another exit at the rear of the house. She reached out and opened the door…and the saleswoman was standing there, her fixed smile in place, another brochure tucked under her arm.
“You like?” she said.
Ria had taken a step backwards. She adjusted her position, caught hold of the doorframe. “Er, yes…it’s lovely.”
The saleswoman moved out of the way. Ria hesitated a moment, and then stepped outside, into the fading sunlight. The afternoon was dying; the sky was flecked with patches of darkness.
“Well,” he said. “Thank you so much for letting us see. We’ll be in touch. Lots more places to see before we make a decision.” He walked forward, trying to be proactive, to put her off trying to give them the big sell.
The saleswoman nodded. “I’m sure you’ll stay.” She turned briskly and walked away.
“That was weird.” Ria moved to his side, took hold of his arm. “That was really weird.”
“Let’s go.” He led her around the side of the house, walked back the way they’d come, towards the sales office and the car. The sales office was shut up now, even the shutters were down across the windows. There was no sign of the saleswoman.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding.” Ria’s voice was high-pitched; it didn’t sound like her at all.
“What—” But he saw what she was talking about before he got to finish the question. The car, it had been wrecked. The windshield was smashed, the tires were slashed, the bodywork was scratched and torn. Somebody had really gone to town on their ride. It was unusable.
“Roy…”
“The bastards. Who the hell did this?” He looked around, feeling silly and useless. There was nobody in sight. All the part-built structures were empty, the show homes were just shells, and even the sales office was a front.
“I’m scared, Roy…I’m really scared.”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry. The sales office will have a phone. I’ll get in there and call the police.”
“But it’s locked.”
“I don’t give a fuck. I’ll kick the damn door down.” He marched across the gravel and stood outside the door. Reaching out, he confirmed that it was indeed locked. “Stand back,” he said, not even knowing if she were close by. He aimed a big kick at the door, immediately below the lock. The door shuddered in its frame but didn’t budge. He kicked again, then again. Five times he kicked. Then he started in with his shoulder. After several shoulder-charges, the lock gave, the door buckled and opened. His shoulder ached; the pain was a pounding heartbeat. He rubbed at it, kicked the door wider, and stalked inside.
All the lights were off. It was growing darker outside, so the interior was gloomy. Ria had followed him in. She flicked the light switch. It didn’t work.
“Here,” he said. “The phone.” He lunged for it and picked up the receiver. Before he even pressed it against his ear he knew what he would hear: there was no dial tone. No noise at all. The line was dead. “Shit.”
Something moved outside. He heard skittering footsteps across the gravel, a heavy, solid impact against the side of the car. He spun around and made it to the door, just in time to see something big and fast and oddly-shaped vanishing around the back of a partially built house.
“I think we’re in trouble here.”
“What is it?” Ria grabbed his hand and squeezed. He didn’t squeeze back; didn’t have the energy.
“I…I don’t know. Maybe some criminal gang has this whole thing set up as a front for some fraud, and we’ll end up being taken for a fortune. I don’t know.” His explanation sounded ridiculous. He thought about those underground tunnels and what might be lurking in them…what might have been dwelling down there for decades, feeding off the madness of the Victorian asylum above. What would happen if such things were displaced? If the asylum was torn down, their food stock taken away, and new houses built in its place?
His mind was racing. He was coming up with fantasies when he needed facts.
“This way.” He pulled Ria outside. They ran past the car, along the side of a house, and then stopped behind a high wall. “Remember that razor wire? We can’t climb the fence. I’ll bet the gates are closed, too, but all I can think of is to head back there, see if we can break through.”
Ria nodded, breathless.
“You okay?”
“No.” She smiled. It was strained, but it was genuine.
Yes, he thought. I do want this. I want her, and I want to have a baby, a family, a life. If we get out of this place, that’s what we’ll do. We’ll start to make our mark.
“Okay. Stick close. Don’t fall behind. I don’t know who’s out there, but they’re trying to scare us.”
There was another loud bang; a frantic scrabbling on the gravel.
“It’s working,” said Ria. She squeezed his hand. This time he squeezed back.
They ran bent over, as if they were fugitives, and reached the gate without further incident. As expected, they were secured. There was a thick, heavy chain with a huge lock wrapped around the stanchions. He pushed the gate, rattled the chain. It wasn’t budging.
“We need to l
ook for some tools…anything that might help us break this lock.” He glanced around nervously. It was getting darker. The sun was almost gone. The sky seemed a lot lower than it should be; he thought that if he climbed on top of that fence and reached up, he might be able to touch it.
“Look…it’s a security cabin.”
He turned to see where Ria was pointing. Another prefabricated hut, but this one was smaller and made of metal—like a large shipping container but used as an office. “I think you’re right. There might be something in there.”
They made their way over to the cabin, their feet crunching on the gravel, their breathing loud, panicked. Roy could hear something out there, in the gathering darkness. He thought it might be stalking them from behind the half-built rows, watching them, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Tunnels…long, dark tunnels…and something moving, living, feasting…sucking down and swallowing the madness from above…
He tried to focus his mind. This called for action, not flights of fantasy.
When they reached the security cabin, he peered through the window. There was a small bank of CCTV monitors, each one flickering and showing no picture. A small office chair was pulled up against the desk. There was a flask on the side, some foil-wrapped sandwiches. But there was nobody in there.
He tried the door. It opened. He went straight to the steel cabinet that stood against the wall, opened the doors. Inside there was a yellow Hi-Vis jacket, a hardhat, some heavy work boots, a tool box…he grabbed the toolbox, took it out and set it down on the floor. Bending over, he opened it. The tools were all small—chisels, screwdrivers, spanners. He found nothing that would break through that heavy-duty lock. He went again to the cabinet. There was a shovel propped up against the rear. He took the shovel out and hefted it, testing the weight. “This’ll do,” he said. Before they left the cabin, he checked the lock. It worked. There were even steel shutters that could be drawn across the window.