“What’s the matter?” he whispered. He walked up to her and held her shoulders. She didn’t answer, merely continuing to hold up the T-shirt in disbelief. A memory of Emma, Paul and him walking in the woods started to form in his mind. Paul had been wearing that T-shirt that day; the day when he had shown them the rune-stone! It was Paul’s T-shirt! Paul’s T-shirt was in this room! Suddenly Emma started to panic.
“Oh my god, Paul is here!” she said in a voice somewhere between a whisper and a scream. “He’s here now! I know it; it must have been him I saw in the window!”
“Emma, you’re not making any sense. How could Paul possibly be here? He may even be dead.”
“Look over there!” She pointed at a door in the corner. Erik had seen similar doors in many of the rooms. It was to the stairs which led either to the basement with the servant quarters and kitchens or to the dungeon. The house had been cleverly designed and Erik guessed that this one, having previously been a bedroom, led to the servant quarters. If there had been someone in here earlier, that is where he or she could have escaped.
“Do you want to go down there and have a look?”
“Well, we can’t stop now.” She led the way to the door but Erik went in first as she opened it.
“It’s dark down here. We need a light.”
“We can’t leave the room now. Perhaps we can use the kerosene lamp.” She walked back into the room and picked up the lamp. It looked as if it had not been used for a while.
“Luckily for us, I have matches on me! I used them when I lit the fire earlier!”
“Perfect!” She took the matches, lifted the glass and lit the wick. To their surprise, it worked. “Amazing! These things are certainly long-lasting.” She gave the lamp to Erik who started to walk down the stairs again. Emma followed, deliberately leaving the door open behind them. It wasn’t long before they reached the basement at the bottom of the stairs. What was before them was the skeleton of a kitchen. It had been stripped of all its appliances, leaving a large space with unwelcoming cold stone walls, no windows and nothing but rubble and a big black stain where Erik guessed the stove had stood. There was no sign of any life, as far as they could see in the kerosene lamp light.
“At least we are not in the dungeons,” Erik laughed quietly.
“Quiet! I think I can hear something!” It was unmistakable. It was definitely distant footsteps. “Oh my god, the steps are coming closer.” The steps were rapid and sounded aggressive in the hollow space, almost as if someone was coming up some stairs. There was no doubt that the intruder was coming nearer. It sounded as if they were now in the same room. They could even hear someone breathing. Emma walked over to the corner to stand behind Erik who prepared his weapon. “Don’t shoot unless you see who it is,” she added in a breathless whisper. Emma was holding up the kerosene lamp. Suddenly the steps stopped. Whoever it was started to run in another direction, away from them.
“Let him run. Let’s go upstairs and get out of here.”
“No, come on, let’s follow. There’s something strange going on here. We need to know.” Emma was adamant and started to walk in the direction where the steps had come from. Erik overtook her, still with his rifle prepared for battle, continuing the hunt. He feared that she still believed that it was Paul. She ensured that they had light by walking beside him with the lamp raised.
“Oh my god, look over there!” she said. “Do you think this is where he went?” Emma moved the lamp around the area. Before them was a flight of stairs, leading down to the dungeons. It was the only way the intruder could possibly have gone. It was the end of the room. Erik knew that before the family had moved into the modern house, it had been used as a wine cellar for more than a century after its use as a dungeon had been discontinued. It should not have been frightening but the legends and stories about the place were still alive in Erik’s mind at that moment. According to some, that was where the ghost referred to as the ‘grey lady’ had appeared to a local woman at the beginning of the twentieth century. Up until then, the grey lady had supposedly been haunting the house, grieving for her lover who had been executed there in the fifteenth century. Erik had heard the story many times when he was growing up. The ghost had led the woman to a stone under which fifteenth century letters and books had later been found hidden. The husband of the woman who had found the letters had died shortly after in a farming accident where he had ended up hanging from a tree, and it was generally speculated that it was the ghost’s revenge for her not keeping the letters a secret. Erik had never believed in the story, not even as a child but he had not had the courage to ever enter the dungeons or the basement. He was not alone in this phobia. The fear of entering the dungeons of Torpa was widespread as a result of this and numerous other legends. Even in modern days the tour-groups were not allowed to enter any part of the basement but the fanciful stories about it were frequently told to sceptical but excited tourists. With the recent experience with the space in the wall, he asked himself whether these legends could have been another laborious plan to keep something from being found.
He took a deep breath and started to descend the stairs. Emma walked right behind him with the lamp. He was still clutching the rifle tightly and was doing his best to appear brave and at ease. It was not only the fear of the dungeons which made him apprehensive of every step. It was also the thought of being greeted by an unknown intruder at the bottom of the stairs which filled him with trepidation. Following in this criminal’s footsteps was a bad idea from beginning to end but Emma was adamant. They were risking their lives for her misguided belief that they were following Paul but he didn’t blame her. Someone had broken into his house and it was his duty, as the owner of the house, to catch the intruder. He had to be strong. He could hear from her breathing that she was frightened. He turned around and gave her a peck on her cheek.
Emma scowled half heartedly and said: “This is hardly the time to get frisky!”
Erik struggled not to laugh and whispered reassuringly: “We can get through this”. She gave him a pale smile in the lamp light. He noticed once again how her eyes were shining, even in that awkward situation. As they reached the bottom of the stairs they walked side by side, past shelves which still appeared to contain dusty bottles of wine. It smelt murky and it was cold. The space was surprisingly small, with only a couple of sub-chambers which must have been the cells at some point in history. For some reason, Erik had always pictured the dungeon as much larger. His heart was beating faster as they approached the second subchamber. If the intruder was hiding anywhere, it had to be there. There simply was nowhere else to go. But to their surprise, the small space was deserted. Erik was suddenly panic-stricken. What if the intruder had lured them into the basement and gone past them and back up the stairs, locking the door. No one knew they were down there. His parents were not back for another week. The cleaners would think he had gone back to Gothenburg. He checked his mobile phone and unsurprisingly he didn’t have any coverage. If they were locked down there, they would be trapped. Unless it was possible to survive on wine, they would be left to starve. “Emma, come on, hurry, let’s go back! I’m sure the intruder is planning to lock us in here!”
“No wait, look!” She was shining the lamp on the floor. There were fresh footsteps in the dust. She followed them around to the back shelves at the far end of the dungeon where they suddenly disappeared. They both looked around, up and down, in panic, expecting to see someone in the dark nearby. No one was there. Not a sound.
“This cannot be. There is no way the steps could just end here.”
“Unless this shelf moves. Look at these slide-marks!” She pointed at some marks to the right of the outer shelf.
“Herre gud! I think you’re right! It seems that this could be what we have been looking for. I would say that we have, along with the intruder, found the entrance or exit to the old escape route! And I would also say that this is not the first time this person has ventured through here. It’s probably the
same way he came in.”
“Well, let’s see, shall we?” She started to try to slide the door but it would not budge. “There must be some sort of lever somewhere.”
“Maybe this has one of those mechanisms you see in the films.” He lifted a couple of wine-bottles but nothing happened. “Or perhaps it’s not that clever. It could need brute force.” He pushed it as hard as he could but without success. They were at a loss. Erik studied the shelf in detail whilst Emma stood back and looked at it from a distance, having put the lamp down next to it.
She suddenly realised something: “Look! What I thought were slide marks is actually the end of a semi-circle. The shelf-unit opens like a door! I’m sure of it!” She went up to it and immediately found a very small, almost invisible, black handle on the left hand side at the back of the shelf, where a door-handle logically would have been if it had been a normal door. It was no bigger than an average size nail. She pulled it out and then pressed it down. The door opened easily with a brief squeak, revealing a dark narrow tunnel behind it. They could hear no steps.
“I assume that whoever it was has managed to escape in there. We were too slow.” Emma was disappointed. Erik was relieved. “I wonder where this ends up. It was supposed to go from somewhere in your garden to the other side of the lake but it must have had three entrances! If what the newspaper article said is right, the one in your garden that was discovered in the 1970s has been blocked up, so it must only lead to the other side of the lake.”
“This chamber is at the back of the house, towards the lake so that fits well but there is only one way to know for sure.” He sounded braver than he felt. They left the door open as they ventured inside the confined space of the passageway. Erik was uncomfortable in more ways than one. His height meant that his back was bent awkwardly as they walked but that was nothing compared to the trepidation he felt over what was coming. His biggest fear was that someone would be hiding around the corner, waiting to attack them or perhaps somehow trap them in there. If Emma died in there, he would never forgive himself. They also had no idea whether they would be able to get out at the other end. Someone could easily have tricked them in there. He knew he was being paranoid but the circumstances were worrisome to say the least. The walk felt like an eternity. The lamp died after what they thought must be about half way. They decided to continue, preferring that option over going back through the dungeons. Thereafter they walked slowly, fumbling in the dark. He had no idea how long they had been walking in there when he suddenly stumbled on something large on the floor.
“Oh my god, there’s something here.” His voice was trembling with fear.
“What is it? Can you feel anything?”
Erik’s blood froze in his veins. He didn’t want to know what it was. Forcing himself to continue he concluded that his worst fears had been realised. A person was on the floor in front of him. There was no mistake. The person was still warm, so it was not a question of an old dead decomposed body. This was someone who had either just died or past out only a few minutes ago.
“Emma…. There is someone, a person, lying on the floor here!” Without warning Emma screamed. It was a chilling scream which bounced around the walls, echoing like a jet plane in the confined space, all along the tunnel. Following this she started to run back the way they had come. Erik was just about to run after her when he felt the person grab his foot. In a fit of panic he fired his gun twice. The person let go of his leg and remained lifeless on the floor. He heard Emma screaming his name in the distance. He ran after her as best as he could in the awkward bent position, taking care not to hit his head on the uneven walls. It was strange to think that they were underneath the lake.
“Emma wait! Wait!” He caught up with her and grasped her arm. She screamed again. “It’s me. Calm down. We have to stay calm. I know this is awful but we have to get through this. There is someone here who might need us to save his life. Let’s go back. We can’t be far from the other side now.” He held her in his arms.
After a couple of minutes Emma came to her senses after the shock. “Alright, let’s go back…”
He may have committed a murder. Erik treaded carefully, waiting for the encounter with the person on the floor again. It never came. Instead they heard slow footsteps further up.
“He has woken up!” Erik would have preferred to wait until the other person had escaped, to avoid another encounter but he forced himself to run, this time quicker than before. The passageway had started to veer upwards. They were nearing the surface, the exit. He was spurred on by a breath of fresh air flowing towards them, a sign that a door had been opened. He left Emma to her own devices. He knew that if he didn’t get there before this person had closed the door, they would be trapped, faced with another gruelling walk back though the tunnel without a lamp and with the added pressure of getting to the other side before the intruder. He reached the metal lid just as it closed. Using all his strength he pushed it open with a loud bang, coming face to face with the intruder. It was getting dark. They were completely surrounded by murky threatening trees. The sun had already disappeared behind the horizon. There was no mistake. He could see the perpetrator clearly. The sight left him dumbfounded. They were staring at each other, both in disbelief. Emma appeared in the hole, stopping in her tracks as she laid eyes on the scene before her.
TWENTY-NINE
For some reason they had both assumed that the intruder had been a man. Emma had thought it was Paul. However, before them was a woman that they both knew well – Britt-Marie. Her grey hair was a mess, her clothes dirty and blood was dripping from a wound on her forehead. She carried a rucksack. Erik realised that she was on the brink of collapse. She must have had a serious blow to her head. She had likely hit an uneven block in the ceiling of the passage whilst running.
“Are you alright? Should I carry you?” He didn’t need an answer. He managed to catch her as she crumpled and passed out again.
Emma closed the rusty metal lid which covered the entrance to the passage. A loud metallic sound followed. Erik suddenly realised that this was the same sound he had heard the night before and in the bath. At that stage it wasn’t clear why Britt-Marie had used the passage but there was no time to stay and ponder over that. She needed a doctor and quickly. None of them had any sort of medical training but they could both see that Britt-Marie was in a bad way. She had walked into something and they could see a wound on the crown of her head as well as her forehead. From the state of her clothes they could not tell what was blood and what was a mixture of mud and grime and soot and dirt from the cellar and the passage. In the darkness they had no way of knowing truly how badly she was hurt. They had to get back to the house. Emma called for an ambulance as they ran, Erik carrying Britt-Marie in his arms. Blood was dripping from the wound and it was a long way around the lake, much further than the route they had just come. She was heavy but Erik felt strong, despite the long night. Adrenalin helped him to carry on. As they arrived inside the house they put her on the first bed they could find, ironically his grandmother’s on the ground floor. Emma went to get a wet cold towel with ice to put on her forehead. Erik stayed with her, holding her hand. The ambulance got there half an hour later. Britt-Marie was still unconscious but she was breathing and her heart was beating regularly. After only a couple of minutes the ambulance staff concluded that she was going to be fine. She had a mild concussion. Britt-Marie regained consciousness not very long thereafter, complaining of a headache.
“What happened to you?” the female doctor asked.
Erik answered in her place: “She hit her head down in the basement of the old house. God knows what she was doing down there.” He pointed in the direction of the house.
“I believe she was getting some wine,” Emma said. It was by pure luck that we found her. Britt-Marie nodded slowly in silence.
They thanked the ambulance staff and were instructed how to treat the head wound and resulting concussion. On Britt-Marie’s insistence, they had concl
uded that there was no need for her to travel to hospital. The journey would likely make her headache worse and her condition was not very bad. Therefore, Britt-Marie remained in Mrs Stenbock’s bed, left in the care of Erik and Emma. Erik silently thanked god that he had not managed to shoot her with the rifle.
“Now have a rest. Read something.” He found a couple of magazines in the bedside table drawer and put them next to her on the bed. “At some stage we need to talk. We are very confused about all this. You need to explain what happened.”
“I’m sorry….”
“Don’t worry about it. Just focus on having a rest!”
As they left the room, Erik grabbed her rucksack. It was surprisingly heavy. They returned to where they had sat earlier that day – the library. Erik left the door ajar in case Britt-Marie needed them. It was late, almost eleven o’clock but they both knew that if they went to bed they would not be able to sleep. He was physically tired and a bit shaken but the adrenaline was still pumping furiously in his veins. Emma was overwhelmed by the whole event. She had not said anything since they had left Britt-Marie. Erik lit the fire in silence, letting her calm down. She was sitting in her favourite chair with a cup of hot chocolate that he had prepared for her. It was a worrying sign that she was staring at thin air like a zombie. It had been the discovery of the lifeless person on the floor in the tunnel that had pushed her over the edge. Before then she had been fine, dealing with the whole situation arguably better than him.
“Are you alright?” he asked when he had managed to get the fire going.
“I think so…” She sipped from her mug and looked at him. “I thought it was Paul down there in the tunnel. It was just that seeing Paul’s T-shirt in there brought it all back… and then when I heard the steps, well…”
The Atlantis Keystone Page 26