The Letterbox

by Layton Green

  “Any ties to the Druids?”

  “Dunno. I wouldn’t be surprised if she studied them.”

  Asha drew her arms tight against her chest. “It looks like Kardec took a page out of Egyptian religion and wanted to be buried with his belongings.”

  “Pagans do pagan things,” Jake said.

  Lou’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the entrance. “Who else here has noticed the two most interesting items in the room?”

  No one replied, unsure if Lou was being serious or sarcastic.

  “Number two is the lit candelabra by the entrance,” Lou continued. “Judging by the lack of cobwebs and dust, it’s apparent someone visits this place at least occasionally. But a lit candle means someone was here today.”

  “What’s number one?” Asha said.

  “Take a good long look at the table.”

  I did, and failed to notice anything out of the ordinary.

  “Look under the embroidery,” Lou said.

  I moved a piece of the cloth aside, revealing a stone table. “I don’t—” I began, then cut myself off as I moved aside more of the fabric. “Oh. I see. Very clever, Lou.”

  Lifting aside more of the embroidery revealed a thick, rectangular slab of stone supported by two smaller stones acting as legs.

  “The second dolmen,” Asha murmured.

  I bent down and saw an oblong wooden container resting beneath the top piece of the dolmen, tucked between the two side slabs. “Novel place for a coffin.”

  Lou paced the room. “This has to be the correct location, since both dolmens are here. But how do we find the next portion of the map? Where do we put the letterbox?”

  After taking a long look at the table, I put a hand on the silver bowl. “Jake, give me a hand with this.”

  The bowl was quite heavy, but we managed to set it on the floor. I removed the book and then the rest of the embroidery, revealing a small, familiar-size depression indenting the surface of the dolmen.

  “I knew lawyers were good for something,’” Jake crowed. He set the letterbox top-down into the depression, such that the wooden bottom was exposed, crystals sparkling in the dim light.

  Another perfect fit.

  Jake rubbed his chin. “So where’s the rest of it? We need to change the pattern.”

  “What if it’s been lost or stolen?” I said.

  A feverish light brightened Asha’s eyes. “It’s here somewhere,” she said. “It has to be.”

  We searched the chamber beneath the unnerving gazes of H.P. Blavatsky and Allan Kardec, each second increasing my fear that we were overextending our stay. We looked behind every piece of fabric and art, turned over every movable object, but we found nothing to fit over the letterbox.

  Lou climbed on the throne at the end of the room. He picked up the wooden staff and pointed it at Jake. “I hereby banish your twin demons of misguided beliefs and poor grammar.”

  “You’re gettin’ a big head, fat boy. Why don’t you—” Jake stopped midsentence as Lou smirked and cupped the square head of the staff, which looked like a flat piece of ornate silver latticework. Jake’s mouth broke into a slow grin.

  “Of course,” I said softly. “Druids and their staffs.”

  Lou carried the staff to the table and positioned the flattened head over the letterbox, moving it around until it fit snugly over a section of the stones. Asha and I hurried to snuff the candles, casting the room into semi-darkness. Once again a pattern of light and dark spread across the bottom of the letterbox. I felt a familiar, addictive thrill as a new portion of the map was revealed.

  Jake fit his magnifier over the letterbox. I went to close the outside door to darken the room. As I approached the entrance, I noticed something that everyone, including myself, had overlooked.

  Something that made my skin crawl.

  “I just found interesting item number three,” I called out in a tight voice. “Although I don’t know if interesting is the word I’d use for this one. More like disturbing.”

  I pointed out a large iron padlock hanging on the wall next to the door. “There’s a deadbolt for this door, as well as this padlock. Neither were in place. Why would a crypt with valuable jewelry and other items be left unsecured?”

  Another howl from outside, louder and closer than the first.

  Jake stopped snapping photos and banged a fist on the table. “Because they knew we were coming. They knew it and they let us in.”

  “Then why let us see the map?” Asha said.

  Lou backed away from the table, his face pale. “Because they aren’t expecting us to leave.”

  Jake swore, picked up the letterbox, and herded everyone outside. The tingling I had felt at our discovery turned into a cold splash of fear.

  “We’ll follow the main road to the nearest wall,” Jake said. “Maybe there’ll be a tree or a tomb we can use to climb out. If not, we follow the wall until we reach the ladder.”

  We again entered the nocturnal world of Pere Lachaise, my mind swimming with images from the occult artwork in the crypt. As Jake led us down the narrow path that would take us back to Avenue des Etrangers Morts, the howling resumed, closer than ever, and the trees seemed to close in, the fog hiding every imaginable and unimaginable thing. My nostrils flared with heightened adrenaline, inhaling the loamy smell of the cemetery.

  When we stumbled onto Avenue des Etrangers Morts, the broad and familiar byway felt like a godsend. Jake’s knife appeared in his hand as we hurried towards the center. The howling continued behind us, and my head felt strangely clear despite the rubbery feeling in my limbs.

  “I can see the crossroads,” Lou said.

  Even though reaching the center would put us at the furthest point from an exit, we would have a choice of four directions to reach the wall, and we wouldn’t have to wade through the morass of tombs and fog.

  By the time we reached the landscaped area where the two avenues met, the howling had ceased. The fog wasn’t quite as thick, and the moonlight provided enough illumination to see a good distance down the thoroughfares.

  Asha cocked her head. “It’s somehow worse when we can’t hear anything.”

  “I tend to agree,” Lou said, casting furtive looks around the cemetery.

  We started down Avenue Transversale, back the way we had come, then stopped as if jerked by a rope. At the edge of our line of vision, in confirmation of our worst fears, the darkness came to life.

  -29-

  Two figures clothed in black, bent over as if very old and moving with an oddly jerky gait, strode out of the gloom. Just behind them were two Druids in white robes, cowls shielding their faces.

  The source of the howling was also revealed. Each of the Druids grasped a leash with two enormous canines straining against the tethers. They looked like wolves, except they were solid black.

  “Jesus Christ,” Lou said, backing away.

  I stood as if mired in quicksand, unable to tear my eyes from the unnatural procession. Part of me wanted to laugh, run over, pat them on the back, and congratulate them on the charade.

  The rest of me wanted to scream.

  One of the beasts tilted its head and let out a chilling howl. Asha dug her nails into my arm, and fear tumbled through me like an out-of-control acrobat.

  “Look around,” Jake said, his voice rigid. I spun, and my fear morphed into desperation.

  Down the remaining three roads stood a group identical to the first: two white-robed Druids holding a canine by a leash, fronted by a pair of hunched-over figures in black. As in the woods outside Dubrovnik, all four groups moved forward in unison, the wolves baying and snarling.

  Jake waved his knife. “Into the cemetery. They can’t see us as well off the main paths.” He pulled a second knife from his other boot and tossed it to me. “It’s time to grow up, Counselor.”

  I caught the weapon and held it in front of me as we fled, all too cognizant of its unfamiliar weight. We dove into the thick of the cemetery, reason trampled by fear, forge
tting about avenues and paths and cautious steps forward, hoping to somehow weave our way through the labyrinth of tombstones and reach the wall.

  The canines bayed at full volume, and the fog seemed denser off the road. Time seemed to both stop and accelerate. We slipped between the crypts as fast as we could, unable to sprint because of the darkness and Lou’s ankle. He was puffing gamely behind me, and I wasn’t sure if his ankle or his physical condition was the greater barrier.

  Just when I thought we were moving in circles, we emerged onto a path I thought I recognized. I stopped, breathing hard. “I’m pretty sure this is the path from earlier. I remember that obelisk.”

  “I think you’re right,” Lou said. He was facing a gray, slender tower rising primly out of the darkness.

  “They’re closing in,” Jake said. “No time to rest.”

  We continued down the path, eyes straining for a glimpse of the wall. For the first time since we had seen the Druids coming down the avenues, I started to believe we had a chance of escaping the cemetery. I could taste the freedom waiting just outside.

  Asha pointed. “There it is!”

  As the gray bulk of the wall materialized, two of the stooped figures in black coalesced out of the darkness on the path ahead.

  They shuffled and jerked forward, moving as if controlled by some unseen force. Their torn clothing hung like rags off their bodies, and black hoods covered their heads. I was transfixed, stunned by a horrible curiosity.

  “What are they?” Asha whispered, hysteria creeping into her voice.

  I grabbed her hand and backed away from the figures. Jake brandished his knife, and Asha screamed as two Druids and their wolves stepped out of the fog behind the things in black.

  Jake led the retreat. My adrenaline was fading, tempered by exhaustion and loss of hope. My legs throbbed, Asha looked ready to collapse, and Jake was pulling Lou along behind him.

  We reached a crossroads of small paths that I remembered from earlier. An idea reached through my panic, and I herded everyone down the smaller trail to the left, into the heart of the cemetery.

  Lou spoke between gasps, hands clutching his sides. “Are you crazy? This leads back to the center.”

  “I’ve got an idea. And they’re not going to let us reach the wall.”

  The fact that the Druids weren’t worried enough to run was an ominous sign. They had us surrounded and knew we couldn’t last much longer.

  “There,” I said, pointing to the right. Just off the path, its mouth yawning darkness, was the open tomb we had passed earlier.

  “That’s your plan?” Asha said. “Hide in there? I think I’d rather stay outside.”

  Jake pointed behind us. “You sure about that?”

  Two Druids emerged out of the fog. I looked to my right and saw another flash of white.

  We tumbled into the crypt. Lou entered first, then stopped and threw his arms wide. “Careful.”

  A set of wide stone steps descended into darkness. The wide stairwell comprised almost the entire upper level.

  Jake spat his words. “Down the stairs so I can shut the door.”

  As we groped our way down, I heard a heavy thud and the clank of an iron bar. Jake followed behind us, his flashlight illuminating a large rectangular room with stone walls stretching away from the bottom of the stairs.

  The room was empty except for a granite coffin set against the far wall, flanked by candelabra. Neither the coffin nor the candelabra revealed signs of recent use.

  Jake lit the candles with his lighter, then switched off the flashlight. “Saving my batteries,” he muttered, as the candelabras twitched and sputtered behind him.

  “How’s the door going to hold up?” I asked.

  “It’s about the heaviest door I’ve ever seen, and there’s a foot-thick iron bar across it. They’re not getting in here without dynamite.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right.”

  “What about air?” Asha asked.

  “We’ll be fine until morning,” Lou said. “This is a large space and the door’s been open.”

  We heard howling outside, as well as banging on the door. I slid to the floor with my back against the wall, my body exhausted and my mind mired in disbelief.

  What had we been running from?

  Jake was pacing the room. “Even if they get in, only one thing at a time can fit down those stairs.”

  “They’ve got wolves, Jake!” Asha said. “Not to mention whatever those . . . things . . . were. What if they have some kind of magical way to open the door?”

  “They’re just men,” Lou said, his voice weary. “Twisted, perhaps criminally insane men, but just men.”

  “Then what were those black things?”

  “Costumes,” Lou said. “Tricks. Effective and frightening, especially at night in a cemetery.”

  “Commie,” Jake said, “I’m not even going to take the time to argue with you. Because this time I hope you’re right. And . . .” he trailed off.

  “And what?” Lou said.

  “And nothing.”

  “Don’t you hold back on us,” Asha said.

  Jake continued pacing in the small space, lips compressed. “When the Romans invaded the British Isles, there was mention of the high priests leading the way for the Druids, dressed in white robes and entering into battle with large wolves on leashes.”

  Asha swallowed. “And?”

  Jake ran a hand through his hair, as if he didn’t want to answer. “The high priests were rumored to have the power to raise and command the dead.”

  Asha slumped to the floor, her face ashen. “Those things out there—”

  Jake held a hand up. “Quiet. I think the howling stopped.”

  He was right. The pounding on the door had also ceased, and a heavy silence filled the tomb.

  “They’ve left or they can’t get in,” Lou said. “Either way, we can wait it out until morning.”

  As soon as Lou finished speaking, we heard a soft noise from above, a series of low thumps that grew steadily louder. Hands clenched, I backed towards the sarcophagus with the others.

  The sound that we heard was footsteps.

  Coming down the stairs.

  -30-

  The methodical footsteps drew closer to the bottom of the staircase. I moved beside Jake, the knife an alien thing in my clammy grasp. “Why didn’t we hear the door open?”

  “We would’ve heard it,” Jake said.

  Asha gasped when a dark shape appeared at the bottom of the stairwell, melding with the shadows created by the flickering candelabra. The figure was tall and swathed in black linens that covered it like a shroud. Folds of material concealed the face.

  At first I recoiled, thinking one of the black-garbed figures had somehow gotten inside. Then the figure stood upright in a fluid motion, exhibiting none of the sporadic, jerky movements of the things outside.

  “Who are you?” Jake asked.

  The figure remained in the shadows, unmoving.

  Lou snorted, then surprised me with the strength of his voice. “Are we on candid camera? Really, whoever-you-are, we’re sick of these games. We’re tired of being tricked and followed in forests and chased around in cemeteries. So why don’t you tell us who you are, what’s really going on, and how the hell you got in here?”

  It shifted towards Lou, its face a silhouette in the darkness. “Louis Reginald Delfim.”

  It was a man’s voice. He spoke in monotone, with the smoothness of an elevator door. A chill coursed through me when he called my friend by name.

  “Congratulations on learning how to use the Internet,” Lou said. A waver had crept into his voice. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell us all our names?”

  “That is not my interest.”

  Jake was watching the man closely. Lou’s confidence returned when the figure didn’t challenge his accusation. “Then what is? Early Halloween?”

  “That which allows me to be here.”

  “You must be referring to th
e mysterious letterbox.”

  The man shifted to look at the backpack on the floor behind Jake, then took a step towards him.

  “Whoa there, partner,” Jake said.

  “Did you get bored hanging out on street corners in Romania?” Lou pressed. “And for the love of God, how did you get in here?”

  The man’s head made a slow turn to face Lou. “How strange that one with no faith would mention God.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You have no faith,” he said, as if stating a well-known fact. “Your mother saw to that.”

  Lou’s mother had been in a car accident when Lou was fourteen, leaving her brain-injured. She suffered terribly, and remained mentally and physically handicapped. Although Lou had never been religious, the event transformed his budding atheism into a lifelong crusade.

  Lou pointed his finger at the man. “Don’t you ever speak of her. Do you hear me?”

  “Doubting Louis,” he mocked, the inflection slicing through the smoothness in his voice. “He has nothing to believe in.”

  I heard a faint clanging sound. I whipped my head around, but couldn’t find the source of the noise.

  Lou sneered. “That’s because there is nothing to believe in.”

  “Your lack of faith poisons you.” He turned back to Jake and took another step forward.

  Jake put his other hand out. “That’s far enough.”

  “Why don’t you take off your funeral costume, you freak,” Lou said.

  Although cloaked in shadow, the man had moved far enough into the candlelight that I should have been able to discern his facial features. But as I peered inside the cowl, I saw only shadows where a face should be. It had to be a trick of the light, or some sort of mask.

  The man addressed Lou again. “Is that really what you wish? Perhaps you should consult with Kika. She might counsel otherwise. Shall I call her for you?”

  I didn’t know who Kika was or what he was talking about. But Lou did. His mouth caved, and he put a hand on the coffin to steady himself.