The Letterbox

by Layton Green

  I dove towards Lou’s legs, took his left thigh in both hands and tugged on it. It lifted a few inches, and I pulled until the leg sucked free.

  Lou almost fell backwards into the bog, but I stabilized him and yanked the other leg out. We swam to the surface together. Jake pulled us to firmer ground, and we collapsed gasping on our backs.

  -53-

  The crisp air was the sweetest thing I had ever tasted. After Lou gathered his breath, we crept along the forest edge towards the road. We didn’t see any more sign of the Druids; they had either left us for dead or made their point.

  I walked in a daze back to the village, enraged and stunned and terrified. Even Jake looked cowed, though I think it was because he felt guilty. I was livid at him for putting us in danger, and no less angry at myself for letting him do it.

  Strangely enough, Lou seemed the most unaffected. He complained bitterly about being wet and cold, but had yet to say a word about his near-drowning. I attributed it to shock, and a bit of perverse pride.

  When we reached the outskirts of the village, three white-robed, hooded shapes raced towards us. I had my knife in hand before realizing the shapes were half as tall as we were, laughing as they broke apart and skipped around us.

  “Happy Samhain!” one called out.

  “Kids,” Jake said in disbelief. “Dressing up as Druids.”

  “Happy Samhain?” I asked.

  “I’ve been doing some research on our neighborhood god of the dead. Donn presided over a certain festival celebrated by the Celts, a festival that culminated in one night in particular: a night which the ancient pagans believed stood as a bridge between the world of the living and the world of the dead. I didn’t realize anyone still celebrated it by its ancient name, but apparently they do. In the Christian world, the day took on another name, which you both should’ve figured out by now.”

  Of course—I had almost forgotten that it was October 30.

  “Halloween,” Lou wheezed, holding his sides from exertion.

  As the darkness matured, Jake pulled out a cigarette and settled into his storytelling demeanor. “The Celts believed the year was divided into two halves, the light and the dark, and that for a brief time, the borders between the two dissolved. They called this time Samhain, and believed it fell on All Hallow’s Eve. October 31.”

  “What did the Druids have to do with Samhain?” I asked. Lou and I were shivering in the cool air, walking quickly to keep warm.

  “Everything. The Celts believed that during Samhain, mortals could pass more easily to the spirit world, and vice versa. Due to the dangerous flux of power, the Druids offered up plenty of sacrifices and gifts.” He paused. “Since the high priests were involved, I think you know what kind of sacrifices we’re discussing.”

  I shot a nervous glance into the darkness.

  “Why the costumes?” Lou asked. “Or was that a later addition?”

  “The Celts believed that on Samhain, disembodied spirits would come in search of living bodies to possess. Naturally, the living didn’t want to play ball. The villagers extinguished the fires in their homes to make them cold and undesirable, then dressed up in ghoulish costumes and paraded around the neighborhood to frighten away the spirits.”

  “How did something like that carry over?” I said.

  “The Christian church was unable to get the pagans to stop observing the holiday, since pagans do pagan things, so Rome decided to sprinkle holy water on it and give it a new name. New on top of old.”

  We digested the information as we walked through the village, until Jake stopped and put a hand on his hip. “It’s perfect,” he said. “Beautiful.”

  “I already dislike your train of thought,” Lou said.

  “Every high priest worth his pagan salt will be celebrating Samhain, especially on All Hallow’s Eve. And when Druids celebrate Samhain, they do it outside.”

  Lou pulled at his wet clothes. “Look at this, Jake. Why don’t you just wait for Mr. Sofistere?”

  “Because Chateau Donn will be wide open on All Hallow’s Eve. I know it. I feel it.” He flicked his cigarette into the darkness. “It might be our only shot, and it’ll be risky, but I’m getting our letterbox back. I’m getting it back tomorrow night.”

  I was too tired and cold to deal with Jake and his reckless plans. When we reached Belstone I changed out of my wet clothes and found Asha warming herself by the hearth in the common room, tucked under a quilt.

  “Enjoying the fire?” I asked.

  “Immensely.”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Nothing. Everything.”

  I detailed what had happened and said, “Jake wants to break into Chateau Donn on Friday night.” I didn’t feel like sidestepping the issue.

  She squeezed my hand and murmured all the right words of sympathy, then turned back to the fire.

  I didn’t like where this was going. “Let Jake go by himself,” I said. “He doesn’t need us.”

  She lowered her eyes and whispered, “Maybe not, but someone else does.”

  Lou’s attempts to dissuade Jake from his scheme failed before they began. Jake had an infectious way of convincing us his plans were safe and viable, and no one wanted to be left behind. He even had the gall to suggest we would be safer inside the chateau on Samhain.

  More importantly, I had begun, like Asha, to stop caring about risks that should be cared about. I wanted the letterbox back, I wanted answers, I wanted revenge. The issue of safety became insidiously moot. I felt as if we were members of a cult and Jake was our charismatic leader, conditioning us for danger, guiding us bit by bit into risks we never would have undertaken in the beginning.

  We of course did not plan to plunge forth blindly, ignorant and unprepared. Jake had made a number of scouting visits to Fogman’s Wood and constructed a working map of the chateau. Our plan centered around Jake’s map, his lock-picking skills, and a hidden means of entry and egress to the chateau of which he claimed knowledge. It looked solid on paper, but I didn’t fear the plan. I feared the twin surprise attacks of chance and chaos, the forces that lay outside of every plan, crouching inside a veil of unpredictability.

  The innkeeper confirmed that not all of the region’s inhabitants had abandoned their pagan roots. It was whispered that in secret places on the moor, in the silence of the scattered groves and tors, the ancient rituals were still practiced. “Or,” he said with a smirk, “perhaps it’s the spirits of the Druids still roaming the earth, attempting to return on the day when the veil between worlds is lifted.”

  No one seemed to know much about Chateau Donn, except it was the home of a very old and rich family who kept to themselves. More rumors existed concerning mysterious activity in and around the chateau, but no one seemed able or willing to provide any information of substance.

  From the safety of the inn, we observed the preparations transforming the town into a vessel for Samhain. The townspeople covered every house and building with sinister-looking decorations, children ran through the streets dressed as an array of haunts and ghouls. Samhain in Grimspound felt like a grander and darker version of the holiday I knew as Halloween.

  The older, more primal version.

  The real version.

  -54-

  The night of Samhain arrived. We dressed warmly, for the days had grown cold and the nights colder. As we stepped outside under a gibbous moon, we looked upon a Grimspound that had completely altered its identity, transformed by the madness of Samhain. Every last home and shop had cobwebs and black sheets covering its doorways, goblins and gargoyles leered from rooftop perches, skeletal wardens presided over entrance gates.

  Revelers packed the streets of the village, every single one wearing a frightening disguise. I appreciated Jake’s latest addition to the plan, which we had procured the day before: costumes. We would have instantly stuck out without them. Asha and I chose a witch and warlock tandem, Lou decided on a grotesque troll, and Jake of c
ourse opted for a white robe and hood.

  I had to admit the costumes increased our chances of making it to the chateau unseen, though as we walked the streets of Grimspound, surrounded on all sides by every imaginable creature of the night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the Druids and ghouls roaming the town could sense our alien presence.

  And that some of the people behind the white-robed costumes were real Druids, watching us walk right into their hands.

  We were bumped and jostled on our way out, the party spilling indiscriminately into every corner of the town. People screamed and shouted, everyone run amok in an effort to frighten away the spirits.

  Truly, madness had settled on Grimspound.

  The moon hung heavy in the sky by the time we passed the last building and stepped onto the moor. I was relieved to leave the chaos of the town behind, though bonfires and costumed merrymakers still lined the roads.

  The further we walked, the more the party dwindled. No one paid us the slightest attention, and we felt confident we had slipped by unnoticed.

  “So this is the night when the Celts believed spirits could pass to this side,” Asha said quietly.

  “Yup,” Jake said.

  I knew what Asha was thinking before she whispered it.

  “I wonder if my brother is here.”

  We continued towards the chateau, this time keeping to the road. We saw no more revelers and spent the journey huddled together, casting wary glances into the thick fog that had settled on the moor.

  At last the walls of Chateau Donn poked through the gloom, covered in Samhain decorations. The black sheets and cobwebs made the brooding chateau, standing on its isolated aerie in the moors, look like a genuine haunted castle.

  Jake claimed he had found a way to enter the chateau unseen. We followed him as he slipped off the road and onto the moor just before the grounds. He led us through a series of hedges and past an unlocked gate, then to a small door in the rear of the manor, a gardener’s or servant’s entrance. The chateau appeared deserted.

  Jake took a small set of tools out of his backpack. Within minutes he was tugging on the iron handle. The door swung outward and we peered inside, seeing no signs of life.

  Enough light seeped in from outside to illuminate the storage room in which we found ourselves. Wooden boxes and an assortment of garden tools were piled along the walls.

  We closed the door and stood motionless, straining to hear sounds of activity.

  “Where to now?” I asked.

  “I’ve been able to map most of the chateau by spying from various angles, and I should know where we are soon after we get inside. The main entrance and the rooms off it are where I’ve seen the most activity. We’ll start there and work our way back. There’s one room in particular everyone seems interested in.”

  “It’s probably the kitchen,” Lou muttered.

  “Let’s find what we came for and get out,” Asha said.

  My breath caught in my throat as Jake opened the door at the far end of the room, revealing a foyer with pitted stone walls and hallways branching perpendicularly to the left and right. An image of the tunnels beneath Kostnice floated towards me, but I pushed it away. I couldn’t let myself dwell on how terrified I was.

  Jake chose the hallway to the left. Sconces spaced along the wall provided dim illumination. After a few dozen yards, he frowned. “We must be in an older section. The rest of the chateau is more modern.”

  “I thought you had the place mapped,” Lou said. “Surely we’d be in the front wing by now?”

  “This must be one of the areas I couldn’t see. Let’s keep going and see where it leads. We can always double back.”

  Something felt amiss, but we had seen no other route options. I kept waiting for the lightheadedness I felt in Kostnice to return.

  We passed a closed and locked door on our right. After walking a good bit more, the corridor ended at a wall. Stone passageways, also lit by sconces, branched off to either side.

  Jake grunted. “We entered on the rear-left side of the chateau. There can’t be a passageway to the left, unless somehow we’re bearing to the right.”

  “I don’t think we’ve been bearing to the right,” Lou said, studying the passageway ahead and behind us.

  I peered back into the shadows, noticing the sconces had a slight uphill slant. “We’ve been going down.”

  “We must be underground by now,” Asha said.

  Jake swore. “There’s got to be a way to reach the upper level. Once we’re there, I’ll know where we are. And look on the bright side. It’s much less likely there’ll be anyone down here.”

  “Number one,” Lou began, “that’s not very comforting. Number two, they’re not keeping these candles lit for the cockroaches.”

  “Let’s stop talking and move,” I said, having already come to the same conclusion about the lit candles. “Going right makes sense, since the left passage has to lead away from the chateau.”

  We passed another locked door on our right, in the middle of the corridor, and at the end of that passage we encountered another pair of corridors branching to either side. We kept right, traveled what seemed like an equal distance, saw another door, and came to the end of that passageway. We repeated the process one more time and ended up back where we started.

  “These must be escape tunnels,” Lou said. “They were fairly common back in the day, in case of an invasion or a peasant revolt.”

  “So why the lit sconces?” Jake said, then answered his own question. “They use the tunnels to sneak out.”

  We glanced down the corridors, no one enjoying that train of thought.

  “We’re going to have to try one of the doors,” Asha said. “It’s the only place the stairs to the upper level could be. They’ve got to get down here somehow.”

  I knew we had overextended our stay, but I didn’t want to be the first to crack. We retraced our steps to the door in the middle of the first passageway. Jake took out his tools and went to work as the rest of us shuffled in silence. When the lock clicked, he pulled the door open, revealing another sconce-lit corridor.

  We saw nothing of interest until we came to a round chamber at the intersection of four passageways. A narrow iron staircase led both up and down. Above our heads, the stairs led to the pull-handle of a trapdoor set into the ceiling. We couldn’t make out what lay at the bottom of the stairs.

  “The chateau must be right above us,” Jake said. He started up the stairs, then stopped, turned, and rushed a finger to his lips.

  I could hear, quite distinctly, footsteps and voices on the level above. The four of us stilled in the corridor like mimes pausing for effect. While I couldn’t make out the words, the voices were growing louder, approaching the top of the stairs.

  Jake swore under his breath and bounded down the staircase, to the lower level. Not knowing what else to do, we followed behind, terrified of making a noise. When we reached the stone floor at the base of the stairs, we huddled together.

  “There was no time to head down one of the tunnels,” Jake whispered in the darkness.

  “So now we’re stuck down here like rats?” Lou said, hysteria creeping into his voice.

  “We wait for them to go away, and proceed as planned.”

  “You said no risks,” I hissed. “Someone’s up there. We’re going back.”

  Jake didn’t respond at first, then let loose a string of curses in a low voice. I heard him rummaging through his backpack. “Might as well see where we are,” he whispered.

  “We should stay quiet and then go,” Lou said.

  I cringed when Jake flicked on the flashlight and waved it around the room. Wine bottles were set into the walls in high stacks, small holes having been cut into the stone to accommodate the wine.

  “Not much down here,” he said, disappointed. “I suppose we can—”

  Jake stopped midsentence as the footsteps returned, this time numerous pairs of feet that stopped just above the trapdoor.


  Lou moved for the stairs as Jake flicked off the light. Jake grabbed him.

  “Let me go!” Lou said in a hoarse whisper.

  “Think, man. We won’t make it down those long corridors in time. Chances are they’re coming down the stairs to slip outside, not because they’re thirsty.”

  I grabbed both their arms. “Shut up and move away from the stairs.”

  We heard the creak of a hinge. Light flooded the stairwell. We were tucked into a corner of the cellar, hidden from view but trapped like fish in a net if anyone found us. The footsteps descending the iron staircase rang in my ears like a thousand church bells. Heart pounding, I pressed against the wine bottles.

  I heard at least three sets of footsteps coming down the stairs, but it seemed Jake was right: the footfalls receded down one of the corridors rather than continuing to descend. A sigh of relief shuddered through me. I didn’t want to contemplate what might have happened had the Druids decided to enter their cellar.

  We waited a few eternal minutes before daring to stir. I had pulled out a wine bottle in case I needed something to swing. Jake turned on his flashlight as I started to replace the bottle, and I noticed something odd.

  “Hey,” I said quietly. “This bottle isn’t dusty.”

  Lou shrugged. “So someone didn’t like the vintage.”

  As Jake walked over, I checked the bottles above and below the one I had pulled out. Neither were dusty, but the ones on either side had a thick layer of grime. Jake shone his light into the chest-high hole in the corner where I had grabbed the first bottle. We crowded in and saw a rope cord dangling inside a shaft cut into the stone.

  I gripped the bottle I was holding, and Jake whistled. Then he reached inside and pulled on the rope.

  The entire section of the wall began to slide silently to the left. It stopped to reveal an iron door, padlocked and imposing. Asha gripped my hand. After a glance up the stairs, Jake set his pack down, pulled out a few tools, and bent over the lock. Although it took longer than usual, we soon heard the familiar click, and Jake stood with the padlock dangling from his fingers, grinning like a cat in the cupboard.