by Cross, Amy
“I must go to her,” I continue, slipping past him and hurrying to the stairs. I make my way down quickly, determined to find Catherine and check her condition, yet when I reach the hallway I stop again. My knees feel so weak, I am not certain that they can even hold me.
The door to the basement is open ahead, and I can hear a sound coming from down there.
A slow, intermittent shuffling sound.
Moments later I hear footsteps over my shoulder, and I realize that Jack is coming down after me. I do not turn to him, however. Instead, I continue to stare at the open doorway that leads down into the poorly-lit basement. I do not know why I have not already rushed through, why I have not gone to my darling Catherine, but some sense seems to be holding me back. A feeling of dread, perhaps, in the very deepest pit of my stomach.
And still the shuffling sound continues.
“What is that?” I whisper, feeling a cold shudder pass through my chest.
I wait for an answer, still keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the open doorway.
“Tell me, man!” I continue. “What is causing that noise?”
“She has begun to move about, Sir,” he says cautiously.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Very slowly,” he continues, “but I did not try to stop her. I mean, I told her that perhaps she should rest, but she ignored me. I spent several minutes attempting to get through to her, all in vain. In truth, it was almost as if I was not in the room at all. When I say that she is moving about, perhaps I should be clearer. She certainly tried to walk, but her legs seemed unable to support her and she quickly dropped to her knees and then... I am sorry, Sir, but she ended up crawling.”
“And you did not help her up?”
“I tried speaking to her, but -”
“She is a lady!” I snap. “Did you not try to help her up?”
“I did not, Sir.”
“What is wrong with you?” I ask, before finally heading to the doorway. Evidently Jack does not understand the role of the gentleman in such a situation, yet when I get to the top of the steps I hesitate again.
The sense of dread in my stomach, which already seemed as bad as it could possibly get, is now easily doubled.
I can still hear the shuffling sound coming from down in the basement, but now there is another sound as well. If I did not know better, I would say that I am hearing the guttural growl of some foul wild animal drifting up from the darkness below.
“This is not right, Sir,” Jack says after a moment.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask, keeping my eyes fixed on the dark, empty space at the foot of the steps, waiting for Catherine to come into view.
“She is once again without a heart,” he continues. “I might not be an educated man such as yourself, Doctor Grazier, but a body cannot function without a heart. That much I am sure of. Yet I have seen with my own two eyes, and you shall see soon too, that she is mobile. And she has no breath, Sir. When I had my hand over her mouth, I could tell that she is not breathing. I believe that when she was screaming, she was expelling air that was in some manner entering her empty chest.” He pauses for a moment. “This is not right. I am not a superstitious man, not by habit, but I cannot ignore the evidence I have seen with my own two eyes. This is beyond all understanding.”
“There is an explanation,” I tell him. “I do not know what it is, not yet, but I shall uncover it before this day is through. The answer is in my books, I'm sure of it.”
“I would greatly appreciate that,” Jack replies. “I fear that if your explanation does not come soon, I might start believing in...”
His voice trails off, yet still I do not turn to look at him. I can well imagine the fear in his eyes.
“I might start believing in things that I have hitherto dismissed,” he adds cautiously. “I might not be able to help myself. I did not meet your wife while she was alive, Doctor Grazier, but I cannot believe that she was in any manner similar to the... thing that is down there now in the basement.”
“She is a lady of the highest repute,” I whisper, as I once again feel tears in my eyes. “She is known throughout London for her elegance and grace. Why, even though she has not been out in such a long time, people still talk about her many wonderful qualities.”
“Then with a heavy heart,” Jack continues, “I must beg you to listen to me, Doctor Grazier. I know this might be difficult for you to hear, but I am sure of it now. That thing in the basement, that thing that you brought back from beyond the brink of death, that even now is crawling this way... is most assuredly not your wife.”
“What are you talking about, man?” I reply. “Of course she -”
“IT IS NOT HER!” he shouts, stepping in front of me and grabbing me by the shoulders, and shaking me in a most ungentlemanly manner. “Do you not see that?”
I open my mouth to tell him that he is speaking nonsense, but I cannot force the words from my dry throat. At the same time, I remember the words I heard come from Catherine's own lips just now in the bedroom.
“You must see, Sir,” Jack continues, almost pleading with me now. “Tell me you see. That thing is not your wife.”
I cannot tell him that he is wrong. Instead, I simply watch the space at the bottom of the steps, waiting as the growling sound edges closer and closer. Waiting as the shuffling becomes a little louder.
Waiting for this creature, whatever it might be, to appear.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Maddie
Today
“There you go,” I say with a smile as I scoop the last of the cat food out of the can, onto a plate I've set out at the top of the house's main staircase. “Smells pretty good, huh?”
I look at each of the open doors in turn, half expecting to hear the sound of a cat slinking this way. All I see is the darkness of one room, then the darkness of the next, and finally the darkness of the third. There's no sign of a cat so far, but I guess the little guy must simply be more shy than I'd realized. Then again, I don't need to see him eat. I just want to know that he's really here, so I guess I can leave the plate out and come back later.
I wait a little longer, but all I hear is the silence of the house.
“Enjoy,” I mutter, getting to my feet and once again looking at the doors. “Maybe we can be friends, huh? Enjoy your dinner, and I'll give you some more in the morning.”
I wait a few more seconds, just in case the cat finally decides to show himself, but finally I realize that I just need to give him some space. Getting to my feet, I start making my way downstairs.
***
“Okay, smile,” I mutter, holding up the digital camera that Jerry gave me and pressing the button on the top.
A moment later, the camera's flash goes off, briefly illuminating the basement.
I don't quite know why Jerry asked me to take these photos. When he said there was something he wanted from the house, I assumed at first that he meant some kind of object, but then he grabbed a digital camera and told me that he was after detailed pictures of the whole place, especially the basement. He asked me what it was like down here, and I told him what I remembered, and he became very insistent that I should capture everything that's here.
Frankly, I expected him to insist that I stay out of the house, but he actually seemed kind of cool with the idea of me being here. Deep down, I think maybe he sees me as some kind of canary in a coal mine, and he fully expects me to eventually come running out with a bunch of ghost stories. At least he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who'll double-cross me and go to the police.
I guess he's just a slightly lonely, slightly eccentric old guy who has too much time on his hands. In which case, I'll try to help him while I wait for Alex to show up. It's not as if I've got anything better to be doing, and it feels good to talk to someone now and again. I didn't realize how much I'd missed that.
After making my way around the side of the slab in the middle of the room, I stop and look through the camera's viewfinder again. I
can't see anything, of course, until I briefly shine my flashlight ahead. Sure enough, I'm aiming at the far wall, so I lower the flashlight and then I hit the button on the camera, taking another photo. I alter my aim a few times, taking different shots so that I can be sure I've got enough coverage. I keep checking the shots after I've taken them, to make sure that they're good enough. Just as I'm about to turn and head over to another part of the basement, however, I spot something unusual on the last photo.
I switch to the viewing mode and bring the photo up, and then I zoom in on one particular section of the wall.
To my surprise, I see that there are various shapes carved into the stone. In fact, as I look at the shapes, I realize that they seem to be exactly the same as the shapes I found on the bottom step of the stairs. It's pretty clear that they were carved by the same person, and my memory's not great but I think they're even carved in the same order. I guess that's something I can check later, but for now I lower the camera and raise my flashlight as I make my way across the pitch-black basement.
Stopping at the wall, I look up and see that – sure enough – there are shapes carved in a long row that eventually starts edging down toward the floor. I reach out and run a fingertip against the carvings, and I find that they're pretty shallow, almost like scratches instead of proper carved symbols. I can't help thinking that whoever made these shapes, they must have been in a real hurry, hence the fact that they're only very loosely scratched into the stone. The whole thing is pretty weird, though, and finally I step back and shine the flashlight around a little more, and I see that there are carved symbols running along all four edges of the wall.
I didn't really look around properly the other day, but I guess the carvings must have been there then.
Maybe this is what Jerry was expecting me to find down here.
For the next few minutes, I take detailed photos of the symbols. They don't seem to mean anything, but I suppose they'll give Jerry something to obsess over for a while. And obsession does seem to be the name of his game, since his house was absolutely filled with books from floor to ceiling, some of them on the verge of toppling over. At the very least, he'll have loads more material for his folders. So as I take more and more photos of the symbols, I tell myself that I'm giving him exactly what he wants, and I keep going until suddenly there's a beep from the camera and I find that all this use of the flash has drained the battery dry. Left completely in the dark, I slip the camera into my pocket and fumble for my flashlight, switching it on and then turning to head back across the basement.
And then the flashlight flickers briefly before dying, and I'm left in absolute, pitch-black darkness.
“Great,” I mutter with a sigh. “I hope that's just batteries too.”
Fortunately I'm pretty sure that I know the way back to the door, so I fumble my way across the large, open space. I make sure to not go too fast, since there's the slab in the middle of the room, but after a couple of minutes I still haven't hit anything. I guess maybe I veered off course a little, so I keep going and -
“Damn it!” I hiss, suddenly bumping hard against the slab's edge, catching the exact spot where I have stitches in my waist.
I brace myself for the inevitable pain, but instead there's nothing.
Reaching down, I feel the wound and find that every last hint of the swelling is now gone. There should be some pain, but somehow the entire injury seems to be healing. That seems a little quick, but I guess I shouldn't complain.
Reaching down, I run my hands over the grooves in the slab's surface, and then I carefully make my way around. The slab feels very cold, almost damp, but right now in the dark it's my only reference point so I keep hold and continue to work around it until -
Suddenly my left hand brushes against something that seems to be on the slab.
My heart immediately starts racing as I realize that I can feel what seems to be a bare shoulder. I tell myself it's not that, of course, but it still takes a moment before I dare move my hand across the object. With a growing sense of fear, I realize I can feel the side of a neck now, but I still know that's impossible. I have to be imagining this whole thing, so I move my hand onto the side of the face, and finally my fingertips fumble against some kind of wire that seems to be criss-crossing the mouth.
It's not a face.
It can't be a face.
Taking a deep breath, I try to force myself to calm down and stop being so stupid.
Slowly, my fingertips brush against the wire, and I can just about feel a pair of lips underneath. Except I know that I must be wrong, that -
Suddenly the lips open, tearing free of the wire, and I hear a pained, gurgling gasp. I instinctively pull away and step back, only to trip and fall, landing hard on the stone floor. Then I stay completely still, listening to the silence that now fills the darkness, waiting for any hint of a presence.
There's nothing there.
There can't be.
Still, I wait a couple of minutes before realizing that I have to check again. The body on the slab was just another hallucination, I'm sure of that, but I'll always have a hint of doubt unless I actually check for myself.
I sit up, and then I slowly reach toward the slab again. In the dark, it takes me a moment to find the edge, but finally I move my hand across the surface and realize with a flash of relief that there's nothing. No body, no face, no nothing. Just an empty slab, which is what it always was, right from the beginning. I just let Jerry's crazy stories get into my head.
Getting to my feet, I start shuffling toward the spot in the darkness where I think I'll find the door. Finally I reach the far wall, although when I feel around a little I realize that there's no sign of the door at all.
I keep going, convinced that the door has to be just a few meters to the left or right, but after a few more minutes all I've managed to find is more and more of the basement's wall. I pause for a moment, trying to think back to anything distinctive that might help me find my way, but as far as I remember the wall was just a regular old wall with hundreds of bricks. I know I'm not trapped down here, and that I'll find my way out eventually, but I still start to feel just a tad claustrophobic as I make my way along a seemingly never-ending wall.
Suddenly I hear a scratching sound over my shoulder.
I turn and look back, but of course all I see is darkness.
“Don't do this,” I whisper, hoping to make my over-active imagination die down a little. “It's all just in your head. It's like the other things you hallucinated.”
Still, the scratching sound continues – furious and persistent, almost frantic – until suddenly it stops as abruptly as it began.
Rats.
That's what it must have been.
It was rats, digging against the stone or something. In fact, rats would make sense. Rats probably drew the cat inside, so everything kind of links together.
Still, I can't deny that my heart is beating at double-speed right now, and it takes a moment before I feel completely calm again.
Turning, I resume my search for the door, and finally after several more minutes my fingers brush against the stone archway. I know it's crazy, but I honestly don't think I've ever felt so relieved about anything in my life, and I can't deny that I'm on the verge of panic as I make my way carefully up the stairs. After what feels like an eternity I stumble out into the house's dark hallway, where the only light comes from a bluish tint that's coming through the broken window.
Everything's okay.
I just need to keep out of spooky basements until my head's sorted.
I try my flashlight a couple more times, just in case there's been a miracle, and then I set it aside before heading over to the window and starting to climb up. The last thing I want is to head out again, but I made a promise to Jerry and I figure it'd be a good idea to keep him on my side. So I clamber up and drop down into the garden, and then I make my way through the overgrown grass and bushes.
A moment later I realize that I forgot
to bring him the notebooks. When I got back to the house earlier, I remembered the notebooks and realized he'd probably like to see them, and I was going to bring them now. Still, I guess I can give them to him tomorrow.
The street is so cold and dark and empty, almost as if the isolation of number nine is reaching out to quieten all the other houses.
When I get to his front door, he answers before I've even finished knocking, almost as if he was waiting anxiously. To be honest, it's a relief when the door swings open and I'm bathed in the warm glow of light from his hallway. I'm getting pretty sick of darkness.
“Sorry,” I explain, handing the camera to him. “The battery went out. If you want to charge it tonight, I can take some more pictures tomorrow.”
“What did you get?” he asks, turning the camera over in his hands and trying to see the pictures, even though I just told him the battery's drained. He taps the button several times, as if he doesn't quite understand.
“I got pictures of the hallway,” I reply, “and the rooms on the ground floor. And the basement.”
“The basement. That's good.”
He seems preoccupied, muttering something under his breath.
“I'll let you know if I need more,” he says finally, taking a step back and starting to shut the door.
“What time is it?” I ask, surprising myself.
He stops and looks at me. “Huh?”
“What time is it?”
As I say those words for a second time, I realize that I don't really need to know the time. I just panicked when he started to shut the door.
“It's almost midnight,” he says. “Ten or five to.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Stay safe in there,” he adds. “I'll charge the battery tomorrow.”
With that, he swings the door shut.
“Oh,” I say suddenly, “I also -”
But he's gone, and the door slams in its frame, and I realize that Jerry seems utterly focused on the photos. I guess I can tell him about the notebooks tomorrow. A moment later the light in his hallway switches off, and I'm left in darkness on his doorstep.