by Chris Smith
James awoke with a sharp pain in his back. He realised the fall had left him sprawled on a bed of rocky rubble. A very large and jagged boulder pressed between his shoulder blades. The jagged edge hurt like hell. He rolled onto his side; relief came in an instant. With a grunt, he sat up. Lightly brushing the dust from his arms, he wiggled his legs a bit and carefully struggled to his feet. His mind, alert to every muscles spasm or dart of pain, searched for an indication of any injury. But everything felt all right. Nothing’s broken, he concluded. True, some areas were a bit sore, but generally he seemed to be okay. The fear of serious injury gone, James suddenly became aware of a vile smell. He doubled over, coughed and almost vomited. The stench of rotting meat filled the air. He started to retch, but managed to gulp the sickness down. The foul taste filled his mouth. He spat several times, but it made no difference; the taste of vomit still clung to the walls of his mouth.
After a short while his senses began to adjust. The smell lost some of its potency, the foul taste was mellower and the nausea seemed to have diminished significantly. At last, his stomach felt under control. Lifting his head from between his knees, James gradually uncurled himself and stood upright. For the first time, he was able to assess his situation and the environment. He appeared to be in some sort of dark dungeon. Several corpses lined the rocky walls. Each lifeless body was clamped in chains; it hung spread-eagled, stretched to its limits from being torn and ripped apart. James saw that the skin on each body had been cut back and peeled away to expose the twisted, withered muscle beneath. Straining to see in the poor light, he observed something moving in the flesh. He leaned forward. Wanting to reject the sight, James realised maggots were eating away at the rotting flesh of these tormented souls. It was obvious to James that the victims’ persecutor took great delight in torture.
However, the strange beauty of their faces caught James’ attention. On each corpse’s face sat a brilliant shimmering mask made of reflective glass. Despite the suffering inflicted on these poor souls, the expressions on the masks radiated a quiet serenity. Although somewhat surreal, the effect somehow managed to reduce the impact of their physical grotesqueness. The masks glowed in the dimness, capturing the only light available: a tiny beam which entered the dungeon from above. Like the ghost of a snake, the light writhed its way down through the blackness. About two thirds of the way down, the beam split into many different strands of light. Each of the smaller strands continued to slither its way to a corpse and kiss one of the radiant masks.
James approached the nearest corpse and peered at the illuminated mask. The shimmering light beautified the expression etched there. It was beautifully crafted. He looked across the face, studying the features. It might have been the face of his brother, had he had one. He continued his examination, looking at every detail.
He nearly skipped past the eyes, with all the splendour of the mask, the dazzling features and the glorious light attracting him. But he paused long enough to take note and his curiosity was sparked. The victims’ real eyes stared out, uncovered, from behind the mask’s radiance. James became lost in thought; he stared endlessly into the lifeless, black, empty eyes. Many questions gathered in his mind: Do your eyes look like that when you’re dead? What were his last thoughts? Had he suffered a long time? Why was he here? What had he done to deserve this? Had his death been slow or quick?
His eyes jumped. ‘It blinked, it frigging blinked.’ The corpse burst into life, fingers grasping to get him, arms thrashing on the wall to break free. James jumped back. He stumbled over a rock and fell. From the ground, he heard the tear of flesh accompanied by a piercing scream. By the time he had recovered and jumped back onto his feet, the corpse hung quietly once more, limp and lifeless on the wall. Keeping his distance James stared at the corpse’s eyes. Dark and dead behind the radiant mask, the eyes appeared peaceful and serene.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Grandpa. He stepped forward out the darkness, which had collected in pockets throughout the dungeon.
‘Where the hell did you come from?’ James asked. He continued without waiting for a reply. ‘Is it alive?’
‘Certainly, if you can call that life.’
James wanted to ask questions. He wanted to know who they were and how they had ended up like this, but his intuition, his fear of the answer, held him back.
‘We need to help them.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. What on earth makes you think they want your help, boy.’
Startled by Grandpa’s answer, James faced him properly. He wore the same dark cloak, which gave the old man the appearance of Dracula. For a split second, James felt afraid of him. The darkness about him was different to anything he remembered. However, when he rested on his eyes and the light dancing behind them, the fear was replaced by the serenity they radiated. It really is him, James thought. His mind switched back to the darkness which had engulfed them in the mirror, Grandpa’s warning about the King, and the dark hands which had dragged him unwillingly into the mirror.
James understood his grandfather wasn’t alive, yet he looked alive. He appeared much as he had in the doctor’s waiting room and at the school assembly. James moved his hand slowly towards the familiar face, hoping to feel the warmth of his flesh, the roughness of his skin. As if dipping into ink, the tips of his fingers disappeared into the old man’s face. Unable to conceal his disappointment, his face dropped.
‘Are you Grandpa’s ghost?’
‘I am his spirit, James, and he was sort of my window, like many others are. Do you understand?’
James frowned.
‘You will when the time is right.’
James was confused by his words because he thought spirits were ghosts and Grandpa didn’t look like a ghost. In his pictures, James drew his ghosts as wispy translucent images; they were faded, pale impressions of people. That’s how he’d seen them depicted in books and films. But Grandpa could be mistaken for real. His spirit was more like a reflection – a living painting.
‘Am I dead as well?’ James’ voice quivered a little. He touched his arm to check.
‘No, you are very much alive, perhaps the most alive you’ve ever been.’
‘Well, if I’m alive can we please get the hell out of here?’ Great as it was to see his grandfather, he wanted out of this god-forsaken place as quickly as possible.
‘There are only two ways to leave,’ Grandpa said as he produced a mask from within his cloak. The mask resembled the ones worn by the corpses. ‘This is for you. You can put it on any time you choose.’
James stepped back. ‘You must think I’m mad, or stupid or something!’
‘Not at all, dear boy. It’s not as bad as it looks. See, wherever you are, this mask will find whatever little light there is in your life and suck it in. It has many powers. Most importantly, it has the power to lift your spirit back to the other side of the mirror. The one you fell through, James, up there.’
James twisted his neck up towards the small silvery window from which the light snaked down to kiss the silver-faced corpses. When he looked back down Grandpa presented the mask for him to take.
‘Go on.’ Grandpa held it with great reverence.
James noticed the likeness to his own face. Cautiously, he reached out his hand and took the mask. The moment the gift passed into his possession, its brilliance dazzled and captivated him with its magic. He ran his hands over the beautiful sculptured contours, examining every inch of the treasure. With delight tingling through his fingertips, the mask’s attraction began to seize control of him; the force emanating from it made James believe that it would serve and protect him. Without further thought or concern, he raised it to his face.
‘Hold on a minute, my boy, steady,’ Grandpa interrupted. ‘Once you make the choice, that’s it, you may never get another chance to recover your stolen light.’
Grandpa’s words were said without James taking proper note. The mask’s magical power held him in its grip. He felt invincible. Grandpa pushed James lightly
on the shoulder to jolt his attention back, and pointed down a dark deep tunnel leading from the dungeon.
‘Or you can go with me, into the darkness. You’ll find the King of Shadows down there. Your light is that way, James.’
James thought back to the Shadow disappearing into the depths of the mirror. He remembered the Shadow stealing his light while he watched helplessly. The lure of his light was a powerful force on him too. But the hidden secrets buried in the depths of this underworld scared him. Wearing the mask seemed easier and yet there was a nagging in his subconscious; somehow it didn’t feel like the answer. Moreover, there was the matter of the thief, and the retribution due.
‘Of course it’s possible that by wearing this mask, in time you may end up like those poor fellows.’ Grandpa waved his hand towards the dead corpses lining the walls. ‘But at least you’ll be home, safe. On the other hand, if you follow the path that leads to the King, you will no doubt face many terrifying dangers.’ The calm soft tone of the old man disguised the pain in the choice he’d given James. Each seemed an equally unpalatable option to him.
‘Well my boy, what’s it to be? We haven’t got all night you know.’
The tunnel loomed ahead. James had no idea what “terrifying dangers” he might face. However, having watched the Shadow scurry away into the mirror with his light, a powerful hate now filled him. After all, the traitor had smashed his eyes and stolen from him. James wanted to rip the light from the Shadow’s hand. He wanted to take revenge, to watch the shadow beg for his mercy before he killed it.
‘The King is really down there?’
‘Yes.’
‘And I’ll find my shadow with him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why? I still don’t understand why the King wants my light?’
‘Like all kings, he wants power – your power: the power of your heart, the power of your mind, and the power of your body! And if you let him, he’ll take it.’
Beneath the surface, waiting to break free, James’ anxiety grew. It grew into the same sense of doom as felt when he realised that he’d antagonised Pete, Gus, and Jake with his painting, the same fear as was present when he realised they were after him. He relived the same dread as experienced when the boys had swarmed from the trees to confront him. Once again “the hunted”, he’d become the prey in this dark, dank, cesspit. If he took the tunnel, he knew events would force him to face this King. The decision weighed heavily upon him. Horror resided in his heart.
‘The choice is yours. Are you ready to face what lies down there?’ James had never seen Grandpa’s eyes dancing as brightly as they were at this moment. ‘Or, are you going to put that mask on and go back home?’
James knew what he had to do; he didn’t like it, but he knew. Taking a deep breath, he decided to enter the blackness and attempt to win back his stolen light!
Chapter Six: The Journey Begins