Twice as Dark: Two Novels of Horror

by Glen Krisch

  At the town's southernmost tip, the current owners of a deacon's former home, Mr. and Mrs. Wilbur Boynton, woke every morning at dawn and took to their beds nightly at eight o'clock sharp. They slept, ate their meals and read the Saturday Evening Post without realizing their home once served as an entryway to a secret world. The Boyntons would listen to the Amos 'n' Andy radio show at 7:15 p.m. before settling into bed, all the while ignorant their home once played a pivotal role in the local abolitionist movement. The Boyntons, residents of Coal Hollow for thirty odd years, and soon to retire to their son's home in Kentucky, didn't know people once secretly gathered in their dirt floor cellar. Or the deacon would lead these residents in quiet prayer, everyone with their hands enjoined, their eyes dewed with love for their God. Or a runaway slave would often cower inside these prayer circles, usually marred by a master's brand or raised whip scars. After the preliminaries of prayer and food, they would lead the runaway to the safety of the tunnels, where the Underground's healing touch could work its wonder, until the time was right to continue on, farther North, to safer lands.

  Beneath the cellar (where Mr. Boynton currently kept his workbench for tinkering with engines and such) a trapdoor remained hidden. From the Boyntons' cellar, a narrow passage led five hundred yards northeast to the Cloutiers' home. The Cloutiers didn't know about the secret wooden panel in their basement, or the cramped, unlit room behind it that was only big enough for someone to hide within if fearful for their life. The room had been empty of all but spider webs long before the Cloutiers emigrated from France in '02.

  The hidden room in the Cloutier basement connected with the tunnel system, and somewhere in Claude Cloutier's north forty, the tunnel split in two. One shaft had collapsed farther north where the overhead traffic on Teetering Road had pummeled it for fifty years. Some people wondered why the road was in constant need of repair. Others knew the reason. They knew and they meant to keep the secret within their tightly held circle.

  The surviving tunnel snaked toward downtown. The most frequently trafficked section of the labyrinth, the downtown tunnel had a spur leading away from the main tunnel. The spur--so low to the tunnel floor that most people would have to belly-crawl to traverse it--terminated at a natural gap in a limestone wall. Once inside the gap, the air grew cold. Cold as winter, no matter what time of year.

  This was where Thea Calder and Ethan Cartwright passed through to enter the Underground.

  After confronting Ethan outside her house, the founder of the Southern Outfitters led her down the alleyway to the icehouse. Once inside, they passed the shelves of perishables, the chunks of ice awaiting Cooper's cutting, and finally, the workbench on the backmost wall where George Banyon's body lay in stasis before his burial.

  Beneath the workbench, hidden behind sealed crates filled with rocks, the gap opened up to the spur leading to the downtown tunnel. Thea and Ethan had crawled through one after the other, carefully replacing the crates behind them.

  When they left the tunnel system and entered a large cavern, a burly man in bib overalls greeted them. He held a sawed off shotgun at belt level, ready to fire on anyone not permitted in the Underground.

  "Morning, Boss."

  "Actually, it's much closer to night than morning, Daryl," Ethan said to the watchman.

  "Well, it's morning to me. Just had my breakfast, matter of fact."

  "Was it good?" Ethan asked. His decomposition had advanced to the point that his lips looked ready to fall from his face.

  "Oh, sure was, Boss. The women put out a good spread."

  "I'll have to agree with you there. I've never been disappointed. Good thing Miss Calder is exempt from domestic tasks, or my opinion might just change."

  Thea clucked as if offended and slapped Ethan on the shoulder. He was always teasing her about her cooking; it had become a game of sorts.

  Daryl, keeping his eyes to the floor, acknowledged Thea. "Miss Calder." His nod of greeting deepened to a bow. She smiled innocently, but in truth, she relished the man's subservience.

  Ethan clapped the man on the back. "Keep up the good work, Daryl."

  Ethan's decomposition began to heal as soon as they left the tunnel system and entered the cavern. The rotting stench of his flesh abated, and the lesions in his face were knitting themselves back to normal. His gray pallor warmed to flesh tones as sinews and muscles reformed and refitted themselves. Stark white epidermis stretched across his healing muscles.

  The large cavern, which Ethan considered their town square, was lit with bonfires and oil lamps. Although on a smaller scale, the Underground resembled a town. People offered goods and services, albeit without a single token of currency exchanged. Money was useless in the Underground. Everyone shared in a communal subsistence. At the first hint of capitalistic behavior, Ethan would crush those individuals responsible.

  Clusters of people, both men and women, were quietly talking or playing cards. The majority were imbibing from their network of hooch stills in order to maintain the steady drunk that allowed them to remain halfway sane in their claustrophobic existence.

  "They've done it again." Thea pointed out the blood splatters along the floor leading to the pit.

  "Something must bind everyone who comes here" he said, looking away from the splatters. Only Thea could illicit such a guilty look from him.

  Thea stopped, crossing her arms. "Did you force me to fuck that poor girl?" She tapped her foot in the sticky redness for effect.

  "No, of course not."

  "Would you have thrown me into the pit when I refused?"

  "Thea, please. Not now."

  "It's disgusting."

  "Humans are disgusting." Ethan tried to hold her hand, but she shrugged him away.

  "You can stop this."

  "I said, not now, Thea." The look in his eye made Thea relent. She didn't take his hand as he wanted, but continued to walk by his side.

  His jaw clenched, Ethan begged off the constant approach of people wanting his private ear, or those who wanted to say hello and good day. His hand, now not so much rotting meat as warm flesh and soft skin, took hold of Thea's arm and rushed them through the rabble.

  Ethan Cartwright's accommodations were by far the most extravagant in the Underground. His quarters extended far into the hills and the dimensions would measure mansion-like above ground. He had a library, three bedrooms, a dining hall, and within the privacy of his two bathrooms, he had had flushable toilets installed. At the center of his expansive living room, a slow flow of water trickled into a man-made pond. He swam laps under candlelight almost everyday.

  "I'm sorry about what I said. It's just… you have such command of your people. If you just told them to end it." She pressed a hand against the still-healing muscles of his chest.

  "What am I to do, Thea? What can I do to change their lot?"

  "It's boredom. That's all. That's why they throw people to the pit. That's why they drink hour after hour. They're bored and they have nothing to do."

  "Again, I say, what am I to do?"

  She said nothing, but ran her fingers through the fresh blond hair sprouting at his temples. She had no response because there was no cure for the depravity of the Underground. Could there be a more reasonable damnation? She had her reasons for coming here. Her skin became more taut and smoother upon her visits. Her hair more luxurious. When she looked in the mirror, she saw herself as young as the day she left for California.

  After almost three years toiling in Hollywood, Thea reached her breaking point. A hack British director named Paul Hamilton-Hart attempted to convince her that a prominent speaking role in an upcoming movie was hers to have, if she could only find a way to persuade him into hiring her. It was a sign. Not a sign, but the sign. Directors reached for the casting couch card when an actress began showing her age. It was a sure way to sully her as she exited town, a worn hag lugging a battered suitcase.

  Thea didn't consent. She had more self-worth than to demean herself to that level. She retur
ned home jaded, weeping in her father's arms when she first saw him. He never voiced a single question about her stay in California, though she saw the words niggling at him. He didn't want to know. He was just happy to see her home and safe.

  As Thea tried to get on with her life, working in her father's store, her mind would often drift to stories from her childhood. Tales of passages leading to an ageless respite. A place where time held no meaning. It took her several months to stumble across the access tunnel in the icehouse. When she found it, she felt foolish for having lived her entire life without knowing the Underground existed right below her feet. As she worked her way through the tunnels that first time, a group of watchmen captured her. They were on the verge of throwing her into the pit when Ethan stayed her execution. He took her into his life, and she accepted her role in his, even if at first her skin crawled at his touch.

  Her attraction for him had grown since that day he saved her life. He hadn't pressured her as the Hollywood directors had. He always acted a gentleman; it was she who had to convince him to consummate their relationship. Ethan wasn't attractive in any standard sense of the word. But power transformed. It made the lame appear cunning, while the ugly became unique. It took her a long time to trust him. He could be quick-tempered and ruthless with his followers, but just as quickly he could surprise her with his tenderness. He was a man, and she had never met a man outside of her father who could be trusted, but over time, she had let her guard down around him.

  "I want you to live with me. Don't return aboveground. Never leave this place," Ethan said. His lips met hers, and this time, she didn't hesitate. She returned the pressure of his lips in equal measure, holding him in her arms. She broke the embrace at just the right moment, when she had his full attention.

  She paused, looking at this man who appeared to be not much older than herself, but who was in actuality the father of the oldest living person within Coal Hollow's town limits. His skin was so white the blue veins at his temples seemed to shift just below the surface--baby nightcrawlers floating in buttermilk. His eyes were pink with bloodshot.

  A jagged purple scar started at his collarbone and terminated just above his groin. He never spoke of the wound other than to say he received it while fighting for the Army during the Second Seminole War. Sometimes he would cry out in his sleep. Thea would never try to wake him from his nightmare; instead, listening intently, she would try to learn more of her benefactor from the gibberish spilled from his dreaming mind. His dreams would reveal little, just snippets of barked orders, and distressing cries for mercy. He was a pitiful sight, thrashing in his sheets, batting away some unseen aggressor with his fists.

  Though he convalesced long ago, the scar remained, so embedded in his flesh that even the powers of the Underground would never completely heal him.

  She realized she hadn't responded; she had been staring off into the flame of an oil lamp. She looked up, Ethan waiting on her answer. "I can't do that."

  "But I can't live without you. Just stay with me, Thea. It's what I want."

  She ran her fingers through his hair. No one else would dare defy him. And she could, to an extent. "It's what I want, too. In time; we must be patient. You need me above. You need me to hear things, and I can't do that here."

  Ethan looked at her with unguarded longing. He caressed her cheek. Judging his defeated expression, he knew she was right. "Okay. Until things die down. Until all of this business about those damn fool boys dies down."

  Thea felt the warmth through Ethan's touch, and wondered for the thousandth time how such a place as the Underground could exist. A place where life and death were such flighty concepts.

  Her mother's oft-spoken words caught her off guard:

  Love makes you old, love blinds you and bends your will…

  She kissed Ethan once more, and then left him standing by the doorway. She gave him a long-lashed wink as she crawled onto the bed. Ethan's hands were at his sides, fingers twitching, expectant. He looked so lost right now, a little boy. There was still something human looking back at her. She didn't want to admit her feelings were deepening. Becoming more than just convenience. Becoming real.

  Love makes you old, love blinds you and bends your will, her mother would say, but sometimes… sometimes that's okay.

  With deliberate slowness, she started to disrobe. She could do this now; feel comfortable with this, with Ethan. She opened her blouse and let it fall from her shoulders. She watched his eyes pan across breasts that would never sag, her slim hips and toned legs.

  "I'll make certain no one will come to know this place." Ethan joined Thea in bed. "Then, I won't ever let you leave me."

  Candlelight danced on his bleached-white skin as he kissed her neck. She ran her hands along his sides, then around to his shoulders, pulling him close. His skin should have decayed long ago, yet he gave off a heat that would one day consume her.

  4.

  Jacob shifted the pick-up into a lower gear, the engine grinding like a wounded animal. It lurched forward, smoothing out as they left the driveway, heading north. His mom didn't flinch when the truck caromed through an unforgiving pothole. Jimmy had taught his little brother how to drive a few years prior, thinking that another driver would come in handy around the farm. It had gotten to the point that his mom would head for the passenger side whenever they went for a drive. In his mom's eyes, he was becoming a man. Without Jimmy, she would still see him barely out of diapers.

  Ellie sat between them, gripping her rag doll. His mom was scanning the road, the fields, anything within eyesight, searching for Jimmy.

  The Bradshaws lived off a nameless dirt road a mile north of where Teetering Road forked from Main Street and downtown. If there was an upper crust in Coal Hollow society, the Bradshaws sat atop that crust. Louise's grandfather had been on the board of the Grendal Coal Company, and the money amassed in that capacity had stayed within Coal Hollow Township upon his retirement when the company moved away. Years ago they had allowed their surrounding fifty acres sprout to forest. Instead of a typical farmhouse, her grandfather had built a sprawling three-story Victorian, complete with intricately styled veranda and a steepled turret. Jacob thought the house looked more like a castle, totally out of place nestled in the woods growing from the unending prairie.

  "You stay here with Ellie," his mom said when he made the slight left turn into the driveway. They passed through ornate iron gates and followed the tree-lined drive to the house.

  "Mom--" he said, not sure how to argue his case. He wanted to hear the conversation with Louise, but he understood it would be easier to gather information if he wasn't around.

  "Were you going to say something?" Her eyes narrowed.

  "No. No ma'am."

  "I didn't think so. This is important, Jacob. Louise might have information on Jimmy's whereabouts."

  "Okay."

  He slowed the truck to a stop, the creaky brakes whining the whole way. If the Bradshaws hadn't seen the truck pull up the drive, they would've heard it approach.

  "Wish me luck," his mom said as she left the truck.

  His mom knocked on the door. When Mrs. Bradshaw opened the door, she paused as if unsure as to what to do. After an unbearable moment, she gave his mom a stiff hug. While not as poor as the Fowlers, Jacob's family had never gotten along well with the Bradshaws, well, except for Jimmy, he supposed. His brother got on real well with Louise, probably too well after reading his journal.

  His mom looked back at the truck before following Mrs. Bradshaw inside. Checking the house for movement, he saw people through a shear curtained window.

  "What's Louise gonna know?" Ellie asked quietly. Her feet rested on the hump in the middle of the cab floor. Jacob had almost forgotten about her.

  "She might know where Jimmy is." He kept his eyes on the window, hoping to see his mom or Louise. The Bradshaws were strict parents; he knew this from Jimmy's grumbling after coming home from visiting Louise. Her parents permitted them to meet on their por
ch. They would allow them to sit on the porch swing, but would often show up with cookies or glasses of sun tea. Her parents wouldn't let Louise get into the truck with Jimmy, and wouldn't even permit them to meet in town. Obviously, they had worked hard to get around her parents' rules.

  "She don't know a thing. Jimmy came to our house, and he'n George went out alone."

  "Louise might know something from earlier. We think he might've run off to the army."

  "How could he run off if he came to our house? They both went missing at the same time."

  "You don't know for sure if Jimmy came to your house. Do you?"

  "No, I was asleep until Georgie took the gun from the wall."

  Jacob looked away from the window and into Ellie's wide and watery eyes. When he had discovered Jimmy's journal, it seemed like the answer to their prayers. He hadn't taken the time to analyze the possibilities. Now, sitting with Ellie, he knew his mom was wasting her time. Even if Ellie was asleep until George woke her when he picked up the gun, it made no sense that Jimmy wouldn't be there.

  "You know, whatever got Georgie, it got Jimmy, too."

  Ellie's words cut to the bone. Jimmy wasn't safe and on his way to some boot camp. At best he was missing, at worst, dead. Jacob told his mom he would stay in the truck, but he had to hear what they were talking about. He just had to.

  "You wait here." Jacob opened the door, hopped down, then eased it closed, not wanting to make any noise. He slinked up the dirt drive and then up the veranda steps. He got even lower, keeping under eyesight from the windows. The gauzy curtains blew in the slight breeze just above his head. He looked back to see Ellie gripping the edge of the truck's window, her watery eyes blinking with surprise.

  Jacob heard his mom's voice through the open window.

  "How old are you Louise?" his mom asked.