“Rope,” I said numbly. Was this the way out?
“How far down do you think we are?” asked Karen.
“Not sure. At least sixty feet. Probably more.” Even if it was fifty feet, or forty, it was going to be tough climbing a soaking rope. What bothered me was the lack of light from wherever it was that the rope was anchored. It could lead to another level of catacombs. But at least we’d be closer to the surface. It was possible that Stonehenge didn’t realise I had the map. Or that he’d forgotten. The rope was our only chance. We had to take it.
“Do you want to go first?” I asked Karen. I was being practical. If she fell, she’d knock me off. Land on me at the bottom. It might kill me. That would be okay. Landing on me might save her. That was okay, too. She nodded. She grabbed hold of the rope.
And as it took her weight there was a sudden glare of greenish light. And the walls of the chamber grew away from us. And two tunnels opened like terrible mouths from the pulsating mud walls as they oozed back over flagstones slick with mould.
And people emerged from both tunnels, walking towards us.
And the people were AFFA.
And they were all carrying grey power saws.
And they walked into the growing, green-lit chamber in pairs.
And they filed in, taking positions around the walls of the now huge chamber.
And then, the last of the cabal, Barry Eliot, walked in. He held a golden power saw in his hands. And as I stared, open-mouthed, I heard Karen screaming. She was attached to the rope, as if she was glued there by her hands. She couldn’t let go. She hung from her arms, her feet dangling pathetically a foot from the floor. Helpless. And all around me, holding saws aimed at me, AFFA laughed. They laughed. All of them. In unison. Soullessly. Laughing.
And Barry walked forward.
And he pulled on the trigger of the gold power saw.
And it purred, then roared, as he advanced towards Karen’s suspended body. He raised the saw. I knew exactly what he was going to do. AFFA stopped laughing. Barry moved closer, the saw howling in his hands.
And there was only one thing I could do.
I pointed my gun. And I put a bullet through Karen’s head.
Chapter 25
The End
It doesn’t matter what happened after that. Nothing I had done had made any difference to anything. I had never been in control. I had never been anything other than an amusing puppet. By fate ordained. It was Monday 13th July.
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed in my flat. I’m waiting for the police to arrive. They’re going to charge me with Karen’s murder.
And as I sit here, I can see out of my window. It’s stopped raining. And I think the sun’s going to come out. Yeah. Well.
About the Author
Stanley Donwood (the pen name of Dan Rickwood) is best known for being the “in-house” illustrator for Radiohead, having created all of their album and poster art since 1994. Donwood’s other works of fiction include Slowly Downward and Household Worms, both published by Tangent, and Humor, a collection of old and new work, published by Faber.
Catacombs of Terror! Page 17