Quintessence of Dust
Page 16
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In the basement, the Minotaur switched on his torch, the light lurching towards the far side of the room where darkness crawled across the walls like a thousand tiny spiders. As he panned the beam, the batteries rattled in the casing, shorting out the light so the room flared in eerie apparition. The air was dank, and the temperature had dropped enough for John to feel his skin tighten. Various tools were strewn across the basement floor. The nearest to him was a screwdriver, and next to that, a hammer. The closer it got to the hem of darkness the larger the tools became: a saw, mallet, sledgehammer. Thick rusted screws lay on their sides, bent and twisted like toasted maggots. The Minotaur grabbed John’s sleeve and pulled him close.
“It’s in there,” said the Minotaur.
“What’s in there?” asked John hesitantly.
“Whatever’s been calling me.”
John felt the Minotaur’s breath fall on his arm in rapid concession. He was preparing himself, bracing ever part of his bulk for whatever lay within the dark. The torch gave out again, and the Minotaur shook the casing. John turned, and in the brief yellowy light that shifted the shadows, he saw another door, one forged from solid steel. Its edges had been struck with the head of the sledgehammer, leaving behind bowl-size dents in the surface.
“It took me the best part of a week to remove all the exterior bolts, but I think I’ve finally weakened the inner locks.”
John stepped back. He didn’t want to know what lay beyond that door. It had no influence on his life with Alison. If he never found out what was in there, it wouldn’t concern him. He thought of Alison lying in bed. Before he left the house, she had kissed John on the cheek and said that the Minotaur was lucky to have him as a friend. Now all John wanted to do was leave the Minotaur and slip back into bed with Alison, a place where he always felt safe and loved. But she was right. Friends have to help each other, regardless of their own fears and reservations.