Colne opened then locked each door at the end of the corridors behind us after slamming it with a clang.
“Never leave your keys in the lock, even for a moment, boy,” he warned. “Always fasten them back onto your belt. It’s the safest way, so nobody else can ever get their hands on them.”
At last we ended up in the open again, the drizzle falling straight down onto our heads, the castle walls rising sheer on all four sides. It was a small, claustrophobic area about twenty paces by twenty paces and most of it was filled by a large wooden structure that I recognized as a gallows. This was another place that I hadn’t seen during my training. It was Execution Square—the place haunted by Netty!
“Yes, boy, this is where the condemned get their necks stretched! It’s a grim place. But over there is what we’ve come to see.” Colne pointed to the furthest corner of the square, and we passed the gallows and halted about four paces away from an imposing iron door with a massive lock. I could hear water trickling in the near distance.
“This is the entrance to the Witch Well, and behind that door you’d face your worst nightmare. Don’t ever go through there, and just be glad you’re not in my shoes!”
On the Stroke of Midnight
After a week or so, I began to feel a lot better about being on the night shift. The duties were much easier than I’d been trained for because it wasn’t necessary to feed the prisoners. Only the prisoner in the Witch Well got fed at night and that was Adam Colne’s job. The other inmates were mostly sleeping or groaning or crying. You just had to patrol the corridors, and after a few days, I actually got used to the noises the prisoners made. I even made friends with one of the other guards—Samuel his name was. First friend I’d had in a very long time.
I never saw the ghost of Netty on my shift, but I suspected that she came close at times. Once I felt someone touch the back of my neck. It felt like the tip of an ice-cold finger. But when I turned to look, there was nobody there—or at least nothing that needed to draw breath. There were whispers too but very faint, and I never could quite make out the words. Samuel never heard anything, but then he hadn’t been chosen by Netty.
I would have been all right and probably still doing that job but then the Purple Pestilence came along and changed everything for a while.
The disease swept straight through the nearby villages and towns. Some people got sore throats so severe that they couldn’t breathe. Then, just before they died, they turned a deep purple color. It was mostly the very young and the very old who died, but the survivors had a very hard time of it too and were confined to their sick beds for weeks. The orphanage didn’t escape. Mrs. Hendle succumbed to it and so did a dozen of the weaker lads. I was glad to be away from the place at night.
One night I went to the castle and Adam Colne wasn’t there. Three other guards were sick too—Samuel included. That left just me and George, the gate guard.
“Well, boy, this is a bad situation,” he told me. “That prisoner in the Witch Well has to be fed at midnight, and with no Adam here, you’ll have to do it.”
“Me?” I said. “But I’m still new. Mr. Colne said I should never go into the Witch Well.”
“Look, there’s only you available to do it tonight, boy. I can’t afford to leave the gate,” he argued.
I knew that anyone could guard the gate but, although George was older and more experienced than I was, he was scared to feed the prisoner and was using the gate as an excuse.
“Couldn’t we just leave it for one night?” I suggested. “Mr. Colne might be back tomorrow.”
“It will go worse for everyone if that thing’s not fed, boy. That’s as much as I know. And that’s what they pay you for.”
I wasn’t going to win this argument. “Where’s the food?” I asked, my knees knocking just at the very thought of entering the Witch Well.
“There are two buckets waiting for you in Execution Square, directly underneath the gallows. Give the prisoner the first at midnight then the second course about ten minutes later. Just tip each bucket down the steps. Don’t linger. Get out of there just as quickly as you can.”
“Ten minutes later,” I repeated. “All right, I’ll do it.”
“Good boy. Now, off you go on your rounds, but when you hear the church bell sound at a quarter to midnight, make your way to the Witch Well.”
So, carrying my big bunch of keys, I set off on my patrol of the corridors. I was really scared—and lonely too, with no other guard to talk to. I just wanted to get the ordeal over with and I was actually glad when I heard the church bell in the distance telling me that it was time to go and feed the prisoner. Between the main gate and Execution Square, there were seven corridors to walk and eight stout doors to unlock and lock. At last I reached the square. It was raining even harder than usual and I picked my way between the puddles toward the gallows to where the two large wooden buckets of food were waiting.
Each was covered with a piece of wood to stop the rain getting in, and there was a stone on top to keep the wood in place. Why the stone was necessary I hadn’t a clue. The four sheer walls that enclosed the gallows meant there could be no wind.
In the distance the church bell began to toll again. At the twelfth peal, I picked up the nearest bucket and carried it toward the door of the Witch Well. The bucket was so heavy. What on earth could be inside it? I lowered it to one side of the gate and fumbled for the right key. The lock seemed stiff, but at last it yielded and very nervously I pulled open the door.
There was a torch flickering on the wall just to the side of the door. It lit the entrance adequately, but the steps descended into absolute darkness. With one hand on the doorjamb, I listened. For a moment I could hear nothing at all, but then from far below came the faint sound of breathing.
I lifted the stone from the wooden cover of the bucket and placed it on the floor. Next I removed the cover itself. I was instantly assailed by a strong metallic coppery smell. The bucket was full of blood. Rich dark blood. Surely this wasn’t food intended for a human being? What kind of creature could be imprisoned below? Mr. Colne had said he was chained up. But what was he?
I didn’t intend to linger long enough to find out, so I did as the gatekeeper had instructed. I lifted the heavy bucket and I tipped it, allowing the contents to cascade down the stone steps. The blood flowed like a waterfall, carrying big chunks of raw meat along with it.
Wasting no time, I carried the empty bucket outside, closed the door behind me, and locked it. As instructed I waited ten minutes before getting ready to feed the creature what the gatekeeper had called its “second course.” At one point I thought I could hear faint noises from behind the door, so I leaned against it and put my ear to the wood. I could definitely hear chewing, snuffling noises, but after a while all became quiet and I judged it time to unlock the door and feed the prisoner again. I was more nervous than ever. What if he was lying in wait for me behind the door? I eased it open.
To my relief, it was exactly as before, the steps leading down into absolute darkness. The only difference was that the stones were now red with blood. A sudden thought struck me. They had been clean before I’d tipped the first bucket. So who had done it? Was that part of Adam Colne’s job too? Was I going to have to scrub these steps when I’d finished?
This second bucket was also filled almost to the brim with blood, so wasting no time at all, I tipped it down the steps. It proved to be different from the first course; this had bones in it rather than pieces of raw meat. I turned, intending to get out of there fast. It was then that disaster struck.
I heard the door behind me creak on its hinges.
Then it started to close!
I took two quick steps toward the door but it slammed shut in my face. There had been no wind, so why had it closed? It was almost as if someone had shut it from the outside. Shut me in! When I tried to push the door open, it didn’t yield and I began to panic, an iciness coursing through my veins. But there was worse to come.
&nbs
p; Then I remembered with a sickening jolt that I’d left my key in the lock! In my nervousness to tip the second bucket down the steps and get the job over with, I’d broken an important rule.
To my horror and dismay, I heard the sound of the key being turned in the lock. I tried to push open the door again, but it wouldn’t budge. Someone had locked it. But who could have done it and why?
The Prisoner in the Witch Well
Now I was trapped in the Witch Well with the prisoner. A prisoner who drank blood and ate bones and had to be chained up! I could hear him somewhere below starting to eat his second course.
First there came the lapping and slurping of a big tongue drinking the blood that I’d poured down the stone steps.
How big is the tongue? No human tongue could make so much noise!
Next there came the crunching, grinding of large teeth chewing the bones that had been carried down to him by the red tide.
How big and sharp are the teeth? No human teeth could chew through bones like that!
I tried the door for the third time, again without success. Who had done this to me? It couldn’t be George. I was doing him a favor feeding this creature. Could it be one of the prisoners? But no, I’d just checked them. They were all safe, under lock and key.
I sat down, resting my back against the door, thinking desperately about what I could do. It was no good shouting for help because the gatekeeper was too far away. And if I did call out, the prisoner below me would certainly hear and might come up the steps to investigate.
The gatekeeper wouldn’t expect me back until the end of my shift. It was only then, when the day guards arrived, that someone might discover my disappearance and come to release me from the Witch Well. But that was still many hours away.
Maybe if I stayed at the top of the steps, quiet as a little mouse, the prisoner would stay down there. No sooner had that thought entered my head than the chewing below ceased. The prisoner must have eaten all the bones. Perhaps he’s now full to bursting and will fall asleep?
That hope was quickly shattered. There was a new sound, like a broad-toothed file rasping on wood. What could it be?
The sound went on for a long time and seemed to be getting gradually nearer and nearer. There was also the occasional clank of a chain. Something deep inside my brain figured out what the noises meant, and the answer popped into my head very suddenly. As the truth dawned on me, I started to tremble.
The creature was slowly climbing the steps and dragging its chain behind it. The rasping sound was being made by its large tongue. Nobody needed to clean the steps of blood because the prisoner did it himself. He was climbing upward, licking each step in turn, not wanting to waste even a drop of blood. Climbing upward—toward me!
I had one hope left. A lot depended on the length of the chain that tethered him to the ring in the dungeon below. It seemed sensible to me for the prison authorities to have made it long enough so he could reach the top step with his tongue—that would save on the need to send in someone to do the cleaning—but not long enough to allow him to reach the door. That way anyone feeding him would be safe as long as they stood very close to the entrance.
But if that was the case, why had the gatekeeper told me to get out as quickly as possible? Was there some other danger that I hadn’t foreseen?
The sound of that tongue licking the step was getting nearer and nearer, and I stood up and pressed my back against the door to get as far as possible from the top step. Next, I braced myself, ready for my first view of the creature. I didn’t have long to wait. The first thing to emerge into the light cast by the flickering torch was the tongue itself. It was huge and swollen and also purple, like the faces of those who died from the pestilence.
Next came the huge head, and I shuddered at the sight of it. Rather than hair, it was covered in green scales and its ears were long and pointy, with a sharp piece of bone protruding from the tip of each. What was it?
As more of the prisoner came into view, I gradually became aware of its size. It was far bigger than a man, perhaps nine feet tall, with strong muscular shoulders and a naked, hairy back. Instead of fingernails, it had long, sharp talons, each one more lethal than a dagger.
Its tongue was licking the top step now and so absorbed was the creature in slurping up every last drop of blood that, so far, it hadn’t noticed me. My heart was in my mouth and I pressed myself even harder back against the door.
But the moment it finished, it looked up and its big, green, cruel eyes looked directly into mine. For the first time, I saw its teeth. It had two long, yellow fangs that curled down over its bottom lip. With a snarl, it leaped toward me. The chain brought it up with a jerk and it thrashed against the metal, straining to reach me, its claws just inches from my shoes, saliva dribbling from its open mouth in anticipation of eating my flesh. Would the chain hold?
Now I didn’t worry about keeping quiet. I didn’t care who heard me. “George!” I screamed, banging on the solid door. “George, please, help me! Somebody help!”
But if anyone heard me, they didn’t come. I stopped banging on the door and turned to face the creature. He growled deep in his throat. For a moment I waited, trembling in dread, expecting one of the big links of his chain to break. But they remained intact and the creature’s attempts to reach me slowly became less frantic. I tried to remain calm. The only risk to my life was if I grew tired and fell forward, away from the door. But I was hardly likely to fall asleep with the hungry, open, fanged mouth of that monstrosity a few feet away and its claws mere inches from my shoes. Colne had said he’d lost guards in the Witch Well. But I didn’t intend to be another victim.
Slowly my fear began to ebb. I told myself that I could survive here until daybreak. But then, just as I was becoming calmer and more hopeful, there was a sudden draft and the torch began to flicker. The draft became a gust, the gust became a howling wind, and the torch went out. I was plunged into darkness.
Long-Necked Netty
For a moment I could see nothing, and then there was a faint glow from the side of the steps. The glow became a tall column of light that lit the walls and steps better than a candle, and a human form began to materialize.
My heart started to beat faster. This was one of the castle ghosts and it only took a few moments for me to realize which one. At first glance, the body looked solid and the red lips, brown eyes, and green dress could have fooled you into thinking that this was a living flesh-and-blood woman. But she was standing in front of the creature from the dungeon, and I could see through her to his glaring eyes and twitching talons.
She was a tall woman who once had been beautiful, but the high cheekbones and glossy black hair were ruined by two things: her bulging eyes and her stretched and twisted neck with its knotted veins. I shuddered with fear. It was the ghost of Long-Neck Netty, the woman who’d been hanged in the castle’s Execution Square.
Netty smiled without warmth and then she spoke; her voice was as cold as the north wind. “Billy Calder, we meet at last. I see you’ve met my son. So what do you think of him?” she asked.
I didn’t answer, and she turned and gestured toward the taloned creature on the steps who was straining against the chain, making fresh efforts to reach me. “He’s a good lad and deserves the best,” she said. “He didn’t ask to be born in that shape and he’s always hungry. It was my fault, you see. I met a young man, the most handsome that any woman had ever seen. He had blue eyes and curly blond hair, not unlike yourself, and a dazzling smile that melted my heart. I’d have done anything for him.”
Why was she telling me all this? What did she want?
“But I was young and foolish,” she continued, “and never questioned the fact that he only ever wanted to meet me after dark and alone. I was a witch but I was self-taught and belonged to no coven, so I had no one to advise me and point out the great danger that I was in. I bore a child to that handsome young man, and it was only afterward that I learned the truth. He was the Devil! And some offspr
ing of a witch and the Devil are born as abhumans. My poor child, he never asked to be brought into this world so ugly and misshapen, so I try to make it up to him whenever I can. I feed him a choice morsel, some tender flesh and sweet young blood. That’s why you are here, boy. That’s why I asked for you to be transferred to the night shift! You aren’t the first young lad I’ve asked Adam Colne to bring my way. He daren’t refuse me or he’d be given to my son instead! Oh, I know he tries to warn you boys, but I always find a way of getting you in the end.”
My blood froze and my brain screamed with terror. From the moment that she had demanded I be moved to the night shift, her intention had been to feed me to her son.
“Why don’t you make it easy for yourself?” Netty cried. “Just walk down the steps and get it over with. The pain won’t last long!”
I was too terrified to reply. But I still had hope. She was just a ghost, and although she could scare me, Netty couldn’t actually make me do anything. I could still wait at the top of the steps until someone from the day shift came to unlock the door and set me free.
The Ghost Prison Page 2