Teeth in the Mist

by Dawn Kurtagich

  Len returned with two flashlights.

  “If Poulton wasn’t a risk, or if we knew where he was,” she said, “I would ask you to wait here for me.”

  “You should know better by now,” I told her, and she grinned.

  It was hard to make head or tail of what came next. Most of it was just rocky, broken passages, blackened and old. The smell of moss and neglect was rife and made us choke.

  There were stairs and passages and what looked like rooms. There were many, many inverted crosses and I stuck close to Len, holding on to her arm.

  On and on the snake went, down and down it took us.

  There were holes in the floor that we had to jump across, and then one large section of the floor entirely missing. The snake slid across the sliver of space that was left, a kind of ledge where the rocks had not quite fallen away. We could shimmy across, but it was precarious.

  Len turned to me. “Wait—”

  “No. I will not wait here.”

  Len grinned, and nodded. We peered over the ledge, her flashlight trying to find anything but blackness. And it did—

  the wheel.

  A spoke, a wooden frame…

  “My God,” I said.

  From where we peered down at it, into the huge cavernous space, we saw that the wheel was at least forty feet high, and half-submerged in water black as tar. A giant.

  Len went first. She edged along the tiny little bit of floor that was left. The snake had stopped moving in the shadows. I kept my flashlight on it and on Len in turns.

  My heart was in my throat. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life.

  “Now you,” Len said from the other side.

  My heart was thumping slow and hard in my chest. I could feel the truth of Len’s declaration that I was still deeply anemic. My arms shook as they tried to bear some of my weight, holding on to the rocky wall. It was so cold and slick that I worried I might not make it.

  I was almost with Len, her hand a mere inch or two from mine, when that fear became reality. My legs gave out with no warning and I fell, down into the inky, icy blackness below.

  I didn’t hear her scream.

  The shock of the water drove the air from me, and I couldn’t move my limbs. I went down like a rock, my flashlight still gripped in my rigid fingers.

  All around me there was green water, horrible, horrible green water, and beneath me, a seemingly endless blackness.

  I thought of the Titanic.

  My lungs screamed for air.

  Move, I told myself.

  But I couldn’t.

  Len reached me some time after. She pulled me up and onto a landing that sat halfway up the height of the wheel, just out of the water. I was frigid, too cold to shiver.

  “F-f-found it.”

  Len was panting hard. She pulled off my jacket and shirt, tossed them aside, took off her own jacket, and wrapped me in it.

  “Y-y-you’re j-just t-t-trying to get me n-naked,” I said feebly, trying to grin.

  “Your gums are blue. Fuck.”

  “One of these d-days,” I told her, some warmth returning now that I was out of the water and in her fleece-lined jacket, the outside of which was waterproof, “you’re going to have to tell me how old you are. You have a foul way of speaking.” I tried to wink, but only succeeded in closing one of my eyes.

  She swore again, then reached into one of the zip pockets in her jacket and pulled out the chalk. Once again, she drew some symbols, muttered under her breath (I noticed her shudder and grimace), and the edges of the platform lit up with fire.

  We sat like that for a while, and the wooden platform didn’t seem to burn beyond the very edges.

  “I can destroy this without you,” she told me.

  “I just need to rest and prepare. Lie down. Get warm.”

  I did as she said, wishing that the feeling would return to my legs, but I was still wearing my sodden jeans. I inched closer to the fire, feeling weird about lying so close to open flame, but knowing Len would protect me.

  The heat ran through me like a warm summer, and I had never felt this good.

  There was no sign of the snake.

  When I woke, the fire was still going, though less intensely. The flames were simmering, rather than roaring.

  Len was gone.

  I called her name, panic rising wildly inside me.

  “Up here,” she murmured.

  She was on the top of the wheel, twenty or more feet above me. The entire surface of the wheel had been covered in little chalk symbols.

  “My God,” I whispered.

  “This thing will blow like dynamite.”

  “How will we get out?”

  “Behind you,” she said. “That doorway. It looks like it leads right up. Straight into and out of the mountain. I went up a few stories. It’s our exit.”

  I wiggled my toes—they were cold and tingling, but fine.

  “There’s something else,” she said, nodding toward the shadowy ruins behind me.

  I looked, but saw nothing. “What?”

  “He’s in there, watching us. Keep a lookout.”

  I stared at the shadows, and as I looked, my eyes adjusting to the dark beyond the fire, a pale figure appeared, crouched in the darkness. It was watching us.

  I gasped, and the figure scrambled away.

  “Was that—is it—”

  “Yeah,” she said, without turning away from her furious scratching. “We found where Poulton’s been hiding out.”

  I wanted to go to him. To run over and hold him and tell him everything was going to be fine, but I knew he would only attack me.

  “But those bangs in the house,” I said, trailing off. If they weren’t Pole…

  “I don’t think those were him,” Len said, confirming my thoughts.

  “Who else?”

  She looked down at me. “I think you mean what else.”

  Suddenly I felt very exposed. I looked at the darkness that surrounded my little flaming platform like a cage. It was like the darkness contained many eyes, all of them watching me, all of them waiting for the fire to burn out.

  Len lured Pole out with the snake, as though it were a tasty treat for him to enjoy. She found it floating in the water beneath the surface near the wheel when she was climbing down. I was feeling more sick than I ever had, my legs shaking with fatigue. She told me to go ahead of her through the doorway and I didn’t argue. Poulton was slow to advance, distrusting as a feral cat.

  We only had the one flashlight left, so I took it, leading the way. Occasionally I shone it back, wanting to see what was happening, but Len would tell me not to. Poulton, it seemed, was scared of the light. But his hunger overran his fear, because eventually, as the stairs narrowed and the meager light seemed more bountiful with the reflection from the water, he crept out and I saw with a shock that he was skin and bones—and naked as the day he was born.

  Len hushed me and told me to keep going; we couldn’t stop to rest, since Poulton might snatch the snake and run back down. I wept all the way up, partly from the pain in my body and my legs, but mostly for my friend.

  Poulton.

  I kept thinking: What the hell have I brought him to? This is my fault. My stupid quest to save my father has cost me the dearest thing in my life. If we survive, how will he ever be the same again? Even now, he’s tied to the piano like a dog and he howls all night as though in agony. We’ve had to strap his head to it too, since he kept trying to ram it with his head. We’ve used some of our clothes for rope.

  He’s not my intelligent, logical friend.

  He’s not even human.

  We came out onto the mountain into a dull, gray morning. We had been under the earth for more than twelve hours. The exit was nothing more than an opening in a shallow cave, but the walk back to the house was long.

  The light was a balm, but I could barely carry myself.

  I told Len to go on. Poulton had tried to back away near the top, and Len had seized hi
m by the arms and dragged him the rest of the way. Then she had muttered her guttural speech and we heard, far below, a great rumble, and felt it beneath our feet.

  There was a growing sound, like an approaching wave, and then the exit puffed with noxious-smelling smoke and the mountain shuddered and collapsed a little beneath our feet.

  I screamed and fell as the earthquake shook our bones, but when I looked up, Len was still standing—and still holding Poulton.

  The sound died away. A few bangs, crashes, and the dull, tinkling sound of dirt falling, and then nothing.

  “Go on ahead,” I told Len, coughing. “I’ll follow right behind. I can’t go that fast again.”

  She opened her mouth to refuse, but Poulton broke away and made a mad dash through the mists and Len shot after him. I hadn’t seen mist this thick before. It was only three feet before I lost sight of them entirely.

  “I’m taking him to the house,” she called. “Stay put—I’ll be back soon.”

  I called out my agreement and lay my head down on the rocks.

  Beneath me, I thought I could feel the slowing heartbeat of the mountain, and then I fell asleep.

  Len came back for me a little while later. She woke me with a kiss.

  “I’m so tired,” I breathed.

  I didn’t know if I had the energy to lift my head, but of course I did. Len helped me up and we half walked, half stumbled back to the house.

  And that’s when I knew something was wrong.

  I was grinning as I entered—she had put on the space heater, even though we were conserving the last of the fuel for really bad nights.

  I took one step, another—

  everything was looking a little brighter. We had done it. We had done it! We had destroyed the wheel that was keeping all things bound to the house, and we could leave! We could leave! The mists would clear, the storms would pass, and we would be able to walk out of here.

  —and then I hit the floor.

  I haven’t been able to get up since.

  Len caught us some snakes while we waited for the healing to begin. At first, we thought it was fine. Like before, my injuries would heal. A few hours and I would be fine. Okay, yes. I was still anemic, but that was because you can’t grow red blood cells overnight. In a few hours—it would be fine. Like always.

  Hours turned into a day. I still believed. Len paced, ashen, but I smiled at her and let her cook us rats on a fire she lit with her strange words. I asked her to tell me stories, but she couldn’t. She was feeling sick, she said.

  The day after, I was worried. What if it was forever?

  Today is the third day. And I know it is. I can’t move my legs. I can’t walk.

  And the mists remain fixedly in place.

  We have a son! Living, breathing, alive! We are delirious with joy! John cannot stop kissing my face. He now insists we bed upon the mountain! For was not our boy conceived under the stars on the far side of the mountain? John says it is fated, and what am I to think? It must be true! We have named our son Nicholas, and may he have a long life!

  FROM THE DIARY OF

  HERMIONE SMITH

  I watch John speak to that ram at night, whispering into its ear. I watch the ram stare at me and I know it talks to John in turn. It is a fiend, it is the Prince of Darkness, slanderer, spoiler, the Great Dragon, Lucifer! I shall cut out the heart of the beast and burn it to ash! John speaks with Lucifer and so my babes have been stolen like John’s men!

  I curse all that live! I curse all who bear children! I curse my own self! Let not me suffer this pain again! May there be a price!

  My babes, oh Lord, my babes!

  FROM THE DIARY OF

  HERMIONE SMITH

  Chapter 42

  FOSTOS

  Emma rushes forward with a cry, but a dance of Andrew’s fingers and she is flung away.

  He clucks his tongue. “Naughty, saucy girl.”

  “Give him to me,” Emma cries. “Give him to me!”

  It is difficult to tell if Seamus is alive. His hair has been shaved away so that he looks like a strange baby, though the rough stitching along his skull almost shouts with its ghastly savagery. He has been cut open from ear to ear and sewn shut again.

  Emma retches, her eyes and nose streaming.

  Both of Seamus’s legs are gone below the knee, and there are more stitches on his torso.

  “What have you done,” Emma chokes. “Seamus! Seamus!”

  Cage holds out the crucifix from around his neck, his eyes fixed on Andrew. He mutters constantly beneath his breath.

  “Save your breath, priest,” Andrew says, and in the darkness of the Underneath, his eyes glow like a cat’s.

  “Back, demon,” Cage spits with a savage force. “Back!”

  Andrew skips back, laughing. “Oh, this is fun. It’s been such a long time since I’ve had fun.”

  Rapley eyes the wheel, a beast of a thing, wondering what purpose it serves, and how he will be able to get to it before Andrew stops him.

  Andrew, distracted by Cage, allows his hands to fall, so that Emma is released. She glances at him, then inches forward, all the while avoiding pockets of empty air as though they are wasps no one can see.

  Rapley steps forward to further distract Andrew, and Emma reaches her brother, but once she lays a hand on him, she cries out.

  “Seamus! Oh, no! No!” Her scream echoes through the Underneath, an earthquake of grief.

  “I’m close now,” Andrew says. He gestures with his arm to the wall to his left where new organs have appeared, nailed into the wall. “His heart, his lungs, his spleen…”

  Emma retches twice, then vomits.

  Andrew grins and licks a finger. “His blood was particularly sweet. Tell me,” Andrew says, turning to Emma, “did you enjoy the boy, Dylan? He was another of my wards, but sadly… we needed supplies. You had to eat. And then my son, Maudley, was of no more use to me… and you devoured him also. I saw how famished you and Seamus were, stuffing your little faces with his meat.”

  Emma’s eyes are glassy as she stares at the thing that bred her. “We… ate… Dr. Maudley…”

  “Foul beast,” Cage says, raising his crucifix higher. “Back with you!”

  Andrew smiles. “Crucisvigil, we meet again. You all have a certain stench about you, did you know? I remember it well from the catacombs.” He pretends to retch, then glances at Emma, grinning. “Where is my daughter, Roan?”

  “She’s been sent away,” Rapley says. “Far from you and your evil.”

  “Do you not fear the wrath of God?” Cage asks.

  As the candles and torches burn and smoke, Andrew’s face shifts ever so subtly, until he looks more beast than man. His eyes, Rapley realizes, at this moment, look just like Roan’s—no walls. No barriers. Unclosed and open to the evil beyond the doorway. But no thoughts spill out. Only the deepest malevolence Rapley has ever felt.

  Rapley strikes out, but Andrew is fast.

  “Do you think you can kill me?” Andrew bellows. “I am older than this house—older than your conception of time.”

  Cage joins the fight, but Andrew’s strength is uncanny, his speed doubly so. His eyes are darker than the night now, and his skin is pale as ice.

  Andrew roars as Cage and Rapley rush at him. “I am Fostos! I taught Da Vinci, directed John Dee, and I am the miller, John Smith, who built this house! I made you, one and all.”

  Emma hurries to the wheel again, climbing up upon the spokes to free her brother from the restraints. She pulls him from the stone and he lands with a dull, wet thunk. She drags him across the room, heading for the stairs.

  Andrew slams Cage and Rapley to the ground and then jumps several dozen feet to where Emma stands, pulling Seamus.

  He lifts her by the hair. “Do you see my rips, daughter?” he asks, his grin a little too wide for a human face, his teeth a little too sharp.

  Terror shines from her eyes like beacons in a foggy night. The rips are everywhere. Blacker and wider here
than anywhere else.

  “Do you know where they lead?” Andrew asks. Emma soils herself.

  Andrew leans close and whispers in her ear, “To hell,” and he throws her away like a bit of rubbish. She hits a rip in the air, screaming. And then everything goes silent. She looks at Cage, her mouth open in a little O, and then a series of loud cracks rend the air. Her legs break outward at the knees and she is sucked through. The rip seals behind her.

  “Emma!” Cage screams, and he tries to run after her, but all he knows is that she hit the air like it was a solid wall, and vanished into nothing. There is nowhere to go. He scrabbles at the air as though trying to find the place where she disappeared and drag her back—but there is nothing.

  With a growl, Cage runs at Andrew, his heart beating with a deeper hate than he knew was possible. But he is too weak for Fostos.

  “You have passing abilities, boy. Who are you?” Cage tries to hit out, but fails. Andrew smells him, his nostrils wide, and then rips his shirt. “Strange… You are Crucisvigil… but you are also mine.”

  “Yes, Grandfather, I am yours!” says Cage, and hits him hard.

  “Intriguing,” Andrew says, reacting to Cage’s blow as though he is nothing but a fly. “You are born of a failure. I thought I had destroyed them all. I will take that into account.”

  Cage reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small vial. He thumbs away the cork and throws the water over Andrew, who laughs. “Do you think you can hold me down with your holy water and fists?”

  He throws Cage away with a flick of his arm. Cage flies twenty feet, lands, and is still.

  Rapley’s Unclosed abilities are straining against his flesh, but he rejects using the evil he was given at birth. He is a man, a mortal, born of a good woman who loved him. Andrew avoids his blows, delivering his own like a strange, bloody dance. He toys with Rapley on the blood-soaked floor.

  At last, seeming to grow bored, Andrew drags Rapley to the waterwheel. It is turning again, carrying nothing. Nothing Rapley can see, at any rate, but he is overcome with the presence of evil. He senses that if Emma were here to see it, the rip would be so wide that it would swallow all light. The burning light from the cressets on the wall cannot pierce the darkness.