by Lucas Flint
“Your tipster said that the Necromantress has made the Old Albertson Mansion her base, right?” said Rubberman, glancing at the old Victorian mansion. “But that place has been abandoned for years. Heck, it was abandoned even when I was a kid.”
“Hence why she chose it as her base of operations,” said Iron Angel. “Because no one has lived in it for decades, she is guaranteed a degree of privacy for her to do her work. Its reputation of being haunted also helps to keep away noisy intruders as well.”
I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “Do we have to go inside? Maybe we could, like, shoot tear gas into the mansion and smoke out anyone hiding in there.”
Rubberman looked at me with a rather mischievous smile. “Beams, you aren’t afraid of ghosts, are you? You know the Old Albertson Mansion isn’t actually haunted, right?”
“I know,” I said, “but it might be the current base of a real life necromancer trying to raise an army of the dead. That’s not usually the place you go barging into.”
“Tear gas wouldn’t work,” said Iron Angel, shaking his head. “If she has an army of zombies, they won’t be even remotely affected by the gas. The Necromantress herself could just wait in the basement for the gas to dissipate, and if the stories about the secret underground exits underneath the mansion are true, then she could flee the mansion without ever having to leave the basement. The direct route would be the best route.”
Internally, I groaned. I looked at the Old Albertson Mansion again and suddenly started remembering all the old stories that my brother, James, used to tell me about it. According to James, the Old Albertson Mansion was one of the first buildings built at the founding of Golden City. It had been built by George H. Albertson, the brother-in-law of Harold Golden, the city’s founder, supposedly on top of an Indian burial ground, though no one knew for sure. It was the only explanation people had for why the Old Albertson Mansion seemed haunted. Even when people lived in it, there were stories of the ghosts of the Indians slain by the original Golden City settlers terrifying the mansion’s inhabitants, among other scary stories.
James never believed in any of those stories and I didn’t, either. At the same time, though, James had told me those stories when I was a little kid and they always spooked me. They still spooked me, even today. James told me that he had broken into the Mansion once just to see if the rumors were true, but even after he failed to find any ghosts of dead Indians, I always tried to avoid it. That wasn’t very hard, because the Mansion was on the outskirts of the city and thus nowhere near my usual route to and from school, but I never entirely got over my fear of it.
But I didn’t say any of that aloud, because now was not the time to talk about my own fears. Besides, neither Rubberman nor Iron Angel seemed like the superstitious types, though when I considered the powers of the woman we were trying to capture, I wondered if that was actually a bad thing, given the circumstances.
“We’ll split into three groups,” said Iron Angel. He pointed at the Mansion. “I’ll fly up onto the upper balcony and enter through the second floor, Rubberman can go through the front door, and Beams can enter through the basement.”
I gulped. “Don’t you think it would make more sense for us all to enter together? We’d be a lot safer that way.”
“No,” said Iron Angel, shaking his head. “For one, the Necromantress will no doubt attempt to flee as soon as she realizes that someone has broken into her base. We need to cover all possible exits so that no matter how she intends to escape, there will be at least one person to intercept her.”
“Plus, three people moving in a group have to go as slow as the slowest member,” Rubberman added. “If we each move individually, however, we will be able to move much more quickly and be less of a target for Shawna or any of her minions. Right, Iron Angel?”
“Right,” said Iron Angel. “Looks like we’re on the same page.”
“I know,” said Rubberman. “Like I said, I’ve based my entire career on yours. I’ve watched a lot of documentaries and videos about you and—”
“That’s fine, Rubberman,” said Iron Angel, holding up a hand to silence him. “We can talk more about that later. For now, we need to put the plan into action, and quickly, because if the Necromantress even suspects that we know of her location, she will flee and we may never catch her again. It is now or never.”
“Shouldn’t we have some way to keep in touch?” I asked. “If we’re going to enter at separate points, then we need some kind of communication system so we can talk to each other even if we’re not together.”
“Way ahead of you, Beams,” said Rubberman. He tapped the side of his head. “Iron Angel, does your helmet have a built-in communication radio?”
“It does, yes,” said Iron Angel. “Why?”
“Give me the channel its on and I’ll sync it with my and Beams’ radicoms,” said Rubberman. “That way, we can stay in communication with each other via short range radio.”
“Are you sure my radio is compatible with yours?” asked Iron Angel. He rubbed his helmet. “This helmet is over a decade old, after all, and hasn’t been updated in quite some time.”
“No worries,” said Rubberman. “My radicoms were specially designed to be compatible with nearly every form of radio imaginable. It should have no problem syncing with yours.”
“Very well,” said Iron Angel, and gave Rubberman the channel that his radio was on.
Rubberman tapped his radicom a couple of times before nodding once and saying, “All right. We’re all on the same channel now. Let’s do this.”
Iron Angel immediately flew toward the upper balcony, flying over the fence with ease. It was a little bit more difficult for me and Rubberman, however, but a quick application of my eye beams onto the gate’s lock allowed us to enter with ease. Once we were beyond the gate, Rubberman and I separated. Rubberman went up to the front door, while I made my way through the overgrown grass to the back of the house, where the exterior entrance to the basement was located. I kept glancing at the windows as I walked, but I never saw anyone staring out of them, though once I thought I saw an Indian ghost glaring down at me from one of the second story windows, but when I looked again, it turned out to just be an old white curtain blowing in the wind.
Stopping in front of the basement doors, I tapped the side of my helmet and said, “Okay, I’m in position. How is everyone else?”
“I’m standing in front of the front door right now looking through the window,” Rubberman’s voice crackled over the radio. “I don’t see anyone inside. The Mansion doesn’t seem to have been visited recently.”
“I am on the balcony,” said Iron Angel, “but be careful. Even if you don’t see any evidence of the Necromantress, it would still be foolish to barge in or let your guard down. The Necromantress probably does not want to draw attention to her activities, so I imagine that she has intentionally avoided making many changes to the house to avoid arousing anyone’s suspicions.”
“Got it,” I said. “Guess it’s time to enter, then.”
“Correct,” said Iron Angel. “I am entering the Mansion now. I will call you two if I run into any problems or see anything that could pose a danger to us.”
“Same here,” said Rubberman. “Rubberman out.”
I heard two clicks in my ear and lowered my hand. The basement doors were locked with old, rusted chains, but a simple application of my lasers snapped them without any problem. Opening the basement doors, I found a long, wooden staircase leading down into a completely black basement. Beyond the first ten steps, the rest of the staircase was covered in total darkness.
Staring down the staircase, I was reminded of a ghost story James once told me. He said that the basement was supposedly the most haunted part of the Old Albertson Mansion, because it was the spot closest to the ancient Indian burial grounds that it had been built upon. Many people had reported hearing the wailing and screaming of angry Indian spirits moving around the basement during the darkest part of the
night, and every person who had gone down to investigate the noises never returned or was found dead with their scalp missing the next morning.
Right now, the sun was out, the basement was silent, and I definitely didn’t see any ghosts. Nonetheless, the memory of the story made me hesitate for a moment before I went down into the basement as quietly as I could.
CHAPTER NINE
I didn’t turn on my helmet’s built-in flashlight because I didn’t want to alert the Necromantress of my presence. The basement seemed totally dark, which either meant that the Necromantress was elsewhere in the Mansion or she preferred to work in total darkness. Until I knew for a fact that the Necromantress was not down here, I would have to make my way into the basement without any light.
But I soon wished I’d turned on my light anyway, because after the tenth step, I found myself in complete and total darkness. My helmet’s filter kept the dust and stink from entering my nostrils, but the complete lack of light was startling. It was like some kind of invisible wall had been erected between the light and the darkness, keeping the light of the sun outside from penetrating too deeply into the basement. Maybe the Necromantress had cast some kind of spell or maybe it was just my imagination playing games with me.
In any case, I moved down the steps very hesitantly. After every step, I would stop and listen hard for any noise in the darkness ahead. I never heard anything. The basement seemed completely empty, but I didn’t let my guard down. I remembered what Iron Angel said about the Necromantress trying to avoid drawing attention to her activities and decided that it would be foolish to let my guard down so soon.
That was easier said than done, however, because I wanted to get to the basement faster than I was currently going. But it would be foolish to rush blindly ahead into danger, especially danger I knew very little about. Yes, I had both Rubberman and Iron Angel with me, but there was no guarantee that either of them would get down here in time to rescue me if I got into trouble, especially if they ran into trouble themselves.
I made my way down the stairs step by step. Even though the basement was silent, I couldn’t help but feel like someone was watching me. There definitely wasn’t anyone else on the staircase with me. The staircase wasn’t wide enough for someone to hide in, unless there were hidden alcoves on the walls on either side, although I didn’t recall any stories mentioning secret alcoves along the basement staircase. But really, what did anyone know for sure about this place, other than it had been built over one hundred and fifty years ago and had been abandoned for about half as long, too?
My next step was on the floor of the basement; I could tell because unlike the wooden staircase, the floor felt like solid concrete. James had told me that the basement of the Mansion was concrete, so I assumed that I had somehow managed to make it to the bottom of the basement much quicker than I expected. But like before, I didn’t charge into the shadows. Instead, I stood very still and listened intently.
This time, I actually heard something. It was the sound of a shoe scraping against the floor, somewhere to my right. I didn’t think it was Rubberman or Iron Angel. For one, both of them were still on the main floors, and for two, neither of them wore leather, which was what this shoe sounded like. Therefore, it was either the Necromantress or one of her zombies, which meant I probably had a fight on my hands.
But before I could do anything, I heard rushing sounds in the darkness. Something long and heavy slammed into the back of my helmet and I fell to the floor. Immediately, multiple sets of hands—zombie hands, based on how swift yet thin they felt—began grabbing at me, pulling at my arms and legs, snapping cuffs around my ankles and wrists, and touching every part of my body that they could. I tried to fight them off, but then I got hit again by that long, heavy object, which left me temporarily stunned. But I could still think and realized that the zombies were going to tear me apart and eat my brains. The stink of death hung in the air all around me, so powerful that even my helmet’s filters failed to get rid of it, and I realized that that was going to be the last thing I ever smelled.
All of a sudden, a strong, yet feminine, voice shouted, “Let there be light!”
Abruptly, bright, white lights on the ceiling flashed on. The sudden change from absolute darkness to bright light briefly left me blinded, but my eyes quickly adjusted, allowing me to see the basement of the Old Albertson Mansion for the first time in my life outside of some old time pictures I’d seen on the Internet from before it was abandoned.
The basement was incredibly spacious, reminding me of Level One of the Elastic Cave, although unlike the Elastic Cave, the basement was one large room with no walls to divide it into smaller rooms. Old furniture covered in white sheets stood against the walls, like they had been pushed out of the way to make room for something else. And I very quickly spotted that ‘something else.’
In the center of the basement was a huge, black, steaming cauldron. The cauldron looked like something straight out of a fairy tale or Disney movie; it had to be twice as tall as me. The steam floating out of it was colored greenish purple and it obscured much of the ceiling. Standing around the cauldron were tables with corpses lying on them. Some of the corpses were so fresh that they must have died yesterday, while others were so old that they were practically skeletons. Other tables were covered with surgery equipment, jars with body parts, and even something that looked like a huge spell book, though it was facing away from me so I couldn’t see its title or cover.
I looked up at the zombies around me. I was surrounded by about half a dozen zombies in varying states of decay. Unlike the two zombies I fought in Golden City earlier today, however, these zombies were all built like bricks. It was like a football team had been reanimated, though they lacked any sort of uniform, of course. Not that they needed a uniform; their decaying flesh and empty eye sockets were plenty scary on their own. One of the zombies carried a heavy-looking metal baseball bat, which was probably what that long and heavy thing I’d been hit with earlier was.
Just beyond the bubbling cauldron’s steam, a silhouette stood up. The silhouette was feminine in shape, although the purple steam was so thick that I couldn’t make out any more details other than her basic body shape.
But when the strong and feminine voice from before spoke again, it came from the silhouette behind the steam. “Identify yourself at once, intruder. This, the Necromantress demands.”
I blinked. “You refer to yourself in the third person?”
“The Necromantress refers to herself however she wishes,” said the silhouette. “But you need not worry, intruder, for the Necromantress already knows who you are.”
“Then why did you ask me to identify—”
“Silence,” the Necromantress shouted, her voice magnified in the enclosed space of the basement. “The Necromantress knows who you are. You are Beams, the sidekick of that wretched superhero, Rubberman, or, as the Necromantress once knew him, Dennis Pullman. You have come to the Necromantress’ base with devious intent and shall be killed for it.”
“Wanting to save your city from an army of the dead isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘devious intent,” I said. “Actually, it is about the farthest thing from—”
“Silence!” the Necromantress shouted again. “Clearly, you have no idea what you are dealing with. Allow the Necromantress to show herself so you can see for yourself what kind of horrid fate you have brought upon yourself.”
The silhouette raised a hand and brought it down. Immediately, the steam from the cauldron parted, allowing me to see the Necromantress herself for the first time.
I expected to see an old, cackling witch with a pointy hat, bad skin, and even worse teeth. Her voice didn’t sound that old, sure, but that kind of appearance would have fit in quite well with the general black magic vibe of the basement.
What I saw instead, however, was a beautiful woman in her late twenties with flowing black hair and very little clothing. Her black dress displayed her ample cleavage, while her long legs were c
ompletely exposed under her miniskirt. Her skin was as clear as pure water, while her teeth were a perfect, sparkling white. She did have a witch’s hat, but it was much smaller than I imagined. Not that I cared, of course, because I was a little, um, distracted by her assets.
As distracted as I was, however, I found myself drawn to look at her eyes. Her green eyes were wide and insane, even twitching slightly. They might have been just as beautiful as the rest of her body under normal circumstances, but right now, they looked like the eyes of a woman who lost her sanity a long time ago and didn’t miss it one bit.
“Are you trembling in fear, sidekick?” said the Necromantress, gesturing at her body. “Do you now know what you’re up against?”
“Sort of, but I’m having a hard time taking you seriously,” I said. “Because you speak in third person.”
The Necromantress’ eyes became even crazier, if possible. “How dare you mock the Necromantress like that! She is a summoner of the dead, the priestess of the grave, student of the dark, and mother of death. You shall be punished dearly for mocking her way of speaking!”
Hot and crazy, I thought. How did Rubberman ever get a woman like her?
Aloud, I said, “Okay, that’s nice, but you’ve done a lot of talking so far and not a whole lot of, you know, doing. Not that I mind that, but so far I haven’t seen a whole lot of your power.”
“You will soon, sidekick, you will soon,” said the Necromantress. “But first, the Necromantress must deal with Rubberman. The Necromantress know that if you are here, then he must be here as well.”
“I’m not going to tell you where he is,” I said defiantly. “You’ll have to find him for yourself.”
The Necromantress smiled a crazy smile. “Oh, the Necromantress don’t need to. The Necromantress has several zombie sentries stationed around the upper floors of the Mansion. They are well-hidden. Rubberman won’t even see them coming until he feels their knives buried in his back.”