The Black Room

by Gillian Cross

  She felt each strand carefully, ten or a dozen times, not looking down but staring blankly into the distance, as though all her attention was focused on her fingertips. Then her hand went up to her head, and she started picking through her hair.

  Tom hadn’t had a chance to look at it before. He’d just had a vague impression of long, irregular tangles, with things caught in them. Now he realized that each tangle was a neat braid. As they passed under the streetlights, he caught the flicker of different colors, wound in and out of the hair. A thread of blue. Red. A piece of thin gold ribbon.

  The girl worked at one of the braids, pulling out a couple of strands. Then she lifted up the wool Tom had given her and began to wind it in and out of her hair, mixing the strands together. The pattern looked complicated and intricate, but her fingers were quick and deft, even though she couldn’t see what she was doing.

  “Look,” Emma said softly. “She’s making a twelve-strand braid. But it’s not like yours, Rob. It’s flat.”

  “I know,” Robert muttered in an odd voice. “I could never manage that one.” He tightened his arm around the girl’s body to hold her steady on the bike. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He began to walk faster. turning left and right and right again as he hustled them down the hill.

  “Don’t you think we ought to go out to the main road?” Emma said. “It would be much quicker to go in a straight line.”

  Tom was just opening his mouth to agree when they heard a noise that made them stop dead.

  Behind them, not very far away, a car had started. It was driving slowly through the development, turning left or right every few seconds.

  25

  “BANDO!” LORN CRAWLED THROUGH THE SECRET PASSAGE, calling his name. “Where are you? Come back!”

  There was no answer. When she came out at the other end, she stood up in the darkness and called again.

  “Bando? Are you there?” The sounds echoed in her ears, mapping out the space around her. There was no sign of Bando’s huge, bulky figure, either to the left or to the right.

  But she could smell him. His warm, distinctive scent hung faintly in the air to her left, and when she took a step in that direction, she could feel how his feet had roughened the earth of the floor. He had been moving quickly, running his hand along the side of the tunnel to keep some sense of where he was going.

  Because he couldn’t sec. He thought he was following her, to save her from danger, but if anything happened, he would be helpless in the dark. For a second Lorn couldn’t bear the thought of that. It was all her fault, and she was paralyzed with guilt.

  She forced it to the back of her mind. Feeling guilty wouldn’t help Bando now. What she had to do was think clearly so that she could find him as fast as possible. He’d gone off to the left, heading deeper into the earth. She had to go after him, even though she couldn’t work out where he was or why he wasn’t answering her calls.

  As she started down the tunnel, her feet remembered the way. Around this bend, the ground rises slightly. Then left and right, with stones on one side and roots hanging down loosely on the other ... Automatically, her mind registered all the little messages that built up the picture, but she was hardly aware of those. She was concentrating on the marks that Bando’s feet had left and the way his scent grew stronger as she walked down the tunnel.

  Then she picked up the strange slithering noise that she’d heard before. At first, it was nothing more than a disturbance in the air, a faint murmur coming through the earth. But it grew as she walked, swelling into a slow, slimy straining and gliding, like tentacles pulling at each other deep in the ground.

  When she came to the place where the tunnel forked into two, she stopped and listened harder. The slithering was clear now, coming from the right-hand fork, and the air in there carried a new scent. Not the warm, rank animal smell that had been with her all the way, but a fleshy, rancid tang, coming down the tunnel in waves as the noises swelled and faded.

  Oh, Bando, you didn’t go that way, did you? Please, please ...

  But she knew he had. The bare soles of her feet could feel his footprints leading directly into the right-hand tunnel.

  She followed them, shivering as the chill settled into her bones. This was new territory. She should have been clicking her tongue and listening to the shape of the ground, but she was afraid to make any noise of her own, so she felt her way blindly, fumbling at the walls. Once or twice, her fingers slipped into the wide, clumsy dents that Bando had left when he went through before her.

  Where was he? Why couldn’t she hear him?

  The slithering sounds were even louder now. Her mind built them into nightmare patterns, visualizing monstrous, ridged tentacles that writhed against each other. Their tips twisted grotesquely, brushing at the earth, and their long shapes gathered inward, into a mass that was too intricate for her to picture from the sounds.

  Was that where Bando was, trapped in the center?

  The creature was ten or twenty times her size. It was very close, but she had no sense of warmth from its body. That must mean that it was cold—like the wet, heavy earth around it. She had never heard of anything like that, not even in Zak’s wildest stories. All her instincts told her to turn and run.

  But she couldn’t. She had to find Bando.

  She began to walk forward, creeping carefully now. Her senses told her that the creature was near, around the next bend in the tunnel. But it was occupied with its own movements and she was very small. If she slipped around quietly, maybe it wouldn’t notice her. Maybe she would have time to figure out what it was and whether Bando was really there. Her feet padded silently over the soft earth, going slowly, slowly around the bend, until she found—

  Nothing.

  The tunnel was empty.

  At first, she didn’t believe it. She went from one side to the other, stretching out her arms to feel the space. But her first reaction was right. There was nothing in the tunnel, even though the noise of the monster was everywhere, filling her ear and shaking the air around her.

  It took her a second to realize that it was coming from over her head.

  When she understood, she threw herself at the nearest wall, digging her fingers in so that she could claw her way up. As she went, her hand closed around a stone, and she worked it loose and took it with her, until she was as high as she could climb, with her head jammed up against the roof of the tunnel. Then she began to scrape away the earth above her, clinging on with one hand and stabbing the stone in with the other.

  The first ten or dozen strokes were difficult. Then, without warning, the roof gave way, as though she had broken through some kind of crust. Loose earth began to fall all around her, and she turned her head away to keep it out of her eyes.

  As she moved, something wet and heavy slapped against her cheek.

  The shock broke her grip on the wall, and she went tumbling down in a rain of earth and stones, with her mind bombarded by images of another time and another place.

  She knew them, she knew that slap against her cheek—the feel of cold, slimy flesh—hands that grabbed at her, wrenching her out into dazzling light—and words that stabbed at her ears.

  That’s filthy! Look—in her hair: It’s disgusting!

  She’s plaited them in!

  Get the scissors! Quick!

  The pattern moves by itself, making new shapes and slithering against the cheek and the neck and the ears, and it’s beautiful—but they’re cutting it all away, and it’s bad, bad, BAD—

  It was there in her mind, real and sharp. All she had to do was concentrate, and she would remember, like the others. She would understand—

  But she couldn’t do it. Not now. Because Bando was more important than that. She couldn’t think about anything except finding him.

  Still falling, she wrenched herself back to now and here. High above her head, there was a small new opening where the earth had fallen away. It let in a few weak glimmers of moonlight, and she looked up to se
e what had slapped against her face.

  It was falling with her. She twisted in the air, just in time to avoid the full weight of its clammy, stinking flesh as they hit the ground together. The light caught the ridges on its long, writhing body and gleamed dull on the gray-pink skin. Its smell caught at the back of her nose.

  And it wasn’t one monstrous creature, but dozens of ordinary ones. Earthsnakes, tied together in a cruel knot. Their bodies moved in aimless, irregular spasms, and their stink filled the small space where she was lying. They were ugly and unpleasant, but there was no harm in them.

  For a second she relaxed, ready to laugh at herself for taking so long to understand. Then one of the earthsnakes twisted up toward her—and she saw that it had no head. It was still alive, but instead of narrowing to a point, its body ended abruptly, in revolting, ragged shreds.

  Some other creature had bitten through the naked flesh, leaving it helpless and unable to escape.

  Sitting up, Lorn peered through the gloom, letting her eyes travel from one earthsnake to another. They were all the same. Something had wound them into a tangled ball and then bitten off their heads, leaving them buried in the ground like a store of living meat.

  She had no idea what kind of monster did that. All she knew was that it was loose in the tunnels.

  Dragging herself off the ground, she began to feel around on the earth with her feet. It was impossible to smell anything except the raw stench of the earthsnakes, but it didn’t take her long to find one of Bando’s big, untidy footprints. And then another. And another.

  He was still ahead of her, going on down the tunnel. She had no idea how much farther he’d gone, but she knew she had to reach him, before the monster did.

  Ignoring the stink of the earthsnakes, she took a long breath of air. And then she started to run.

  26

  THE CAR’S ENGINE SOUNDED LOUD AND THREATENING IN the darkness. They stood between the houses, trying to work out which way it was going as it crawled from one road to another. It seemed to be turning left and right at random.

  Then it turned again—and Tom understood. There was nothing random about the turns. The car was moving systematically outward from the Armstrongs’ street, methodically covering the whole development. And the driver knew the roads much better than they did.

  “It’s tracking us down,” he muttered. “Figuring out where we are.”

  Robert shook his head grimly, and Emma caught her breath—stifling the noise with her hand. The girl was the only one who didn’t react. If she understood what Tom had said, she didn’t show any sign of it. She went on twisting the wool into her hair, with her eyes half closed and her face intent on the complicated pattern she was making.

  “We’ll have to take the footpaths,” Emma whispered. “It’s our only chance.”

  The car turned again, coming nearer, and Robert heaved the girl up in his arms, shifting her weight from one arm to the other.

  “I can’t carry her much farther,” he said. “Can we put her on a bike? We could go faster then.”

  “She’ll make a noise,” Emma said doubtfully.

  “It’s the only hope we’ve got.” Robert’s voice was firm. “Hold my bike while I have a go.”

  At first, they thought it was going to be easy. The girl didn’t seem to notice when Robert rested her body on the seat. But when he tried to move one arm, to hold the handlebars, she looked up sharply and started to squeal in a small, shrill voice.

  “We can’t do it,” Emma said. “She’s terrified. She—”

  And then the car turned onto the road where they were standing.

  Its headlights were full on, lighting up the tarmac and both sidewalks, all the way down the road, and it was coming straight toward them. Robert tightened his arms around the girl and lifted her off the bike again.

  “Shhh,” he whispered. “Please. Be quiet.” His voice was gentle, but he sounded anxious and urgent, and she cowered away from him.

  “Quiet. Quiet,” she mumbled, shaking her head from side to side. “Stupid. Dohfuss.” One hand went over her mouth, and the other one started punching at the side of her head.

  There’s something wrong with her, Tom thought. What are we going to do? Because they couldn’t let her go back. Not ever. Not to that horrible hole under the floor.

  Emma was concentrating on more practical things. “No one’s going to see us here. Not if we stay back between the houses. We can just wait for the car to go past.”

  “No, we can‘t,” Robert said. “Look.” He nodded at the road.

  As the car came toward them, someone inside was shining a flashlight from side to side, now on the left and now on the right, lighting up every house and every front garden. And every gap between the houses.

  “They’re bound to see us if we stay here,” Robert said.

  “But where can we go?” Emma’s voice was panicky now. “There’s nowhere else to hide.”

  “Yes, there is.” Without hesitating, Robert unlatched the gate behind him. “We can get in here. Hurry up.” Still carrying the girl, he went straight through, into the small garden behind the house.

  “We can’t go in there,” Emma muttered.

  “Of course we can.” Tom pushed her, hard. “Quick—before the car gets here.”

  Somehow, he got her through and lugged the bikes behind him. As he pulled the gate shut, Robert hissed from near his ankles.

  “Get down. As fast as you can. Otherwise they’ll see us over the gate.”

  Emma flopped onto the concrete, and Tom crouched as low as he could, letting the bikes fall sideways against him. They were just in time. A second later, the flashlight beam swept across the gate. It shone through the lattice panel at the top, showing the diamond pattern, and the girl gave a small gurgle of pleasure.

  “Quiet,” Tom murmured.

  And then wished he hadn‘t, as she hit herself again.

  They waited until the car had gone all the way up the road and turned left. Then they struggled onto their feet. Tom could see that Robert’s strength was running out. It took him a lot of effort to heave the girl off the ground, and he was breathing hard as he stood up.

  “Let’s try the bike again,” Tom whispered.

  Robert shook his head. “No chance. We can’t risk being seen on the roads. We’ll have to leave the bikes here and go through the back gardens. Maybe she’ll walk a bit if we do that. Otherwise we’ll have to take turns carrying her.”

  “Leave our bikes?” Emma’s voice was too loud for comfort. “But we can’t just abandon them.”

  “Depends what you think is important.” Robert shrugged. “Ride yours home if you like. I’m going this way.” He set off down the garden, hoisting the girl higher so that she rested against his shoulder.

  “He’s mad,” Emma said. “Completely mad. We can‘t—”

  “Shhh,” Tom said softly. “It’s her or the bikes. Did you really expect him to choose the bikes? How about you?”

  “I’m following Rob, of course,” Emma said wearily. “But I don’t know what Mom and Dad are going to say about the bikes.”

  “I can come back and get them tomorrow,” Tom said soothingly.

  He wasn’t sure it was true. He couldn’t imagine what would be happening by tomorrow. But he wheeled the bikes down the garden and pushed them behind a shed, hiding them as well as he could. Then he and Emma went to help Robert.

  Getting over into the next garden was easier than he’d expected. There was a garbage can in the far corner, hidden behind a trellis. He used it to help himself over the fence, and then Emma climbed up and sat on top of it, reaching down for the girl so that she could lift her over to Tom.

  “She’s wet,” she whispered as she took Hope onto her lap.

  She was very wet, Tom realized when she came down into his arms. And cold. And shaking. And she was very, very frightened. As he lowered her down, her fingers moved faster and faster through her hair, not using the wool now—that was already finished—b
ut braiding new strands that she had pulled out of old braids. He could feel her tugging hard at them, as if she wanted to hurt herself.

  “Where are the clothes you brought?” he whispered to Emma as soon as she was over the fence. “We’ve got to get her warm.”

  Emma took them out of her backpack, and they pulled them on. It was hard to get the girl’s hands free long enough to push her arms into the sleeves. Her whole body was tense with fear, and her fingers were locked in her hair. It took all three of them to wrestle her into a sweater and warm jacket, and the moment she was in them, she went back to her twisting, twisting, twisting.

  Then they tried to get her to walk down the garden, but that was hopeless. She could stand, but she wouldn’t walk. When Tom and Robert tried to pull her along, she bent her knees so that she was swinging between the two boys. In the end, Tom and Emma carried her between them, to give Robert a rest. Her body felt small and slight, but by the time they came out into the light at the front of the house, Tom’s arms were starting to ache.

  He and Emma kept the girl in the shadows while Robert went ahead, across the road. They could hear the car somewhere off to the right, but when it turned, it turned away from them. Robert scouted along a little way and then came back and beckoned.

  “We can get through easily down there. Let’s go.”

  IT WAS WORSE THAN ANY JOURNEY TOM HAD EVER IMAGINED. He lost count of the number of gardens they crossed. Once there was a security light, and they had to bolt to the far end before anyone woke up. Three times they found themselves in gardens with high, flimsy fences that were impossible to climb, and they had to backtrack and look for another way. And all the time the car was circling around and around, waiting for a chance to catch them on the road. Waiting for them to make a mistake.