by Jon Fore
She had first thought Chris was playing some cruel joke on them, but then when he ended his own life, she thought it the bitter result of too much liquor at too young an age, maybe even an acid trip revisiting him; but then the burning corpse thing, the priest from hell, the tormented souls, and the witches…none of this would fit easily into her understandings. Instead, they forced their way in, in a painfully jagged way. Early on, she knew somewhere deep in her mind that she might be going mad, but that was mostly a lost memory, and her thoughts now came from the darkness within her.
Many years ago, Madison had watched and thoroughly enjoyed a movie that had addressed a prime evil, an entity of Hell itself. This character had affected her greatly, and she had spent months trying to forget it, to abandon the unease and terror the memories had brought. Now, the voice spoke of its own accord, echoing through her head, nudging her toward mistrusted violence. The voice had started with simple words and short statements, but now it had become a complete and independent inner monologue ranting in her head. It told her things she knew were not true, but somehow seemed reasonable. These doubts were the fulcrum it used to unseat her sanity and send it tumbling. Its hideous whisperings, its threats against her had worn her into a deeper misery than the others.
Ethan came to an abrupt stop. Another hall had presented itself as an option to their progress. It was dark, dank, and smelled of rotting mold. “I think we should just keep following this one. It does not feel quite so wrong.”
“It also keeps leading down,” Abby added in agreement.
Ethan continued on his way, following the dryer wood-floored passage downward to his white whale of an escape. Abby followed wordlessly, the ever-droning follower of any that cared to lead her. Madison did not follow, but watched them walk into the distance, mindful to keep her light shining downward to keep from drawing their attention.
The voice had called to her and told her to stop there, told her that death and ruin would be hers should she continue with them. It was the first warning or threat she had heeded, and she was not exactly sure why, but at this moment, her reasoning was a small, child-like voice in a torrential storm of her madness. She turned down the other passage as the voice instructed and continued alone without the condemned to bring her to their deaths.
The dampness, the hideous looking tendrils hanging from the moss growth above, and the wet wood below her feet suddenly seemed more appropriate, as though it should be, and her discomfort began to swirl in the storm ravaging her mind. Her surroundings began to feel more right, more proper and wholesome, and she began to find comfort in it.
She found herself facing a large door of wood and iron but not of the same dilapidated age of the others she had passed through. The voice urged her to open it, to be welcomed in the domain of Father Burns. Somewhere deep within herself, she felt vaguely that this was wrong, that she could trust her friends, especially Abby, but her hand grasped the lever like door knob, and she eased it open.
The light from within took her sight for a moment before she could see the enormous number of candles burning in the chandeliers overhead. The room appeared finely decorated with Old World furniture, paintings, and even a large oval rug that covered almost the entire brick flooring. It was dry and warm, a large fireplace made sure of this, and in the very center stood the most beautiful man, young and vibrant in priestly garb. His hair was short and his eyes a soft, welcoming blue. His hands he held in front of him in a very unthreatening way, one clasping a Bible, and he smiled a dazzlingly warm smile.
“Welcome, my child. Come and be warmed.” He indicated the fireplace with a sweep of his hand. “Are you hungry? I have some fruit and some very nice wine if you like.”
The raging storm in Madison’s mind calmed suddenly, opened an eye like a tornado, and presented her this scene in utter clarity. The past few hours remained torn and fragmented in the gale, and she chose not to even reach for them. She had found her solace, her escape, and her heart sang in the triumph. “Please. Who are you?”
“I am Father Burns; I oversee the chapel here underneath the Heart House.”
“Am I still in the House?” Madison asked as she approached the fire.
“In a manner of speaking, yes you are. Why, don’t you like the House?”
Images of the dining hall, the grand sweeping stairway, the memory of yet-to-be-hosted parties fell from the swirling storm. “Yes…it’s marvelous!”
The fire began to penetrate her clothing, to warm the chilled flesh beneath it.
“That’s wonderful, child. Have you given any thought to staying here?”
His voice was sweet and encouraging, entrancing to Madison, and she found herself entertaining the idea of having sex with a priest.
“Actually, Father, I had thought of it. I have a promising career in modeling and had daydreamed of buying this house.”
“It is a grand home indeed. The Hearts loved it, had their children here, and flourished, they did.”
“Are they no longer here?” Madison was not sure why she suddenly asked this, but was certain of the answer.
“Yes, in a way, they are still about, but they do not claim ownership of the House, not in the way you are thinking. They would like such a lovely girl as you to own it.” He handed her a small tray with some sliced peaches and a medieval-style goblet filled with red wine.
“Thank you, Father,” she said and sipped at the wine. It was fruity but dry and wonderfully aged. “Can you tell me, Father, what happened here? Why are there so many dead?”
“Oh, that, child, is nothing to be worried about. This has been, and for many years, a place for the cleansing of witches.”
“But why have they died?”
“We do not execute witches, dear child. We make an effort to exercise the evil in them, and return them to society. Some, alas, chose not to allow the cure. This does not keep us from trying.” His voice was thick with sweetness.
It sounded perfectly reasonable to Madison, who found a chair to fill near the dancing flames. He was doing good works here, trying to rid the world of evil, and these catacombs certainly teamed with it. She could hear a tiny voice inside her, screaming from a great distance, demanding that she flee.
Father Burns took the seat across from her and crossed his legs with complete elegance. “You seem troubled by this, child.”
“It’s not that, Father. I am surprised you would be here and do such work alone. Isn’t it dangerous?”
“Oh, child, I am not alone. I have many helping me; they serve me and my cause with great devotion.”
Madison tried desperately to remember why she was here, but the wine seemed to be going straight to her head, clouding the memories of her most recent past. She fought for control of her thoughts. “How does someone serve your cause?”
“Well, in many ways, actually. Are you entertaining the notion of helping me?” His voice was gentle and not expectant. It was as though he had all the time in the world, and did not wish to rush her from the fire.
To Madison, this seemed like an inviting idea. She could gaze into those warm blue eyes forever, and to help such a just cause was a noble thing. Still, she hesitated. “It sounds like a good idea…”
“But you are young and full of the lust for flesh and are not ready to give that up,” he stated with authority.
It was as though he had not just plucked the idea from her head but placed it there, even though she knew it to be wholly her own. “Yes,” she said as she lowered her face in shame.
“Well, we can serve that here as well, and in such ways you have not even begun to imagine.”
She looked up again, and locked onto his eyes. Her face ran warm with red, and her mouth wet with the thought of having him. “Father?”
“No, child, not with me, but with others more apt to serve such a need.”
“Others?” she asked gently.
“Yes…” he trailed off in almost a hiss, but still with the same gentle warmness in his voice.
&
nbsp; At this, men began to enter the room from a recess she had not seen—large African men, well muscled and beautiful, their faces all of them different but chiseled from the same marble. Their physiques were magnificent, and their eyes held a longing for her she was not used to, but reveled in. They stood in a line, shoulder to shoulder, looking at her with a barely-bridled passion, all completely nude. Madison found herself longing to have them right there, right now and in front of a priest.
“See? I am not ignorant of need. If you join me in my cause, these men will be yours to have as you like, whenever you like.”
Madison found her breath short, and it was almost painful to look away from the magnificent dark skin before her. “For how long would I serve?” She could think of nothing else to ask, her mind made up but almost not by her.
“Only until you wish to leave. None are bound to service. They may choose to go whenever they like,” he said simply around his warm and trusting smile.
“I think I might like that,” she said entranced by the priest’s eyes, longing to return her gaze to the engorged manhood beside her. The desire sent the storm in her head into a wicked howling frenzy.
“You just have to allow me to give you Communion, and it is done.”
Madison would have given him an arm at that moment, just to be able to tear her own clothing off and join with these men. She slid from the chair and to her knees, bowing her head as she had seen on television. “I have never done this before, Father.”
“It is a simple thing,” he said as he took one of the wet peach wedges off the tray. “This is my body…” He held the peach before her lips.
She opened her mouth and felt an exhilarating arousal at his placing it in her mouth.
He took her wine goblet and held it before her. “This is my blood…” he almost sang, his voice perfectly made for the bedroom.
She allowed the rim of the goblet to part her lips, and she drank deeply, imagining it was really of his body.
The priest stood abruptly. “That is it, child. Now, enjoy yourself and we will talk of duties later.”
“You will not be staying, Father?”
He stopped and turned back to her, his face suddenly cold and distant. It had changed so severely that it shocked her.
“No, I have others to attend to,” he said as he turned to leave the room.
The turmoil of Madison’s mind suddenly froze, and her former conscience formed in the eye. This was her last moment of clarity, her final grasp of reality. The men began to encircle her, grabbing and squeezing painfully at her more tender places. As she looked to them to raise a complaint, she saw that they were actually rotted corpses, almost gone completely to bone with the exception of their scabbed and bleeding manhood.
She turned to scream and caught her final vision of the priest as it really was: its dilapidated body, its fist smoking around the head of the walking stick, its legs whole once more. Then the men fell upon her, smothering her voice, and she allowed herself to slip back into the comfort of her own madness.
Chapter 12
Ethan and Abby continued, both unaware that Madison was no longer with them. The stress of the past hours and their steel-like need for each other did not allow for such an observation, at least immediately. The passage’s darkness drew from them their need to care for anyone other than themselves, each other, and their current situation.
The passage they traversed broke many times to allow traffic to turn this way or that, but the pair remained steadfast with their decision to seek the end. Maintaining a constant direction should allow, at least at some point, for the running out of mountain, which then would require it to grant them their freedom. It was an unspoken hope between them, an understanding neither of them had to voice.
The mold had grown thicker as they went, hanging like the tendrils of some odd spider, threatening to grapple and suck from them their dissolved innards. They had to, in some places, move it to one side with their arms, loathing the wet and clammy feel of the grayish yellow flesh, but not ready to turn back and seek out other directions.
The passage seemed to continue infinitely, certainly more than was required for a prison and rooms of torture. This place must have served other purposes, most certainly those dark and sinister. Bits of debris found scattered here and there were most certainly bones—human bones—and likely the remains of digits from hand or foot. It was as if the entire British army had come here and been tormented by, Ethan supposed, Captain Black.
Abby suddenly took Ethan’s hand as they walked, and he was glad she had. Her hand was alive and warm and part of Abby, unlike this maze of passages and evil rooms. It was near an hour that they had been walking when they came to a sudden end. The passage, having no doors, suddenly terminated in plated iron riveted directly into what Abby was sure the skin of the very mountain itself. Her heart dropped at the sight, and she just stood there, trying to hold back a rushing need to weep. Ethan seemed to be doing the same thing, but with more grace. They stood there, hand in hand, mourning their situation for many moments, and then the floor snapped.
It was a loud retort in the dead silent passage, the sound of a large branch snapping from a tree. At the same instant, the floor sagged suddenly many inches beneath them, and Abby chirped a surprise scream. Then the entire thing gave way and they fell in a shower of ancient wet lumber to a dirt floor below.
Abby screamed again, this time clearly in pain. She had landed on her feet, but not quite squarely, the fragments of wood twisting her foot. She collapsed to her side and grabbed her shin, rolling back and forth in agony reciting every curse she had ever heard in her nineteen years of life.
Ethan managed to land mostly on his feet, where an explosion of white pain shot through his bruised heels and out the top of his head. He grunted loudly as the air rushed from him and he sat hard. A growl of anguish and pain came from him, slowly building in volume until he finally screamed and pounded the floor with his fists.
“Ethan…I think I’m hurt this time…” Abby said softly, her eyes squeezing tears from her closed lids.
“I’m coming; give me a sec. Damn that hurt!”
“I think I broke my ankle. Fuck!” Her shout echoed along the passage.
Ethan crawled over to her on his stomach and lifted the cuff from above her shoe. It looked solid, but a blue baseball was slowly replacing her ankle. He quickly untied her shoe, and pulled it open. “I don’t think it is broken, but it looks like it is. Did you twist it?”
“Yeah, I landed on a piece of wood.”
“It could be a tear, not sure. We will have to bind it after it is done swelling.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so… I will need a few minutes before I can walk again, though.”
“Madison, are you hurt?” Abby asked while prodding at her ankle.
Ethan began searching around them with the flashlight. Each second that had passed without an answer made his search more and more frantic. “Madison! Where are you?” he shouted.
“Where is she?” Abby asked frantically. “Wasn’t she right behind us?” Her voice was becoming accusatory and angry.
“Madison!” Ethan shouted again. “She was. Maybe she didn’t fall…” He scooted backwards, still sitting, and searched the above with his light. “Madison!”
“Find her, Ethan! She’s like a child. We can’t lose her! Not Madison!”
“I’m looking!” Ethan shouted at her. “Madison!” His voice went hoarse.
“Madi!” Abby screamed. “Oh my God, not Madison…Madison!” She hung her head and began to weep, weep for the poor, gentle Madison, weep for the pain of her ankle, and weep for their situation. She chose that moment to have it out, to let go the weariness and pain, the fear and self-pity.
Ethan crawled up beside her and held her as close as he could, cooing and coddling her, allowing silent tears to fall from his own eyes. He had not particularly known Madison, she was Abby’s friend, but he could hear Abby’s loss in h
er sobbing, he could tell her soul lie twisted to a painful place. Therefore, he wept with her, for her pain, for her loss, for her sake.
After many minutes, the pain had subsided in Ethan’s feet, and he felt confident he could walk again. Abby had shown signs of ebbing, and he leaned her back against the wall gently. “I have to check that ankle.”
“It sort of burns, tingles like it was asleep,” she said after sniffing and running a sleeve across her face.
Ethan put the light on it and her ankle purple and angry. He was no doctor but thought that if it had been broken, she would be in much more pain than this. “Think you can try standing on it?”
She scooted her back up the wall, bobbling the foot in front of her until she could rest it easily on the ground. She put some weight on it, and it seemed to hold. “It doesn’t hurt very much, but it feels wet and I don’t know…sloppy?”
“That’s good; no break but I am pretty sure there was a tear, so it would be best if I help you walk until we get you to a doctor.”
“Why don’t you look in the wood there, see if there is enough of a piece to make a cane or a crutch?”
Ethan looked around him as if the wood had just suddenly appeared. He kicked some of the debris around until he found a length sturdy enough for a cane. “This might work. Let me work some of the edge off…” He turned the wood over and began working it against the brick wall, sanding it roughly down and into a rounded top. The other side he worked into a flat surface to give it a bit more stability. Satisfied with his work, he offered it to Abby, “Here, try this.”
Abby was able to hobble around well enough for them to continue. The corridor was much like the one above, but this time the floor was dirt instead of the wood planking. The outer end of the passage was also covered in iron plating, and it continued back in the direction from which they had come.
“What do we do about Madison?” Abby asked with the slightest glimmer of hope in her eye.
“We go and get help. We bring the police or the army or whoever, and we take this damn place over until we find her.”