The mansion’s front door gave more easily than the trailer’s had. Once inside he flipped on one of the flashlights to light the way. The mansion was set back a good way from the road and who in their right mind would come out here at this time of the night? It was creepy enough in the daylight, never mind at night. Goosebumps rose on his arms the moment he stepped inside.
He found the steps to the cellar and descended into the darkened basement. He crossed the floor, the damp muck sucking at his heels, the darkness surrounding him, pressing in at him from all sides.
If he’d been sober, he might have noticed the heavy silence that enveloped the house in its smothering embrace. He might have noticed the air of tense expectation that filled the spaces between that silence like a living entity, making the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention.
But he remained blissfully unaware.
The dark maw of the staircase leading underground suddenly loomed in the floor before him, and he jerked himself to a stop, almost stumbling down the steps. The gloom from the tunnel mouth seemed thicker than the darkness around him and he shone his light down the steps, cutting through it with the precision of a scalpel. Dust motes swirled in the beam and he could see where the passing of others earlier in the day had disturbed the thick layer of dust on the floor.
A vague sense of unease slowly seeped its way through his pores. He had the sudden feeling that someone was watching and he turned quickly, shining the light back across the room in the direction he’d come.
The room was empty.
For a moment he toyed with the idea of giving up this crazy scheme and going home. Visions of gold danced before his eyes and the notion was soon forgotten. He’d come this far. There was no stopping now, he thought.
Taking a deep breath, he strode down the steps into the darkness below.
*** ***
In Room 310, the old man lay trapped in that twilight realm that hovered between sleeping and wakefulness. He lay on his side, curled into a fetal position, a thin trail of spittle falling from his slightly parted lips to the surface of his pillow. Every few moments he was wracked by spasms that made him quiver as if volts of electricity were being passed through his body. His eyes flicked back and forth beneath the protective skin of his lids.
In his dreams, he stood in a narrow stone tunnel, a little behind and to the left of a tall, hulking man who in turn stood before a brick wall that sealed off the passage in which they stood. The man’s emotions rolled off him in waves; he was full of rage and spite. He stood there, smashing at the wall with a pickaxe, determined to break through to the other side. The old man watched as the youth lifted the axe yet again, those powerful arms swinging it toward the wall with tremendous force. As the stroke fell, time seemed to slow, and he watched in horrid fascination as the pickaxe swung silently downward. He could see that much of the barrier had already been destroyed and he knew that if the man succeeded in breaking through, the ancient adversary would be free to walk the face of the earth.
He could not allow that to happen.
Unwilling to admit defeat, yet knowing that he was probably too late, he screamed out in desperation, hoping against hope to delay that final blow.
*** ***
"Stop!!!"
His swing faltered, the handle slipped in his hands, and Kyle came close to smashing his kneecap into oblivion as the heavy head of the pickaxe bounced off the wall before him and came rearing back in his direction.
"Fuck! You could have crippled me!" he said savagely as he turned to face the speaker, his anger overcoming his fear at being discovered.
What he saw as he turned brought his cursing to an abrupt halt, however.
The corridor behind him was empty.
"Hello?" he called in a suddenly shaky voice.
His cry echoed back at him along the length of the tunnel, ghostly whispers of sound. Hello, hello, hello….
"Who’s there?"
Who’s there, there, there….
"Shit!"
Shit, shit, shit….
Kyle turned away. "Must have been my imagination," he mumbled to himself, dismissing the incident from his mind with the overconfidence of a drunk. He could see that it would only take another swing for him to break through the barrier and as he hefted the pickaxe once more those visions of gold returned to dance in his mind.
He brought the axe up and then back down again in a solid swing.
The stroke was directly on target.
With a loud crash, the stones before him gave way, revealing a hole a foot or two in diameter.
"Yes!" he cried exuberantly, this time not even hearing the echoes as they bounded away in the darkness behind him. A couple more minutes and I’ll be rich! He dropped the axe and retrieved his flashlight from where it had been propped up on a nearby stone to provide him light.
He shone the light into the hole.
A horrible, hideous face lunged out of the darkness at him.
"Christ!" he screamed, his sudden fear making his voice high and shrill.
He dropped the light, not hearing the small sound of breaking glass as it struck the floor, and grabbed the pick-axe, bringing it up over his shoulder ready to strike at the thing should it emerge from its hole.
Kyle was too stubborn to run away. He waited there in the darkness for a moment, his ears straining to hear the slightest sound from the thing ahead of him. He trembled with fear yet held his ground, prepared to smash the thing’s ugly face as soon as it stuck its head out of the hole.
Nothing happened.
After a few minutes, he cautiously bent down and felt around at his feet for one of the other lights he’d carried in with him. His heart racing in his chest, he slowly moved closer to the hole and shone the light back inside.
The face was there again and he almost jumped away a second time when he noticed something he’d missed before. The eyes of the thing were coated with a thick layer of dirt and dust.
"What the hell?" he whispered.
He stepped closer, putting his head inside the hole, closer to the thing itself. This time he could see more clearly and after another minute he started laughing softly. His laughter grew from a light chuckle to a total, uncontrolled braying, until he was laughing so hard that tears ran down his face.
The thing was a statue. A fucking statue! he thought to himself. I was scared of a statue! His laughter echoed inside the enclosed space. He failed to hear the raw edges of hysteria in its tone.
Feeling much better than he had a moment before, Kyle pulled his head back out of the hole he’d created and once more hefted the pickaxe. Five more minutes of work made the hole large enough for him to step through.
Shining the light around the room, Halloran could see that the chamber he stood in was little bigger than ten by ten, with the same distance between the ceiling and the floor. The statue seemed to be the only object in the room.
He moved around it, his steps stirring up small clouds of dust. The statue was made of some kind of dark unfamiliar stone. It didn’t seem to be worth anything, as far as he could tell, no rubies for eyes or anything like that. After another close look he dismissed it from his thoughts and turned away.
He was here for treasure, not some weird stone statue.
Problem was, as far as he could tell, the rest of the room was empty.
There also didn’t appear to be any other way out except the one he had created.
Now what?
He stood still and thought for a few moments, eventually deciding that there must be another secret room hidden inside this one. No one would take the time and energy to carve a room like this out of solid rock to stick some ugly statue in it, would they?
Turning his back on the statue, he began running his hands over the surface of the walls, searching for hidden levers or switches which might activate an opening. He occasionally struck the wall roughly with the haft of the pickaxe, listening for echoes that might indicate the presence of an open space beyond. That was how they always did
it in the movies. He figured that it might work for him as well.
After fifteen minutes of searching, he hadn’t found anything, despite traveling around the entire room twice.
Frustrated, Kyle turned to face the statue. Suddenly the room seemed to dip and sway like an unstable boat in rough seas. He put out a hand to steady himself, only to discover that the wall seemed to be receding. This upset his equilibrium further. His feet tangled between themselves and before he knew it he struck the floor heavily, knocking the wind from his frame.
For a moment he stayed where he was, regaining his breath. After a minute or two he realized a sharp pain was radiating from the palm of his right hand. Pulling himself into a sitting position against the base of the statue, he reached out with his other hand and dragged the flashlight back from where it had fallen when he dropped it. By its light he could see a deep cut crisscrossing his right palm.
Must have fallen on the axe, he thought to himself, and a quick glance in that direction with the flashlight showed a faint red smear along its blade.
He shifted his position, intending to climb to his feet. He only managed to pull himself up on his knees before another wave of dizziness washed over him.
His head spun, the room reeled around him, and the flashlight fell from his hand with a distant crash, shattering against the base of the stone.
The darkness that suddenly enveloped the room matched his own.
He was unconscious by the time his body hit the floor.
*** ***
With the echoes of his shout reverberating in his mind, the old man awoke. His heart was trip hammering in his chest like a snare drum, sending a sharp pain through his left side. For a few anxious moments he was certain the frail vessel would burst asunder.
No, he thought. Not now, not yet, he silently pleaded. It seemed someone heard him, for the pain slowly receded and his heartbeat settled into a more stable rhythm. He breathed a bit easier and raised a weak hand to wipe the thick sheen of sweat from his brow.
The chill in his gut and the sudden joyous laughter that echoed in his mind told him all he needed to know about the effects of his warning.
The beast was free.
Chapter Six: Beneath the Surface
Early the next morning Jake drove his Jeep into Sam’s driveway and sounded two quick taps of the horn, then dug into the bag he’d placed on the floor behind the passenger seat, pulling out a cup of coffee and a donut.
Sam came down the steps dressed in jeans and a Benton University sweatshirt, a pair of thick hiking boots on his feet. Around his neck were slung two cameras and an assortment of lenses. A fanny pack strapped around his waist bulged with additional gear.
"What is all that?" Jake asked, as Sam climbed inside the vehicle.
"Necessities, Jake. You don’t expect me to go on possibly one of the most interesting finds this town has seen in two hundred years, and not bring along some means of recording the event, do you? I just wish my damn video camera wasn’t in the shop, or I’d have brought that along, too."
Jake chuckled as he handed the coffee and donut to Sam and dug another donut out of the bag for himself. He couldn’t blame Sam for his enthusiasm, he too was anxious to see just what it was that had been worth burying beneath a living river. In the short time it took to cross town and arrive at the mansion, Jake felt his excitement grow.
At the end of Stonemoor’s drive Jake turned left into the construction area proper and parked in front of his trailer, where something caught his eye.
The door to the tool shed was wide open, hanging in its frame by only one hinge.
Jake grunted in surprise, and walked over with Sam at his heels. Jake had experienced robberies at other sites, had even bought a pistol he kept in his desk drawer in the trailer so that he’d feel some protection while working alone at night, but he had never expected to have one here. For a moment he was more surprised than angry. There wasn’t anything of great value in the tool shed. What would somebody want with some old shovels and a pickaxe or two? he found himself wondering.
"Why would anybody want to…" Jake began, and then stopped, his eyes widening in sudden realization. "The tunnel!" he exclaimed.
Without a word Sam turned to go, suddenly anxious that someone else had beaten him to what he considered the story of his lifetime, but Jake grabbed his arm.
"Hang on. You’ve got to help me with this stuff." He let go and turned to the shed, pushing the door aside and disappearing within. He returned a moment later with a couple of shovels, a crowbar and a pickaxe cradled in his arms. He gave a shovel to Sam, and kept the other for himself. Then he moved over to the trailer and, unlocking the door, went inside. This time he had a large ring of keys and two battery-powered lanterns in his hands when he emerged. His pistol was stuck in the waistband of his jeans.
"We’re going need these to see down there," he said, indicating the lamps. "We haven’t had a chance to string any lights yet."
They crossed the yard, headed for the front door. As they walked, Jake felt his concern growing. Very few people knew of what they’d uncovered yesterday. Unless some of the crew had shot their mouths off to friends, then it had to be one of his men that had caused the damage they’d seen. After all, they’d be the ones most likely to know just where the tools were kept and what they might need down in the cellar.
His suspicions that someone had been after whatever was hidden in the tunnel were confirmed when he and Sam mounted the steps, only to discover the front door standing half open like an invitation.
That pissed him off. Blake was going to have a fit when he told him about the break-in, and Jake fervently hoped nothing had been stolen from inside. That would make matters even worse. God help me when I find out who did this, he thought grimly.
Behind him, Sam was taking pictures. The click of the camera sent Jake over the edge.
"Will you knock that off, for Christ’s sake?" he snapped angrily.
Sam wisely lowered the camera without a word.
The same gouge marks were in the frame of this door, and on closer inspection Jake recognized them as having come from the notched end of a crowbar. Just to be sure, he hefted the one he had in his hand and laid it against one of the marks. It was a near perfect match.
Looking at the state of the aged oak that made up the doorframe, Jake ruefully shook his head. Add another item to the list of things that need to be replaced, he thought to himself.
He reached out to the door, intending on going inside, when Sam’s voice stopped him.
"Ah, Jake?"
Jake turned, a questioning look on his face.
"Don’t you think we’d better call the police?" Sam asked, nodding his head in the direction of the trailer and the phone he knew to be inside.
Jake thought about it for a minute, and then shook his head. "Not just yet. I want to have a look around first, try and get an idea of what kind of damage has been done. See if there’s anything missing." And I want to have a look at that tunnel, he added silently.
The open door beckoned to him.
He opened it the rest of the way with a gentle nudge of his foot, Sam’s request reminding him that he didn’t want to unnecessarily disturb any evidence, and stepped inside, Sam close at his heels.
The morning sun had yet to rise high enough to crest the trees surrounding the property, making the interior of the house dim and gloomy. Jake was forced to turn on one of the lanterns to see clearly.
The entryway looked undisturbed.
"Wait here a sec," he said to Sam, and stuck his nose into the rooms on either side of the foyer. Everything looked to be in its place there.
Jake didn’t bother going up the stairs directly ahead of him. They led to the second floor and there was nothing of value up there anyway. Besides, for some strange reason he was certain the intruder hadn’t gone up.
He’d gone down instead.
To the basement.
To the tunnel.
"Come on," Jake said, and c
rossed the foyer into the dining room and out through the kitchen to the door which opened onto the cellar steps.
Holding the light high before him, he descended.
Once down below he discovered that his suspicions were correct. The tarp covering the stairs leading deeper into the earth had been pulled aside. A crowbar lay discarded next to it.
Jake moved over to the steps with Sam right behind him. A hand gesture told Sam to extinguish his light, which he did, and the two of them stood there in the darkness.
No lights shone up the stairs from below.
No sound reached their ears.
Jake drew his gun and leaned close to his friend. "Looks like we’re alone but let’s not take any chances. Keep your voice down and follow me. If we come upon an intruder, I’ll hold him at bay while you go back to the trailer and call for help."
Sam gripped the shovel in his hands a bit tighter and nodded his agreement.
Turning on their lights and moving carefully so as to make as little noise as possible, the two started down the steps in pursuit of the intruder.
They moved down the length of the tunnel and turned the corner to find a large hole excavated in the center of the wall that had previously blocked the way further. Jake stopped before the hole, his light shining inside, gazing through it at the scene on the other side.
Sam stepped up to his side and added his light to his friend’s.
After a moment, he lowered the flashlight and raised his camera.
Several shots later he turned to Jake and asked, "Now can we call the police?"
Jake nodded without saying a word.
On the other side of the wall, the corpse of Kyle Halloran gazed back at them with wide, staring eyes.
Chapter Seven: Sheriff Wilson
Damon Wilson was on duty in Harrington Falls when the call came in. As Sheriff of Algonquin County, he was responsible for the safety of the inhabitants of not only Glendale, but also Harrington Falls and the other similar mountain communities within the county limits. He had two men out sick, so he was covering their shifts himself, patrolling in his Bronco.
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