A Light Amongst Shadows

by Kelley York

  Down the darkened halls, following the paths I know only from having memorised the maps, I find my way into the empty scullery. The door in question is at the far side of the wall, blocked by crates of flour and potatoes and various other foodstuffs. With effort, I manage to drag some of the crates away just enough to access the door, which then opens with an aching creak.

  Sighing in relief, I squeeze inside, descending the aged wooden steps. I have no choice but to light my candle now that I’m without windows to let in any moonlight. I give my vision a chance to adjust before looking around. As I suspected, this place appears to have been a storage room, once upon a time. Even now it’s littered with old furniture and empty crates and boxes and spiderwebs.

  But a storage room is all it seems to be. I see no other doors, and I make it a point to run my hands along the wall as I search just to make sure. When that yields nothing, I turn my attention to the floor instead. It’s there, towards the back corner of the room, that I spot the edge of a hatch peeking out from beneath an old armoire. A hatch means something below the basement, and that something could be exactly what I’m looking for.

  I set the candle atop a nearby crate so that I can brace my hands and shoulder against the side of the armoire and push with all my might. It groans across the wooden floor, slowly but surely, until I’ve relocated it far enough that it’s no longer obscuring my path. The hatch itself is latched shut, and the rusted metal clasp requires some fussing with to get it loose, so I can heave it open. Below me now is a ladder, which leads down far beyond what I’m capable of seeing, even with the help of my candle when I hold it out. A smell of damp earthiness wafts up to greet me.

  This is it. This is what I’ve been searching for.

  Perhaps it is better I came on my own, because I can imagine the heart attack William would be having right about now. I’m not certain I could get him to entertain the idea of descending into that darkness even with a promise of all the kisses in the world. I suppose I couldn’t blame him for that, but truthfully, the rush of excitement I feel for having actually found something outweighs any fear or hesitation I might otherwise have. At least for now.

  All that’s left is for me to begin the climb down, which requires some skill in order to bring the candle with me, unwilling to snuff it out even for a moment, and I’m careful to mind my footing on the creaking ladder rungs.

  The further I go, the colder it becomes. Not simply in the way I would expect from being underground, either, although I cannot precisely place why or how it’s different. The hair along the back of my neck stands on end, and no number of woollen layers are enough to keep me warm.

  I climb until I can no longer see the top of the ladder. Nothing above nor below. After what feels like forever, my feet touch solid ground once more and I’m both relieved and not, because when I look around, I determine this is definitely not an inviting place. The smell, I realise, is reminiscent of the boy in my room, when I woke to find his hands clamped down upon my mouth.

  The tunnel is narrow and musty, and it’s not as though I can see far in either direction; the candle’s light only carries so far, and I swear I can almost make out shapes, dancing in the darkness, just faint enough that it could be my eyes playing tricks on me.

  I put thought into crawling right back up the ladder. Is this really the smartest idea? Would this be a plan better executed during the day, if I could figure out how to get past the staff? If something were to happen to me here, how long would it be before someone found me?

  Who would care for William in my absence?

  The crying distracts me from my thoughts. That, in and of itself, isn’t strange. I’ve grown so used to it in the dorms. On its own, it would not even be enough to draw me away from my current dilemma, but the longer I listen, the more it sounds like—

  Oscar.

  All thoughts of leaving are immediately abandoned. I scramble down the tunnel, towards the sound of that voice, not caring about what I might find or what unnatural thing I may disturb in the process. If Oscar is down here, if he’s in trouble, if he’s alive, I need to find him immediately.

  I rush further into the darkness, yet the voice seems to be getting softer, always just out of reach. The panic surges up inside me, making me call recklessly out to him.

  When I reach a fork in the tunnel, the sound has vanished completely. I want to cry in frustration. I want to throw my candle. I want to—I don’t know. It’s difficult to think beyond the overwhelming surge of emotion at having felt so close for a moment. I force myself to stop and take a moment to breathe in order to calm myself.

  While standing there, I come to realise that though the crying may have ceased, the tunnel is not silent. There’s another sound, soft enough that I cannot even quite make out what it is beyond that it sounds pained.

  I’ve come this far, and I might as well see what awaits me. The sound comes from the right fork in the tunnel, so that’s the way I proceed, but slower to be more aware of my surroundings. I can almost hear William’s voice in my head, lecturing that we ought to go back. Oh, he’s going to let me have it when I get out of here.

  Eventually the tunnel leads me to what at first appears to be a dead end, but as I near, I spot another ladder off to one side, not unlike the one I originally came down. Is it possible I got turned around and returned to where I started? That doesn’t seem likely.

  Wonderful. Just what I wanted to do was to put more walls and floors between myself and safety. But that’s exactly what I do. Right up the ladder, where the scent begins to change. It smells like mould, or rot. Like something very, very old.

  The hatch at the top opens into the end of a long, narrow, pitch-black hallway lined with doors. I’m in the school again. At least, I think I am. Everything in this hall is reminiscent of the rest of the building, from the arched ceilings to the dado railing and wallpaper, although the place reeks of dust and dirt. I sincerely doubt any maid has been here to clean in some time, if ever. I approach the first door and give it a try, and then the second, and the third, and not a one of them is unlocked.

  I shiver, wondering if the darkness is beginning to grow thicker or if my fear is making me imagine things. Even the air feels heavier here, and my sense of unease is beginning to overpower my desire for answers. I want to be done here. I want to go back to William.

  The hall dead ends with one last door, differing from all the others only because there emanates a faint flicker of light from beneath it. And, from within, the sound that I can now pinpoint as a boy whimpering, and the distinct rattling of chains. The sound of my own breathing is impossibly loud as I move towards it, slowly, carefully trying the knob. This time, it turns with a timid click, and allows me to pull it open just enough to peer inside.

  I don’t fully grasp what I’m seeing. I must be imagining things, and if I rub at my eyes, the sight before me will vanish.

  This time when the distorted whimpering hits my ears, I can see the boy it comes from. His gaunt, emaciated form dangles by his wrists from chains latched to the ceiling, his feet only just scraping the floor. The wavering light from candles on the wall is just enough to illuminate the bruises on his shoulders, back, and the backs of his thighs, all where his uniform has been shredded, and the blood smeared across his face and a swollen eye.

  He’s dead. A spirit not unlike all the others.

  But he is not the worst of it.

  No, that award goes to the thing that shuffles slowly across the room. A man. I think. Whatever it is, whatever is was once upon a time, is unrecognizable now. The husk of a body looms over everything, not an inch of its flesh untouched by burns and disfigurements. He looks like someone set alight, and then put out after their skin has half melted from their bones.

  I forget how to move, how to breathe, even as I’m internally screaming at my legs to get me the hell out of here. Before I can make my body cooperate, the creature lifts his hand, holding onto what appears to be an old cat o’ nine tails. I understand wha
t he’s about to do and my mouth opens before I can stop it.

  “No!”

  The second the word leaves my throat, my eyes widen. In what world was that a brilliant idea? He does stop before striking, yes, but only to turn in my direction. As he begins to walk towards the door—and me—it dawns on me the grave mistake I’ve made.

  I tear away from the door, scrambling back, tripping over my own feet as I rush down the hall the direction I came. Behind me, the door flies open with such ferocity that it takes my breath away, and I refuse to look back again.

  I hit the hatch at the end with the sensation of breath on the back of my neck and drop down through it so quickly that I nearly lose my grip on the rungs. I slip upon nearing the bottom.

  As I land on my side, the candle does, too, snuffing out and plunging me into darkness.

  I lurch to my feet and plant my hands against the nearest wall and begin to inch myself down the way I think I’m supposed to be going.

  I may not be able to see anything, but I can hear them.

  Whispers. Groans. Shifting and scratching and sobbing.

  All around me, closer and closer, until I’m certain I will scream just to drown them out.

  A hand grasps at my trouser leg as I attempt to pick up my pace. And then another hand. And a third. Grabbing at my clothes, my feet, my ankles, until I trip over myself, hitting the ground hard enough that the air is slammed from my lungs and I’m gasping in pain.

  When I try to get up, however—

  A hand grabs a fistful of my hair and I’m shoved onto my back, a sudden, intense pressure bearing down onto my chest. I cannot see a thing, but the smell of burning flesh floods my sinuses, makes me choke on a cry for help. Fingers wrap about my throat, rendering me both voiceless and breathless.

  The edges of my vision begin to darken. I have most certainly botched all of this.

  I will die in this place.

  No one will ever find me.

  Please forgive me, William.

  A brilliant, warm light flashes before my eyes, illuminating the burned and grotesque face of my attacker.

  And then he’s gone.

  The pressure vanishes from my chest, the grip on my neck relinquishing its hold, and I can finally suck in a huge lungful of air while trying to come to sorts with what is going on. As my vision clears and I regain some of my hearing, another face appears over mine, this one familiar and a brilliant beacon of hope as he begins to drag me to my feet.

  William shouts, “Run!” and I don’t hesitate to obey.

  How or why he’s there, I haven’t a clue. I wrap my fingers tightly around his as he hauls me to my feet and proceeds to drag me down the tunnel. The sound of our steps echoes deafeningly in the narrow passageways, drowned only by the furious roar of the creature a few steps behind us. I do not dare look back. It’s all I can do to run alongside William, to trust that he knows where he’s going.

  My lungs scream in protest, a cramp beginning to develop in my leg. Yet as we round a bend and moonlight pours into the space around us, I see we’re headed right for an opening that spills us out into the chilly night.

  We find ourselves outside, amongst trees and shrubs and melting snow, and we collapse to the ground while gasping for air. When I finally spare a look back, I see no sign of anything, and the enraged shrieks of the monster in the darkness have faded.

  We’re safe. At least for the moment.

  Which means William and I turn our attention to one another. I’m trembling all over, mostly from fear, and he looks to be in about the same shape. He reaches for me, touching my face.

  “Are you all right?”

  Some of his hair clings to his face, and I can tell just by looking at him that he’s still fending off a fever. Worry overtakes me. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be resting!”

  William scowls, taking my face in his hands and looking me over. Cold fingertips touch to my throat, and I wonder if he sees bruises there, because he whimpers. “You bloody fool! Why did you go without me?”

  I have the grace to look as apologetic as I feel. “I’m sorry. You’ve been feeling so unwell, I didn’t want to risk anything happening to you.”

  “If something had happened to you, I…” he begins to say, voice heated, as though he’s waging an internal war on whether he’s angry or relieved that I’m all right. A deep breath drawn, he leans in, resting his forehead against mine. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

  “How in the world did you know where to find me?”

  William’s eyes widen. “You didn’t see him?”

  “See who?”

  He sits up straighter, turning to look all around us while a slow frown tugs at his brows. “The ghost. I woke to one in my room, and he led me straight to you.”

  I balk at that. “You followed a ghost across school grounds?”

  “Well, yes.” He averts his gaze. “Call it a gut feeling.”

  “You’re bloody brilliant, do you know that? You saved my life.”

  William shakes his head. “Don’t. I don’t want to think— You’re all right. Let’s get back to the dorms before that thing decides to follow.”

  For as much as I want to lie right where we are and rest, that does sound to be a wise idea. I rise to my feet, helping William to his. Now that the excitement is beginning to fade, I can see he’s grown shaky and in need of the assistance.

  The lantern he scoops up from the ground is still lit, by some miracle, and it guides our way through the trees back towards the school. As it turns out, the tunnel entrance we escaped from is located about a quarter mile behind the cemetery.

  Throughout the entire walk, I catch glimpses from the corner of my gaze. Faces and figures lingering at my periphery, and I think William sees them, too, because now and again his head will jerk to one side to look. Unnerving as it is, no one appears to be bothering us. Small favours. It’s a sensation that continues all the way into the dorms and up into William’s room.

  It is not until we’ve secured ourselves safely behind his door, jammed shut, that I heave a sigh of relief and lean into William, dropping my head to rest upon his shoulder as the exhaustion settles in. William sets the lantern aside on his wash table, attention fully upon me, arms about me as his hands stroke over my sweat-soaked hair. “You’re all right,” he whispers. “But so help me God, if you ever frighten me like that again…”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea it would go so poorly.” I’m not certain what I thought would happen, but certainly, I hadn’t expected to encounter what I did. William leans in to kiss me solidly upon the mouth, and I think it might be a reassurance for himself in as much as it is for me that everything is all right.

  When he pulls back, he drops his hands to the front of my rumpled and dirty coat to push it back off my shoulders. We do need to get out of our filthy clothes, I think. “What did you see in there?”

  I would rather forget it, truthfully, but that would hardly be beneficial. Never mind that I have no idea what I saw. I draw in a deep breath and, as William busies himself undressing me, I recall to him how I entered the tunnels, my trek through them. Most importantly, the hallway in which I encountered the ghost.

  William remains silent while I speak, brows furrowed. I’m exhausted enough that I scarcely notice he’s stripped me down to my undergarments, and I’ll finish the removal of those on my own.

  “A burned man. What do you suppose it means?”

  “That someone wasn’t very good at cooking.”

  William gives me an unimpressed look.

  “No? Wrong answer?”

  “You’re impossible.” He presses a palm to my chest, above my heart, and leans in to kiss me softly.

  “The truth is that I haven’t an idea what it means. It cannot be anything good.”

  “We’ve scoured every inch of that library, questioned students, searched the school. So then, what would our next step be?”

  I watch him slide off his shirt. “The st
aff is all we have left.”

  “You truly think they’re going to tell us anything? We’ll be reported to the headmaster again in no time.”

  “It’s the only option I have left. There has to be someone we can speak to.”

  “You said you cornered Mr. Hart already, and he’s the one who was close with Oscar.” He pauses as he considers. “Mr. Hart and Mr. McLachlan seem to be friendly, don’t they? And he appeared sincerely concerned over Frances’ disappearance.”

  True, I think. He also wasn’t very forthcoming with information before. To get him to talk, I may have to press further and tell him some of what we’ve discovered.

  “It’s worth a try.” I find the tail end of my sentence stuttering to a stop as I watch William remove his clothes, stripping down completely, which is a very new thing. We’ve seen each other in various stages of undress by now, but not fully, if I think about it, and it is distracting, to say the least. He’s thin and elegant, a bit on the skinny side, which I think may be attributed to his poor health these last several weeks. He scarcely eats, after all, and he does little in the way of exercise.

  He fetches two nightshirts, turning to offer one out to me, and I take it while navigating my eyes back up to his face. “Scandalous. What would your mother say?”

  He scoffs, slipping the other shirt over his head, much to my disappointment. “Would you like me to sleep in nothing?”

  I feign a gasp of disapproval. “We’d need to get you to church.”

  “While naked?” he muses, turning back the blankets and slipping beneath them.

  I laugh as I strip down the rest of my own clothes, pull on the borrowed nightshirt, and then permit myself to join him in bed. “I’m going to say a prayer for your sinful soul, dear William.”

  “By all means.”