by Amy Cross
“Will I see Delilah again?” I ask, with tears in my eyes now. I can hear another dredger coming closer along the river, but I am not quite ready to leave yet. “When I die, will...”
My voice trails off.
“You will see her,” the voice says. “More than that, I shall not divulge, but your eyes shall gaze upon her face again. You must hurry, though. If it senses your plans, the creature might panic and attempt to sway you immediately. I know you think you are strong-willed, Jack, but you would not be able to withstand such an onslaught. Time is of the essence. If you live to see another night, you will have left this matter far too late. You have no idea how close you have already come to total disaster.”
I hesitate, before nodding. At that moment, a light from the dredger briefly lights the shore. I half-expect to see a skeletal face staring back at me, but instead I find that I am completely alone here beneath the bridge. And as the light fades, leaving me once more in darkness, I cannot help but realize that there is no way I can delay this matter a moment longer. I know what I must do, and now I have to go back to the house. I cannot afford to delay my actions.
No matter the cost, that creature has to be stopped. And if I get to see Delilah again in the process, then so be it. My own reward must not be my focus, however; I must cast aside all such thoughts and focus on repairing the damage I have caused. Most likely, I shall be cast down into the fires of eternal damnation, where I shall most assuredly recognize the screams of the real Doctor Charles Grazier.
“Tell me one more thing,” I say finally, with tears in my eyes, tears I find that I cannot hold back. “Do good people find their reward in the next life? I know I am not a good person, but I have met people who deserve happiness. Tell me that they prosper.”
I wait, but the only answer is the sound of wind whistling through the struts of the bridge.
He is gone.
“I don't know whether you can still hear me,” I continue, “but I will do as you instruct. I will make good my mistake, so that nobody else has to suffer. And at the end of all this, I promise that the creature in the basement will never have a chance to escape. On that, you have my word.”
And then, as I begin to make my way back toward the road, I look up at the sky and see that the stars have been obliterated by vast swarming lights. I tell myself that what I am seeing cannot be real, that my mind has finally cracked, but deep down I know the truth. Demons are gathering, and soon they shall take over the world.
Only I can stop them.
I walk along the mostly empty street, although when I reach the corner I hear the cry of a boy selling newspapers. I would usually ignore such things, but on this occasion – my last morning, perhaps, in this world – I wander over and regard the front page. I am mostly curious to learn the state of the government, and the monarchy. What, I wonder has Salisbury been up to? Or has Gladstone risen from the grave to snatch yet another term of office? And what of Victoria? Yet I am surprised to find that the headline story on this morning's paper concerns neither. Instead, I spot a familiar face.
“Give me one of those,” I mutter, handing the boy some coins and then taking the newspaper.
Turning away, I hold the front page up and read the headline out loud:
“Famed Egyptologist arrested for grave-robbing in Finchley!”
And next to that headline there is a photograph of Mr. Alexander Brady, who evidently has been sourcing his supposed Egyptian queens from a cemetery that is routinely reserved for the burial of the poor. Unable to stifle a smile, I set off once more on my way home. Ahead, the sky is beginning to brighten, heralding the last dawn of my life.
Chapter Sixteen
Maddie
Today
“Hello?” I call out, stopping in front of the door and waiting in case there's any reply. “Is someone in there?”
I watch the door, but there's no hint that I'm right.
At the same time, as I stand in silence, I feel more and more certain that there's someone down here with me. It's not Doctor Grazier, either, or any of the other ghosts I might or might not have encountered. No, this is someone who's in a room behind this door, someone who I think might even be trapped. I'm certain. I haven't seen or heard anything to make me believe this, but deep down I just know.
Stepping forward, I place my hand on the door and take another moment to listen.
“Hello?” I say again. “My name is Maddie, I... Are you trapped down here too?”
Silence.
As crazy as it might sound, I'm absolutely sure that there's someone here. I can somehow sense a presence just a few feet away on the door's other side. I don't know how I never picked up on this before, but it's so completely obvious now. I've been down here in the basement so many times, I've studied these markings that were left in the stone, but somehow I never realized before that there's actually somebody right here in what seems to be some kind of hidden room. And as I run my hands across the symbols, I suddenly feel completely certain that I have to get this door open. It's as if I'll explode if I don't.
I can taste peaches, too.
“You can hear me, can't you?” I continue.
Silence.
Still, I know I'm right.
There's something on the other side of this door, something that's listening to my every word. Something that's waiting desperately for me to get this door open.
“I'm going to get you out of here,” I stammer, before taking a step back. “It's okay, I don't know who you are but I promise I'm going to get you out of this place. I'm going to take you with me, I'm going to...”
Words.
These are just words.
I need actions.
Rushing over to the tables, I start rummaging through the various old surgical items that have been left here. I'm certain there has to be something here I can use, although so far all I've managed to find is a bunch of rusty old saws and knives. I need a screwdriver or a hammer if I'm going to break through the door, or maybe I should just try to barge the damn thing down with my shoulder. In fact, I'm starting to feel increasingly panicked, as if suddenly I have to get that door open at all costs. Even if I have to hurt myself in the process.
Finally, unable to locate anything that might be useful, I turn and run at the door, throwing all my weight at a point just above the handle.
I slam into the wood and bounce back, falling hard against the concrete floor. My shoulder hurts from the impact, but I don't let this stop me. Instead, I get up and throw myself at the door again and again, desperately trying to break through so that I can release whoever's on the other side. With each fresh impact I let out a gasp of pain, and I feel my shoulder shudder, but I don't let any of that stop me.
I just keep throwing myself at the door, determined to break through at any cost. Or die trying.
Chapter Seventeen
“Doctor Charles Grazier”
“Let me see her!” I shout, wading through the mud as I try to reach Delilah's fallen body. “I can help her! Let me -”
“Not so fast!”
A police officer steps in my way and shoves me back, sending me crashing down into the mud. I immediately get back to my feet, but now two more officers are also in my way and they grab my arms to keep me from reaching my poor, darling Delilah. I try to fight back, but somehow they manage to keep hold of me.
“Now what's got into you, eh?” one of the officers asks. “Knew the lass, did you?”
“It can't be her,” I stammer, struggling for a moment longer before taking a step back. “No-one would hurt Delilah. She was the kindest, softest soul in all the world.”
Yet as I speak those words, I stare at the bloodied corpse and see that it is indeed wearing Delilah's favorite dress. A moment later two other officers begin to lift her up. Her face is caked in blood and mud, but then one of the officers pours fresh water over her features, washing the mixture away and revealing her dead, wild-eyed stare.
“Someone probably thought he cou
ld get lucky,” another officer mutters. “I don't know why these dumb girls come down to this part of town alone. They should know it's not safe, but I suppose they get desperate. It's cheaper to wash thing when you get away from the crowd. Still stupid to take the risk, though..”
“Delilah,” I whisper, feeling a growing sense of horror rising through my chest. At the same time, great convulsive waves of sorrow are pounding at my heart. “No, please...”
“Get out of here, lad,” the nearest officer says tartly. “This is none of your business.”
“It's her,” I stammer, pushing forward, desperately trying to get to her, “it's Delilah...”
The officers push me away, and I almost fall. Steadying myself, I watch as Delilah's body is examined by a doctor. For a moment I'm frozen in place, but then finally I start wading forward again.
“Let me see her,” I mumble. “Maybe it's not her.”
“Here he comes again,” one of the officers says with a sigh, as he and his colleague turn to me.
“Let me see her,” I reply, with tears in my eyes as I cling desperately to the hope that there has been a mistake. “I have to be sure! Please! It's not -”
Suddenly one of the officers lashes out at me, striking me on the side of the head with his baton. I hear a loud cracking sound, and a flash of light fills my vision as I drop to my hands and knees. Pain is pulsing down the left side of my head now, and I swear I can feel some kind of hot liquid dribbling into my skull. I try to get up, but for a moment I feel far too dizzy. Voices are laughing and talking all around me, but I can only stare in horror as Delilah is carried away. Finally, somehow, I find the strength to haul myself to my feet and go after her. The whole world is spinning in a vast blur, but I keep my eyes focused on the yellow of Delilah's dress.
“Delilah,” I groan, “wait.”
“Don't make me hit you again,” a voice says nearby. “Bloody hell, look at you, covered in mud. You're ruining your nice clothes, my friend.”
“Delilah!” I reach out for her. “I'm -”
Before I can finish, the baton hits me again, striking me on the same side of my head. I cry out as I feel another cracking sensation, and this time I think I even feel part of my skull pressing down deeper into my head. Even before I land back down in the mud, I start vomiting, and my vision fills again with bright flashing rings of light. I fall face-first, and when I try to get up I find that my arms and legs are not responding. All I can do is gasp for air, taking huge quantities of mud into my mouth in the process, until finally I manage to sit back and spit out most of the mud.
“Delilah,” I stammer, but somehow everything feels wrong. When I turn my head, I feel more hot blood leaking into the back of my skull and then down the inside. Reaching up, I touch the spot just above my left ear and feel a bloodied, mulchy patch with a section of sharp bone poking out. “Delilah,” I whisper, “please, wait for me...”
***
Sunday October 7th, 1888
“Have you decided yet?” the creature behind the door asks, as I continue to scratch another symbol into the basement wall. “Surely you want your love to return, do you not? Imagine feeling her arms around you once more. Imagine feeling the warmth of another kiss.”
“It is not her,” I whisper.
“You want her back, don't you?”
“It is not her!” I say again, more firmly this time. I feel a flicker of pain in the left side of my head, but that's something to which I am well accustomed. Somehow, for the first time in a decade, I feel as if I am myself again. My thoughts feel ordered and I have a purpose, just as I had before that day in the mud when I was beaten almost to death by a police officer's baton.
Most importantly, I know that Delilah Culpepper is not the Delilah I used to love. She is a different Delilah, and I merely allowed myself to be seduced by the beauty of her name. It is almost as if I have spent the past decade lost in a trance, drifting through the world with only the intelligence of a crude animal. Now I am finally myself again, and I intend to remain myself while I complete the task at hand. Perhaps this is a gift from some higher power, allowing me some semblance of dignity in what must surely be my final moments.
“So what else do you want?” the creature asks. “If not the woman on the table, then what? Who?”
I take a moment to finish the latest marking, and then I step back.
I am done.
“Everyone wants something,” she continues. “Something for the mind. Something for the flesh. Something for both, perhaps. Just tell me what you want, and it's your in exchange for opening this door.”
“I want peace,” I whisper.
“What was that? I didn't hear you.”
“You are sealed in,” I say out loud. “There is no way for you to escape now. You will remain down here forever, bound by a cage, and nobody will ever come to let you out. This house will remain empty, and you will rot. The people of London will go about their business, for generation after generation, not knowing the horror that lurks down here.”
“Is that right?”
She sounds confident. Assured. She is wrong.
“What would you have done,” I continue, “if you had made it out of here? Tell me, for I am curious. What was your reason for dragging yourself back into this world?”
“Who says I would have done anything? I just want to be free.”
“Everyone wants something,” I remind her. “And when they get it, they just start wanting something else in its place. So what is it that you want, after your freedom?”
“I rather think that is my concern,” she replies. “My offer still stands, however. I will give you whatever you desire. All you have to do in return is let me out of here. Is that really such a terrible thing to ask?”
I take another step back.
“Let me out!” she hisses suddenly, and now she finally sounds desperate. “You don't know what you're doing, you pathetic little runt! Open this door immediately or I will force my way out and tear your soul to shreds! You can't even imagine what I can do to make you suffer for eternity, but I assure you that I am endlessly inventive!”
“Goodbye,” I reply, turning and making my way across the basement for what will assuredly be the final time.
“You can't walk away from me!” she screeches. “Stop!”
Suddenly my head is filled with a vast, bursting pain that seems certain to shatter my skull. I stumble forward and bump against the slab, but the pain is already starting to fade. It is as if something reached out from the other side of the door and shook the loose section of my skull. Taking a deep breath, I try to steady myself, and then I start walking once more toward the steps.
“Do you think you can withstand my persuasion?” the creature calls after me. She sounds exhausted. Drained, even, but still filled with venom. “That was just a taste!”
I'm sure she can cause me even more pain, but – as I make my way up the steps – I tell myself that evidently she lacks at present the necessary strength. I am sure my old friend at the river was right, and that this wretched creature would eventually be able to make me do anything she wants, but for now she is still trying to grow her powers. I do not know how long it would take her to gain what she needs, although I am absolutely certain that eventually she would overpower me. Fortunately, she will not get that chance, and in some strange way I feel calm now that I know I shall soon find peace.
“Just wait,” she purrs, as I stop at the bottom of the steps. “You'll be on my side soon enough. You have no choice.”
“On the contrary,” I reply, turning to her, “you are going to stay in that room forever. Trapped. Forgotten. Alone. And nobody will ever come and set you free.”
With that, I turn and start walking up the steps.
“Oh,” she says after a moment, her voice purring with delight, “but I'm not alone.”
I stop and glance back toward the door. My heart is pounding, but deep down I know that this is just another trick, an attempt to play for
time. Of course she's alone, there's nobody else who could possibly be in there with her. Maybe she's trying to trick me, or maybe she thinks that my presence means she is not alone. Either way, she will soon enough learn the harsh truth.
Not even bothering to let her draw me into her game, I head back up to the hallway. I just have to finish a few more tasks, and then this can all end. I have lived long enough and I am tired now.
Chapter Eighteen
Maddie
Today
Suddenly I let out an agonized cry as I feel a splintering sensation in my left shoulder. I drop to my knees, clutching my arm, but the pain is intense and for a moment I can't even think straight.
Finally I look down at my left hand, and I find that I can just about move the fingers. I don't know how long I spent throwing myself furiously at the door, but I think I began to enter some kind of trance. It was as if I couldn't stop myself, as if some hidden force had begun to toss me against the door like a rag doll. I honestly feel as if, for a few minutes at least, I was willing to smash my body to pieces in order to break through. And then suddenly, without any warning, I stopped.
Looking up at the door, I see to my surprise that I actually made some progress.
About half a meter above the handle, the wood has been broken in several places. Getting to my feet, I step closer and grab hold of one of the wooden sections, which comes away easily enough. I pull away a few more pieces too, and soon enough I've managed to create a decent-sized hole in the door. I peer through, but there's no light in there and I can't see anything at all. Still, at least I'm through, and the sense of frantic panic seems to have subsided.
“Hello?” I say, leaning closer to the hole. “Are you there?”
I wait, but there's no reply. Although I can't see anything in the next room, I think I can feel a very faint, very cold breeze blowing through against my face. In fact, as I lean even closer to the hole, I realize that the air on the other side seems positively icy. Finally I reach my right hand through slightly, although I pull away quickly as I feel my fingertips almost starting to freeze. I hesitate, before reaching through again, and this time I find that I was right: the air in the next room is absolutely freezing cold. It's so cold, in fact, that I can barely believe anyone could survive in there.
