by Lily Morton
I backed away and flew up the stairs and then stood in the kitchen trying to gather my thoughts and steel my spine. It was only when I saw the glass of whisky on a tray on the kitchen table that the first glimmers of my plan came to me. Alfred always has a whisky at night and had obviously poured this in preparation for the terrible celebration he would have when he came home.
I stared at it for a long while until I remembered that Alfred would be back soon, and he must not find me awake. I raced up the stairs and once I was in bed I lay plotting. I heard the click of the front door half an hour later and his heavy steps on the staircase. They hesitated outside my door and I held my breath as I watched the handle move slightly, but he must have reconsidered, because after a few seconds his steps moved on, and I heard his bedroom door close. I lay awake for a long time turning over my thoughts, and by the time that dawn spread its light across the sky I knew my plan.
I am going to bide my time for a few days and lull him into a false sense of security. He will think himself safe and undetected and let his guard down accordingly.
Then one night I will lace Alfred’s whisky with laudanum which the doctor has kindly given me for my pain. It will ensure that he is unconscious and cannot fight the difficult and dreadful thing I must do.
Once he is asleep, I will go downstairs one last time to the cellar and make sure that the tools of Alfred’s terrible trade are hidden away securely behind the wall. I don’t know why I am doing this, but my father’s lessons about presenting a good face to the world have obviously run far deeper than I ever imagined.
I shall then retrieve the carving knife from the kitchen and climb the stairs to his room. I know it will be hard, but I must tell myself that I am ridding the world of a monster. That more poor young girls need not die because of his perverted desires.
Then I shall come back to my room. I cannot write anymore on that lest it rob me of my strength to do the right thing. I know that I am going to die soon, whether it be from this disease or from the hangman’s noose when they imprison me for murdering my own brother. I cannot see that it matters either way. At least this way I will choose the method with which I leave this world and the noose will be of my own making. I shall not write in this diary again.
His voice fades away into silence as we both stare at each other.
“It’s what we thought, Levi,” I say slowly. “What a bloody brave woman she was.”
He nods and then jerks. “Do you know what this means?”
I shake my head.
Levi gestures in excitement. “She says she went downstairs and made sure that everything was sealed away that could incriminate him.”
“So?” I say and then gasp.
He nods frantically. “It means it’s probably all still there.” He grabs my arm. “Think about it, Blue. It’s only Connor and us that have ever made this connection. No one’s stayed here long, and the disruptions in the house seem to start and finish in the cellar. Remember the builder’s tools being thrown around? It’s like he didn’t want anyone to uncover the stuff.”
“He was protecting his kill mementos,” I whisper. “And they’re probably still there.”
Levi nods. “The diary was here. They must be too, or we’d have heard about it.” He bites his lip. “We have to go down there.”
“What?” I say, and it’s far too loud in the silence. “Are you fucking mad?”
“I think we’re supposed to,” he says stubbornly. “Everything has been leading towards this, and Rosalind helping us find the diary is the last step. Maybe this is the way to stop him.”
“No,” I say harshly. “No fucking way, Levi. This is so fucking dangerous and—”
A scream echoes through the house.
“What the hell is that?” Levi shouts, jumping to his feet, his eyes wild. “What is it?”
I put my hands over my ears, but the screams go on and on, harsh and grating and seeming to make the house shake. “Oh shit, make it stop,” I yell.
The screaming stops so abruptly that it’s disorientating, and my ears are ringing when I lower my hands. I open my mouth to say something, but another horrific noise erupts—a thick gurgling followed by choking.
“That sounds like…”
Levi nods grimly. “Like someone gargling mouthwash.” He pauses. “Or maybe just having their throat cut.”
“We have to go,” I say just as the door flies open, banging against the wall like a thunderclap. “Now,” I add harshly.
He nods, his eyes wide. He crouches to grab the diary, thrusting it into his coat pocket before we fly out of the studio and down the stairs. And into hell.
“Oh my God,” I shout.
The gargling noise gets louder and louder. Glass shatters as the pictures fall from the walls and smash against the floor.
“Keep moving,” I shout at Levi.
He’s pointing at the red fluid seeping out of the holes where the picture nails were. It slides down the walls to the floor where it puddles and spreads, the air thickening with the scent of copper.
We race past the front bedroom, and this time it’s me who stops to stare in disbelief.
Rosalind’s body hangs from the ceiling light fixture, her dress drenched in red and her hands swinging gently with the movement. She raises her head and looks at me, her face black and her tongue protruding. A shrill noise echoes through the room. Levi shakes me, and I realise that I’m screaming.
“Keep moving,” he shouts. “We need to get out.”
Grabbing my hand, Levi pounds down the stairs and runs flat out to the front door.
“Thank God,” I pant. “Open it.” He fumbles with the handle, and I grip his shoulder, sending a frantic glance over my shoulder. “What are you doing?” I hiss. “Open the fucking door.”
“I can’t.” He pulls frantically at the door, but it doesn’t move. “Blue, it’s locked. What shall we do? We can’t get out this way.”
Suddenly the noise stops, silence descending like a theatre curtain. Swift and heavy.
I turn to see the cellar door swinging slowly open.
I backpedal so fast into Levi that he sways with the impact. “What the fuck?” he breathes.
I’m sure his arm is hurting where I’m grabbing it, but I can’t bring myself to let go.
“I think that’s an invitation,” I whisper.
Our gazes are fixed on that door. Listening for those heavy, awful footsteps to come up the stairs. Listening for that evil chuckle to erupt from the darkness. Waiting for Alfred to appear.
Nothing happens. The door stays open, taunting us, and the house is full of a heavy, waiting silence.
Levi breathes in slowly, and I copy him, feeling a modicum of calm enter me.
“There’s no way out,” he whispers, resignation heavy in his voice. “We’re going to have to do this.”
“I’m sorry.”
He looks blank. “Why?”
“Because I can’t do anything to help.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?” he says softly. “With me?”
I nod.
“Then what else can you do, love?”
I want to dwell on the endearment, but there’s no time. “I wish we were at the hotel eating room service, Levi,” I whisper. “But I’d still rather be here with you than anywhere else on earth.”
He kisses me. It’s fast, but the darkness lifts a little and perfume fills the air around us, blending gruesomely with the scent of blood.
“Okay,” he whispers. “Let’s do this.” He leans closer. “We’ll get in and find the hidey-hole. From her description, it sounds like it’s on the far wall. We’ll empty it and see what happens.”
“I’ve had better propositions,” I say sadly and squeeze his arm. “But not from better people.” An idea occurs to me. “Oh, wait here.”
I dart into the kitchen and open and shut the cupboards, rummaging through them and letting the contents spill out.
“Are you baking something?” he hisses in a
n outraged whisper. “What are you doing?”
“Just looking for—”
I spy what I need with a hiss of jubilation, stuff it into my coat pocket, and go back to Levi.
“Okay now, Blue? Or do you have some ironing to do?”
I pinch him. “Facing possible death is not the time for sarcasm.” I look at the door and any humour dies. “Let’s do this,” I say slowly. As he moves, I grab his arm. “Levi, I—”
He leans in to kiss my lips softly. “Me too, Blue. Me too.”
Then he lets me go and moves purposefully to the cellar door, with me hanging on to his coat with a death grip.
The actual cellar is a bit of an anti-climax. Nothing sinister is there. Nothing at all.
The room is lit by the dingy glow of a single lightbulb. Boxes are stacked against one wall and the pile of tools are set neatly in the corner. Apart from that, it’s just a large whitewashed room with a cement floor. I shoot Levi a glance.
He nods grimly. “Let’s hope she kept it sealed in the wall and didn’t have a mad half hour and bury it under the fucking floor. Otherwise we might have to ring Mr Harrison, the builder, and I’m pretty sure my bill will go up.” He looks round the room. “Do you feel anything?” he whispers.
“Nothing. I don’t understand it. Where is he, Levi? I thought he’d be prowling around down here.” I bite my lip. “Let’s find the stuff. Where did you think it would be?”
He strides to the back wall. “There’s a patch over here that’s slightly rougher and darker than the other bits. I noticed it ages ago.” He points to it.
I bend to take a closer look. “The wall is crumbly, but the bricks seem pretty solid. How will you get in?” I ask.
“Sledgehammer.”
“Oh my God, that’ll make such a mess.”
“At the moment I don’t care,” Levi says shortly. He walks over to the pile of tools and starts sorting through them.
The lightbulb flickers, and we freeze.
“Blue?” he says questioningly.
I look around wildly. There’s still nothing here. It’s like a vacuum with no sound. “Nothing yet,” I say, making my voice very steady. “But hurry up anyway,” I add in the same calm voice.
He straightens, carrying a sledgehammer.
“And how are you intending to do that with one arm?” I shake my head. “Give it to me. I’ll do it.”
There’s a pop and the bulb explodes. We both cry out, and I raise my hands to shield my eyes from the shards.
“Blue,” Levi says urgently. I open my eyes to find him standing in front of me, a dim shadow in the light coming from the stairs. “I’ll do it,” he says grimly. I open my mouth to protest, but he shakes his head. “I think you need to keep an eye out. That seems much more important.”
The atmosphere is changing, the scent of burning filling my nostrils. “He’s here,” I say quietly.
He holds the sledgehammer low like a lump hammer and then heaves it at the wall. There’s a crack and dust rains down, and we both jump as the cellar door slams shut.
“Shit.” I stumble up the stairs to try the door. “It’s locked,” I call out. “Fuck, it’s so dark. I can’t see anything.”
“Close your eyes for a few seconds,” he says calmly. “You’ll see a bit better when you open them. Then come down here. There’s a torch app on my phone. You can hold it steady so I can see what I’m doing.”
I swallow hard and shut my eyes. The dark is absolute. Like a weight bearing down on my eyelids. I clench my fists. Anything could be standing beside me right now and I’d be totally blind to the threat. But Levi told me to do it, so I stay still.
The time I spend with my eyes closed in that cold cellar might not be measured by much in the passage of actual time, but to me it’s eternal. However, when I open them, I can see dimly. I look immediately to Levi to find him watching me, a faint light emanating from the phone in his hand. He gives me a half smile and strength floods through me.
“Okay,” I say, and my voice at least sounds calm. “Let’s do this.” I descend the stairs carefully, ready any minute for a shove that doesn’t come. However, the whole atmosphere of the room feels threatening now.
I pause as I get to him. “I can hear breathing. Can you?” I whisper.
He shakes his head and hands me his phone. My fingers are trembling, so I hold it with both hands to keep the light steady.
He swings at the wall again and again, grunting with the effort. He’s clearly in pain.
“Your arm, Levi,” I whisper.
“Never mind that,” he returns.
There’s a presence behind me, silent and still. “Oh my God, he’s here,” I breathe.
Levi stops, and I shake my head. “Keep going,” I say fervently. “It’s our only chance.”
He swings at the wall again.
The presence I’d sensed glides closer, flickering into the figure of a man. Alfred.
He’s outlined by a murky yellow light, illuminating the room enough for me to see more details. His lips are very thin and his eyes shine with a cruel light. He’s stout, with muttonchop whiskers, and wearing a Victorian-looking suit and a hat. He paces around me, like a shark scenting blood in the water. I swallow hard.
Levi levels the sledgehammer at the wall again and grunts in satisfaction as bricks start to rain down onto the floor. He repeats the action again and again, bricks creating a pile of rubble on the floor.
Alfred makes a hissing noise, his face contorting into a rictus of rage. He motions with his hands and something flies through the air.
“Shit!” Levi shouts as a brick hits him on the arm.
I take a step towards him and then remember. “Keep going,” I shout. “I’ve got something.”
He looks over his shoulder. “What is it?”
I put the phone down on a pile of bricks so the dim light illuminates us. Then I reach in my pocket for the tube and show it to him as I fumble with the top.
“Salt,” he says indignantly, his voice rising. “Are you going to fucking cook him?”
I shake my head, flipping the top off. “I saw it on Supernatural. Dean and Sam shoot it at ghosts.”
“Oh well, by all means let’s pin our survival on fictional characters in a TV programme.”
I throw the salt at Alfred as hard as I can. It seems to sink into him and for a second he looks almost corporeal. Then there’s a horrible scream, and he disintegrates into a writhing shadow.
“It works,” I shout. “That’s fucking epic.”
“It’s Himalayan pink sea salt,” Levi says somewhat sniffily.
“I don’t care whether it was ground on the inner thighs of virgins from the land of the faeries. It worked.” Alfred’s shadow starts to slowly reform in front of my eyes. “Although not for long. Keep hammering,” I shout. “I’ve only got the one tube.”
While I throw salt, he returns to his task, swinging the hammer with one hand, his casted arm steadying himself awkwardly. More bricks come loose and he exclaims in triumph. “I can see something,” he mutters.
I look down at my salt tube. “Hurry up,” I hiss. “There’s not much left.”
He swings the hammer again and a large portion of the wall collapses, bringing with it a jumble of objects. Alfred screams, loud and enraged.
Levi scrambles frantically through the rubble, sorting through objects. He tosses something in my direction. A black leather Gladstone bag. It’s battered and covered in dust.
“Look in that,” he shouts, dodging a hammer that flies through the air at him. He’s not so lucky with the next—a tool hits him on the side of his head.
“Oh shit,” I cry. “He got you. You’re bleeding.” Blood streams down his face.
I lurch towards him, but he waves me off.
“Ignore it, Blue. I’m fine. Look in the bag.”
I fumble with the clasp and the bag falls open. Looking inside, I gag and cringe. “Fuck!”
“What is it?” he shouts as he pulls out so
me jars from the rubble.
“Knives and a saw. Oh my God, Levi, they’ve still got blood and flesh on them. What are those jars?”
I grab the phone and aim the light at the jar he holds up. We peer at its murky contents. And we both recoil as if synchronised. An eyeball swims out of the liquid and bumps against the glass.
“Oh my God,” Levi moans. “There’s a fucking ear in here too. What is this?”
“Rosalind guessed it,” I mutter. “These are the jars with all the missing bits from the victims. Emily lost her eyes and her heart.”
Alfred’s shape paces nearby. The sense of rage and hate filling the air is overwhelming.
His eyes seem to glow in the light as he stares at me. My throat catches on something, and I cough. I try to swallow but the object clogging my throat gets bigger and I gag, panic swiping its claws down my back.
“You okay? What is it?”
The phone drops from my hands and sends a jagged beam of light upwards. I bend over, hacking and choking but the object won’t move, my throat swelling around the obstruction.
“Can’t breathe,” I gasp.
I raise my hands to my neck, heaving and gagging. The room whirls around me as sparks bloom in my vision. I claw at my throat again, feeling the skin tear under my fingers as I try to get air.
“Blue,” Levi screams. “Blue, breathe.”
I choke, trying to obey him as he reaches for me.
Alfred appears beside us, as solid as Levi and me, his face contorted with hate. Alfred makes a gesture, and Levi rebounds off me as if he’s been shoved. His arms windmill as he staggers back and, losing his footing, he falls onto the rubble.
Dust billows up in a huge cloud, and Levi cries out in pain as he rolls to the ground on his bad arm.
The jars ascend in slow motion. Then they fly and whirl before smashing onto the ground in the centre of the cellar, splashing us with things I don’t want to think about.
