by Amy Cross
Copyright 2015 Amy Cross
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.
First published: March 2015
This edition: April 2017
“Your mind can play tricks on you in a place like this. Stay strong. There are no ghosts in this tomb. Just bodies and vast, unimaginable riches.”
In the depths of a South American jungle, five explorers are about to find a tomb that should have remained hidden forever.
When the great king Ah-Shalla was buried more than a thousand years ago, he was said to have been buried with stone tablets that contained priceless lost knowledge. Many people have tried to locate his tomb. Most have returned empty-handed, although a few have been driven to madness and death by whatever they saw.
When Charley Manners and the rest of her team discover the tomb, they waste no time in breaking through the stone gate and heading inside. Ignoring the warnings carved into the walls all around them, they head deeper and deeper into the tomb, searching for the burial chamber where Ah-Shalla and his secrets can be found. Are they alone, or will Ah-Shalla rise from his sarcophagus? And what about the last priest, left behind all those years ago to guard his master?
The Last Priest is a fast-paced horror thriller about five people who ignore a deadly warning and venture to the heart of a lost tomb, and about the terrifying secret that waits for them inside.
The Last Priest
Prologue
January 12th, 1899
“Where the hell is he?” Ravenscroft shouted, barging through as soon as the door was opened.
“Is he here?” added Morton, following his associate into the hallway of the elegant Victorian house that stood on Kensington Square, almost tripping over the doorstep in the process. “All of London is talking about him,” he added with bluster, almost turning bright red with indignation, “they say he arrived in Southampton yesterday and was seen reaching London at dawn today, but -”
“Where is he?” Ravenscroft asked again, with pure anger in his voice. “I demand to know!”
“My husband is upstairs in his study,” said Millicent as she gestured for the maid to come and fetch the coats of the two new arrivals. “However, I am not certain that he is up to receiving visitors. He only stepped off the boat last night, and Doctor Collins is of the opinion that -”
“Doctor Collins be damned,” Ravenscroft replied, stepping past her and heading toward the stairs. “I didn't come all the way across London at close to midnight just to be turned back. This matter is far too important.”
“Please,” Millicent said, hurrying after him, “can't you wait until tomorrow?”
“They say he found the tomb,” Ravenscroft replied, stopping at the foot of the stairs and staring up for a moment. His eyes were alive with anticipation; he'd been waiting so long for Cathcart's return, he'd become accustomed to constant disappointments. Now he felt that the impossible was within his reach. He turned to Millicent. “Is it true?”
“He hasn't said very much.”
“But is it true?”
“He...” She paused, weighing up the various responses she could give, before realizing that nothing she said would deter a man like Charles Ravenscroft. “He has not gone into the matter in much detail,” she said finally, “but it does seem that he might have located something of value during his time in the South American jungle. To be perfectly honest, he was talking rather fast, and he seemed to be caught up in something that he couldn't quite express in words. He kept babbling about a priest, and something about a pyramid. There was a look in his eyes of... I don't know, but he seems different somehow. Almost like he's... not the same man I waved off on the ferry twelve months ago...”
“The lost tomb of Ah-Shalla,” Ravenscroft replied, his voice filled with anticipation. “He found it! He really found it! For the first time in history, a man has located the tomb and returned to tell the tale!”
“And he wants it all to himself,” Morton muttered, clearly aggrieved. “The bounder thinks he can take our money to fund the expedition and then keep the treasures to himself. Well, I've got some news for him. The contracts we signed prior to his departure are water-tight. I'll have him up before the judge if necessary. Those treasures are ours!”
“I can assure you,” Millicent said firmly, “that my husband is an honest man and he would never contemplate breaking his word. He arrived back in the country this morning with only one suitcase, and most certainly no treasures.”
“But he knows where to find them,” Morton continued, his face filled with bitter contempt. “He can go back at his leisure and collect the most fabulous treasures the world has ever known, and then he can sell them on the open market. At least, that's probably his plan.” He turned to Ravenscroft. “It is, you know! He means to trick us!”
“How dare you speak of my husband in such a manner!” Millicent replied.
“Ignore my associate,” Ravenscroft told her, “he sometimes allows his imagination to run rampant. It's just that he and I share certain concerns regarding your husband's plans. When Harold returns to South America to arrange for the full excavation of the site, we simply want to be included in his activities. Besides, it's not the treasures that interest me. It's two little stone tablets, and those he most certainly could fit into one suitcase.”
“I'm not sure that going back is his first priority,” she replied. “Gentlemen, you haven't seen my husband yet, but since his return he has seemed... different.”
“Different?” Ravenscroft asked. “How so?”
“Even Doctor Collins noticed it,” she continued. “He seems almost manic, as if some great calamity has taken root in his mind and refuses to leave his thoughts. He's distracted, he mutters to himself, and his eyes...” She paused for a moment, as if the mere thought of her husband's appearance was enough to send a shiver through her heart. “I know I'm being foolish, and I know it's him, it really is, but I swear it's almost as if he has been irrevocably changed. Whatever happened in that jungle, whatever he saw... I have never witnessed such darkness in a man's eyes. In addition, his hair, his beautiful blonde hair, has gone completely gray.”
Ravenscroft stared at her for a moment, before all three of them looked up at the ceiling. A creaking sound could be heard coming from the room directly above the hallway, as if footsteps were passing toward the far end of the house.
“Is that him?” Morton asked, with a hint of fear in his voice.
“What about the others?” Ravenscroft continued, turning to Millicent again. “Harold didn't go to South America alone. He had three other men with him, three good, strong men.”
“They have not returned.”
“When will they be coming back?”
“I don't...” She paused, with tears in her eyes. “I asked him the very same question, but he said to put them out of my mind. His exact words were... that the other men had reached the tomb with him, but that they had not survived. He would give me no further information, it was almost as if he was withdrawing into his own thoughts. I know it's a horrible thing to contemplate, but I think the other men might be dead. He also said not to expect coffins.”
“Those men have wives,” Ravenscroft replied with great concern in his voice. “Harold will have to tell the truth. They cannot just be forgotten.”
“And he'll have to reveal the location of the tomb,” Morton added. “The precise location, I mean. We're all equal partners in this expedition, we should share the treasures equally.”
“If your husband has truly found the lost
tomb of Ah-Shalla,” Ravenscroft said calmly, fixing Millicent with a firm stare, “then it is imperative that we send another team to confirm the discovery and begin to study the site. There is also the question of value, since there are likely to be some utterly priceless treasures, and the last thing we want is to have grave-robbers stealing them before we've had a chance to bring those items to England. I would remind you, Ms. Cathcart, that the tomb of Ah-Shalla has been reported to have been found before, only for complications to prevent a follow-up investigation. This time, with the amount of money we have put into this project, I am determined to -”
Hearing another creak from upstairs, he glanced at the ceiling again.
“Please let him rest,” Millicent pleaded after a moment. “I'm sure by the morning he'll be happy to meet you.”
“He seems to be moving around a lot up there,” Ravenscroft said sternly. “I'm sure he won't mind if we just -”
Before he could finish, a gunshot rang out from upstairs, followed by the sound of something hitting the floor.
“Harold!” Millicent screamed.
“Wait here!” Ravenscroft replied, racing up the stairs. As soon as he reached the landing, with the others in close pursuit, he hurried to the door that led into the study and tried to push it open, only to find that it had been locked from the inside. “Harold!” he shouted. “Open this door at once!”
“No,” Millicent whimpered, with tears in her eyes as she ran to join him. “Please, no...”
“Do you have a key to this door?” Ravenscroft asked.
“Please...”
“Do you have a key, woman?” he shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders.
“He has the only key,” she stammered, as tears ran down her cheeks.
“Stand back,” Ravenscroft continued, pushing her away and then taking a step back from the door. He paused for a moment, as if he was sizing up the best angle of attack, before finally rushing forward and using his shoulder to smash his way into the room. The door immediately broke, with the two main panels crashing to the floor.
“Harold!” Millicent screamed.
Stopping suddenly, Ravenscroft saw to his horror that Harold Cathcart's body was sprawled on the carpet, with one side of his head having been blown away. In the dead man's hand, there was a revolver.
“No!” Millicent shouted, rushing across the room before Ravenscroft grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
“No good will come of a display of emotion,” he said, his voice trembling as he stared at the bloody mess. “You must pull yourself together and not be weak.”
“Oh Harold,” she continued, dropping to her knees and starting to sob. “Why would you do such a thing? Harold, why...”
Ravenscroft turned back to look at Morton for a moment, before glancing back down at Millicent. “Did he by any chance leave a map?” he asked finally.
He waited for a reply, but Millicent was wailing as she crawled to her dead husband and laid her head on his chest.
“Did he leave a map?” Ravenscroft asked again, his voice trembling with barely-contained anger. “This is vitally important, woman. You must tell me, did he leave a map or otherwise indicate where, precisely, he had found the tomb of Ah-Shalla?”
“Oh Harold,” she sobbed, clutching at his body.
“A map,” Ravenscroft scowled, grabbing Millicent's arm and pulling her around to face him. “He must have left some indication! Where is it? For God's sake, woman, pull yourself together and answer the question!”
“There's no map,” she whimpered. “He didn't say a word to anyone. It was all in his head!”
“Then it's lost again,” Morton muttered, still standing in the doorway. “All that money, down the drain. He found the tomb, and now he's taken its location to the grave with him. The curse has struck again.”
“No,” Ravenscroft said firmly, pushing the woman back down before turning and heading to the suitcase that sat waiting on a nearby table. “I cannot allow this to happen. I will not rest until the lost tomb of Ah-Shalla has been found and its treasures are ours, even if I have to go there myself!” Opening the suitcase, he began to rifle through its contents, tossing clothes aside with trembling hands until finally he realized that he wasn't going to find what he was looking for. “The tablets,” he whispered, “he didn't find them.” He turned and watched for a moment as Millicent Cathcart sobbed against her husband's dead body. “If he found the tomb,” he said finally, “why would he come away without the stone tablets? What is it about that place that drives men mad when they find it?”
Chapter One
Today
In the dream, she was sitting on the porch of her grandparents' old house, eating marshmallows and watching as the dog played with the sprinkler.
Although the scene seemed perfect, she knew deep down that something was wrong. There was a faint sense of fear pressing at the back of her mind, a nagging sensation urging her to look again at the details, but so far she'd been able to focus on other things. Chewing on another piece of marshmallow, she watched as the dog approached the sprinkler for the hundredth time, reaching out a paw as if it had finally come up with a plan before running back as soon as it felt water on its face. For a moment, the confused pup looked over at her, hoping that she'd help.
“Go on,” Charley said with a smile. “Keep at it.”
And so it began again: the dog approached the sprinkler again, as if it had forgotten all its previous attempts.
Biting on another piece of marshmallow, Charley frowned as she tasted something bitter in her mouth. She reached up and took the piece out, only to find that the marshmallow's center was filled with a kind of dark, gummy paste. Spitting the rest onto a plate, she reached over to the bowl and took another piece, popping it into her mouth only to find that this one was even worse. Again she spat it out, but the foul taste wouldn't leave her mouth and she looked over at the lemonade jug, only to see that it was empty.
On the lawn, the dog barked.
“Yeah yeah,” Charley muttered, trying to wipe the foul paste from her mouth. “Very funny, but -” Pausing, she felt the foul taste getting worse and worse, and finally she began to spit strange, stringy items into the palm of her hand. “What the hell?” she whispered. “What -”
And then she woke up.
Opening her eyes suddenly, she stared up at the fabric above her head and saw the outline of the sun beyond. A moment later, she heard laughter from nearby. Turning, she saw that Martha was on the other side of the tent, clearly highly amused by something. Reaching up to her mouth, Charley realized there was something brittle and moist on her lips. Wiping it away, she sat up and saw to her horror that several torn spider legs were on her hand.
“Tasty?” Martha asked.
“What the hell?”
“I'm sorry, I suppose I should've woken you, but it was so hypnotic watching that damn spider crawling slowly up your neck and then onto your chin, and then closer to your mouth, and then you started licking your lips...”
“Marshmallows,” Charley replied, staring at the remains of the spider before turning and spitting a couple more legs onto the floor. “I dreamed I was eating marshmallows.” Grabbing a bottle of water, she swilled her mouth out before taking a couple of swallows. Still, she felt as if she could feel several sharp little legs in the back of her throat.
“It was actually a green-back Harper's spider,” Martha explained, still grinning. “They're inquisitive little buggers, but they don't usually crawl right into human mouths. I mean, on the evolutionary scale, that's not exactly a smart move, is it?”
“It's disgusting,” Charley muttered, looking around for anything that might help take the taste away. “Did you really just sit and watch it happen? It could've been poisonous!”
“Not the green-backed ones. Now, if the little stripe on its back had been red, you'd be in trouble and you'd probably end up with consumptive diarrhea, and if it'd been a kind of clay-brown color, then you'd probably be dead by now sinc
e the venom would have induced extreme arrhythmia. In other words, your heart would have sped up and sped up until it burst. But don't worry -” Setting her book down, she turned and crawled toward the entrance. “The green ones are fine, they just taste a little funky.” She stopped and smiled at Charley for a moment. “Not a fan?”
“I just can't wait to -” Charley began, before catching herself just in time.
“Can't wait to what?” Martha asked.
“Nothing.”
“Get back to England and jump into a clean, safe bed again?”
“I didn't mean it like that.”
“Yes you did.”
“No, I just...”
“Then change your vote,” Martha continued, suddenly seeming more serious. “It's been three-two for the past few days in favor of pushing on through the jungle. All it takes is for one person to flip from Yes to No, and we can start the journey home. Easy, huh?”
Charley shook her head.
“Is that because you want to keep going, or because you don't want everyone to think you're weak? I mean, if your father found out that you -”
“I'm not changing my vote.”
“So you're happy staying out here, trudging through the South American jungle and eating gross night snacks?”
“It was just a one-off,” Charley replied, wiping her mouth again.
“A two-off, actually. The same thing happened a few days ago, but that time you didn't wake up.”
“Seriously?”
“Relax, hazard of the job. Or didn't Daddy warn you about things like that when you begged him to let you come with us? Did he make the whole thing out to be some kind of Indiana Jones trip with a few added bush-tucker trials?”
“We should get outside,” Charley muttered, grabbing her shirt and slipping it over the bra she'd worn while she was sleeping. “Anyway, if you're so keen to get out of here, why don't you change your vote? Chris listens to you more than he listens to the rest of us.”
