by Amy Cross
“Daniel, please,” Joe stammers, “I'm sorry, I just needed the money...”
“You betrayed me?” I ask, feeling a sense of genuine horror rising through my chest.
“I heard Sir John's men talking,” he continues, “and then one of them recognized me, and he knew that we were friends... I was supposed to get close to you, maybe talk to you and lull you into a false sense of security, but I couldn't do that. I just couldn't bring myself to take advantage of our friendship.”
“So you decided to knife me in the back instead?”
“You'd never have known that it was me,” he groans. “Daniel, try to understand, Sir John said he'd help me get more -”
Twisting the knife again, I bring another scream from his lips, and I can't quite hold back: I turn the knife again, and now his scream is even more raw and high-pitched. I could finish the bastard right now and leave him bleeding in the shadows, but finally I realize that Elizabeth would hate to see me do such a thing. Despite the fury in my chest, I pull back, while still holding his bloodied knife in my right hand.
“If I ever see your face again,” I tell him, “I will kill you. Is that understood?”
“Daniel...”
“Is that understood?” I shout.
“I swear,” he stammers, clutching his bleeding shoulder as he drags himself away from me. “It was just money, Daniel. You have to understand, he offered me more than I'd make in six months, and he said that if I refused... Sir John's not the kind of man I can afford to have as an enemy.”
“I knew he wanted me out of the way,” I reply, “but I didn't know he'd take such a direct approach. And I certainly never thought that my own friend would take his filthy pay.”
I watch for a moment longer as Joe continues to crawl away, and then I head back in the other direction, making for the edge of the forest that leads out of the village. If Sir John Marringham hired Joe, then it's quite possible that there are other rogues who'll make an attempt on my life, so I need to keep my profile low for as long as I can manage. It'll take a while to get all the way out to Blackwych Grange, but there's a danger that I might run into some more hired thugs.
Reaching around, I check the wound in my back. Despite the pain, the knife seems to have caused little damage, so I quickly turn and hurry away through the darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Six
By the time I get to the house, night has fallen. Blackwych Grange has always been an eyesore, dominating the landscape for miles around, but tonight the place looks especially ugly. A bright moon hangs in the sky above, casting its brightness across the building's slate roof, while the trees at the edge of the garden all look to be curling inward slightly, as if slowly tightening their grip on this wild and nightmarish house.
The house that claimed Elizabeth.
She always told me that Blackwych Grange had a life of its own, that anyone who spent too long here would lose their mind. I dismissed such ideas as nonsense, at least initially, but over time I came to see how the place changed her. It was almost as if her eyes began to darken slightly, and she became more nervous. Now, as I make my way through the shadows and approach the foot of the main steps, I can't help thinking that perhaps it is not enough to punish Sir John Marringham for Elizabeth's fate. Perhaps I should burn the house to the ground.
As I edge closer to the door, I hesitate for a moment. I do not wish to announce my arrival, in case Sir John is able to fight back. If the man is craven enough to send my oldest friend after me, armed with a knife, then I have no doubt that the bastard would spare no time in killing me with his bare hands. Making my way around the side of the building, I peer through the windows and see nothing but dark rooms inside. This might be my last night of freedom, if I kill Sir John and face arrest, but at least I know that I am doing the right thing.
Reaching the rear of the building, I walk toward the rear steps and then I stop again, watching the doors ahead.
I slip my hand into my pocket, double-checking that the knife is still there. I have the second knife, too, the one that Joe used against me.
The pain in my back is intense, but I shall not be detained.
Taking a step forward, I approach the door. A moment later, however, I stop as I hear a faint scratching sound over my shoulder. I turn and look across the dark garden, and although I see no sign of anyone, the sound persists and seems most unnatural. Instinctively, I make my way back down the steps and stop for a moment, listening as the sound fills the night air. After a few seconds, there comes a faint and distant banging noise, and I'm more convinced than ever that there must be someone out here with me.
Another would-be assassin, perhaps, waiting to strike me if I get too close to the building.
“Who are you?” I whisper, not daring to raise my voice too high, in case I disturb the house's occupants. “What is your business?”
I wait, but the scratching sound continues and finally I make my way cautiously across the grass. I take one of the knives from my pocket, ready to defend myself in case some thug suddenly rushes at me, but by the time I get to the gravestone I am more certain than ever that the sound seems close but muffled.
I stop and listen, and after staring at the dark trees for a few seconds, I slowly look down at the moonlit grass beneath my feet.
The sound is coming from far below.
I tilt my head slightly, unable to believe what is happening.
Elizabeth's grave.
Something is scratching and banging in Elizabeth's grave.
Dropping to my knees, I place my hands against the grass. I feel nothing, of course, but the sound persists and slowly I lean down until I am certain that the sound is indeed coming from beneath the soil.
“Elizabeth?” I whisper, shocked but also certain that I cannot simply leave the scene.
I wait a moment longer, hoping that some other possibility might become apparent, and then finally I set the knife aside and start digging with my bare hands. The soil is rough and still fairly loose, which makes it easier to pull up large chunks. I keep telling myself that this is madness, that my addled mind is playing tricks on me, yet the sound is continuing and I find that I'm digging faster and faster. In my desperation, I take hold of great clumps of soil, casting them aside as I work with great fury. I keep telling myself to be rational and calm, but some deeper part of my soul cannot keep the hope suppressed.
“Elizabeth?” I stammer, pulling out yet more lumps of soil. “Please, Elizabeth...”
It takes several more minutes before my fingertips brush against the coffin's wooden lid. More than ever, the sound is clearly coming from inside, so I throw more dirt aside until finally I find that a wooden pipe is protruding from the top of the coffin, running all the way up to the side of the gravestone, as if somebody thought to provide a source of air. The coffin's lid is cracked, too, with the wood bulging slightly upward. I can only think that somehow rats have been left inside with Elizabeth's body.
Jumping down into the hole, I dig my feet into the mud, straddling the coffin. Instinctively, I reach down to pull the lid aside, but at the last moment I hesitate. Do I really want to see my dear Elizabeth in such an awful state, perhaps with rats gnawing at her bones? I pause for a moment longer, before realizing that whatever foulness has been left inside the coffin, it is not something I can bear to witness. Better to remember Elizabeth as I last saw her, than to see what has become of her.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper. “Forgive me, but -”
Suddenly there's a loud, rabid grunt from beneath the lid, and the entire coffin shudders.
I step back, shocked, but the grunt returns and this time I can tell that something is trying furiously to force its way out.
“This cannot be,” I whisper, but my heart is pounding and I know now that I must see what is happening for myself.
With a knife in one hand, lest I need to defend myself against a pack of rats, I reach down and take hold of the lid's edge. I adjust my grip for a moment, yet still I cannot
quite bring myself to -
Suddenly the lid jolts up and half-open, and the grunts from inside the coffin seem louder than ever. I pull back yet again, just as a bare hand reaches out into the moonlight. Too shocked to react, I stare in horror as the hand fumbles with the lid, which finally creaks open a little further to reveal a frail and bloodied woman, naked and covered in cuts and bruises.
“No,” I stammer, “wait -”
Before I can say another word, Elizabeth lets out a choked scream and lunges at me, wrapping a bony hand around my throat.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
With one arm wrapped around her chest from behind, to hold her still, I drag Elizabeth kicking and screaming from the grave. Her voice is so raspy and damaged, she can barely conjure more than a loud hiss, yet still I worry that she might be heard by somebody in the house. Determined to get her to safety, I pull her toward the trees and then into the undergrowth, while still attempting to keep her from attacking me.
“Elizabeth, please,” I stammer, “you must -”
Suddenly she bites me, digging her teeth hard into my wrist. I flinch at the pain, but I manage to keep my grip and drag her further and further from the house. Moonlight is sparse under the canopy of the forest, so I can barely see her at all now, but her furious struggles continue and it seems as if she has been driven entirely mad. Finally I twist her around and force her to the ground, positioning her so that I can make out her face in a rare moonlit patch, and now at last – as I hold her in place – I am able to see the full horror of her ravaged features.
My dear Elizabeth is more ghoul than woman. Her flesh has retreated and tightened, clinging to the bones of her face and leaving her eyes larger than before. Her lips appear to have been badly torn, while there are scratches seemingly on every inch of her bare flesh. Still she struggles to push me away, yet her strength seems to be fading now, and her eyes are fixed on me with no hint of recognition at all. And yet despite this terrible state into which she has fallen, it is most definitely still her.
Still the girl I love with all my heart.
“Elizabeth,” I say again, “please, you must tell me what...”
My voice trails off.
It is already clear what happened to her.
That bastard John must have buried her alive, leaving a pipe for air. Evidently he could not bear to allow her a quick death; instead, he wanted her to starve and lose her mind in the darkness of the coffin, and she must have been down there for a few days now. Chunks of flesh are missing from her arms, while blood is smeared on her chin, and I fear that in her mania she has resorted to eating her own flesh in a desperate attempt to stay alive.
She lets out another rasping, choked gurgle, but her madness is evident and I fear I know what I must do.
I must end her misery, the way one would end the misery of a sick animal.
“Elizabeth,” I continue frantically, “can you hear me? Please, just give me one sign, just enough to show me that there's still hope.”
Her struggle abates a little, but her wild staring eyes show no hint of recognition.
“It's me,” I tell her. “Do you remember? It's Daniel. Elizabeth, please... It's Daniel!”
I wait, but after a moment I realize that something about her fearful eyes seems very different. The more I look at her, the more I see that her stare is darker somehow, as if the flesh around her eyes has begun to blacken. It's as if she has seen something so shocking, so horrific, that her eyes have begun to die. After a few seconds, realizing that her lips are twitching and that she seems to be whispering to herself, I look down at her belly and see that her hands are fumbling with a series of white objects that appear to have been dug into the flesh just above her crotch.
“What are those things?” I whisper, looking at her face again. “Elizabeth, please... What did that bastard do to you?”
I let go of her shoulders, although I'm ready to push her back down if she attacks me again. Moving around her, I watch as her fingers continue to brush against the white objects, and finally I see that several little pieces of bone have been driven into her belly. At first I assume that she's trying to pull them out, but slowly it becomes clear that she's actually trying to push them deeper, as if she wants to force them inside her body.
“Put him back,” her rasping voice whispers. “Put him back where he's safe.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, reaching down to pull one of the chunks of bone away. “Elizabeth, what -”
“Put him back!” she hisses, pushing my hand aside. “He'll be okay if he's inside again! That's where he's safe!”
Shocked, I watch for a moment as she tries to slide the pieces of broken bone back into place. The bones are small, with sharp and splintered edges, but finally I notice that one is slightly curved. While Elizabeth focuses on several other pieces, I move my hands down her belly and gently ease the curved bone out of place. I am no expert in these matters, but I cannot help noticing that this particular piece of bone looks like the eye socket and cheek of a baby, albeit with cuts and scratches all over the -
“No!” Elizabeth hisses suddenly, grabbing the piece from me and immediately starting to gouge it back into her flesh. “He's going back inside! He's going back into me, so I can put him together again!”
I pull back, shocked by the sight of her frantic efforts. After a moment I see that the area between her legs is ravaged, as if at some point something was torn from her body. Although I can scarcely believe such a thing, it is becoming clear that my dear, beloved Elizabeth gave birth to a child.
“He's going to be okay,” she whimpers, with tears running down her cheeks as her trembling fingers push the shards of bone into her belly. “I just have to get him inside again, and then he'll be okay.”
She's lost.
The certainty hits me with a heavy weight of grief. Any hope I might have felt when I found Elizabeth alive, any belief that I might save her...
Gone.
She's mad now, and there's only one kind thing I can do for her.
I look down at my hand, and in the mottled moonlight I'm just about able to make out the knife's blade.
“Dear Lord,” I whisper, “forgive me for what I am about to do. Take her into your protection, that she might find peace and sanity in the next life.”
Elizabeth doesn't even seem to notice as I move behind her. She's so engrossed in her work with the bones, I'm able to raise the knife and place the blade gently against the side of her neck. I have never killed anyone before, but I have seen men fight and I believe a simple cut from ear to ear should end her life with as little pain and suffering as possible. I must make sure that I drive the blade deep, and then I shall hold her firmly as the blood flows. The whole thing should be over in a matter of minutes, and then finally she'll be at peace.
Yet I cannot.
As a cold night's breeze blows around us, Elizabeth continues to mutter to herself, and her hands tremble as she tries to push the pieces of bone deeper into her belly. I remain in place behind her, with the knife pressing against her throat. She hasn't noticed what I'm doing at all, but at the same time I cannot bring myself to end her life. And so we sit here like this until the first rays of dawn begin to light the scene, warning us that we must get away from this place at once before we're spotted by someone from the house.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“I need to clean you,” I whisper, holding the wet rag closer to Elizabeth's bloodied belly. “Please, I... For the journey ahead. You can't stay like this.”
We're in a barn at the edge of the village. Since Joe betrayed me last night, I feel as if there is no-one I can trust. Sir John Marringham must have seen the empty grave this morning, which means he will undoubtedly have sent somebody to find us. After all, money buys power in this county, and he'll have no shortage of dull little barbarians willing to take his coin in exchange for a few dirty deeds. I need to get Elizabeth as far from this wretched place as possible, but first I must make her pre
sentable for the journey.
“Please,” I continue, watching as her bloody fingers prod at the chunks of bone that still protrude from her belly. “Let me do this for you.”
She doesn't reply, doesn't even respond, so I simply begin to wipe her hands. At least she makes no effort to push me back, and much of the blood dribbles away as it mixes with the cold water. I know I shan't be able to clean her entirely, but at least I can fix her up so that I can get her away from here. For that, I'll need a horse, which most likely means stealing from one of the nearby farms. I've never stolen anything in my life, but I cannot allow Elizabeth to fall back into the clutches of her uncle.
May the Lord have mercy upon both our souls.
“He was thrown to the dogs,” Elizabeth whispers suddenly, with tears running down her cheeks as she holds a chunk of bone in her trembling hands. “A pack of wild dogs he'd lured to the grounds, but... But he'll be alright again soon. He was alright while he was in me, so he has to go back. He'll be fine.”
Staring at the bone, I see that there are lots of grooves and scratches, and I suppose they could certainly have been caused by the teeth of a dog as it tore a child apart. The thought is too hideous to contemplate, and I try to tell myself that even Sir John would not go that far. At the same time, at the back of my mind, I know that the man's cruelty knows no bounds.
“Let's just get you cleaned up,” I tell her finally, holding back tears as I start wiping her hands again. Perhaps there is no need to hear the horrific details. The future is more important. “You'll start to get better once I take you away from this place. I promise, Elizabeth. Everything will be okay soon.”
***
“You're lying!”
Slamming Joe against the wall again, I tighten my grip around his throat.
“I know Sir John has sent word that Elizabeth is to be returned to him,” I say firmly, “so don't even try to deny it. That man would never, ever just let her go. And since he put you in his employ the last time, I'm assuming you're on his side again. So tell me what you know of his plans, or I swear to God I'll gut you like a fish!”
