by Anton Marks
“Girls someting a gwane.”
Suzy rapped on it again.
Her head snapped right and then left expecting something to materialize from the shadows but nothing did. She turned the door handle, leaned her back against it and looked in quickly to see what was happening.
The room was empty and all she could see was the gaping hole in the wall and the flickering of candlelight beyond.
“Y! Patra!” she called.
Her voice echoed hollowly in the room and the cavernous crypt beyond.
“Rass!”
Suzy gripped the door handle from behind and gently pulled it shut but didn’t let go. Her arms were trembling with an unseen pressure or just sheer nervousness. She soon understood why. Something was forcing its way through the cracks with the arachnid manner of a predator, expanding into her space with a menacing ponderousness melting anything synthetic in its way. Wispy caustic smoke with animal intent bellowed down the walls. Gasping, Suzy backed into the office. The entity reeked not just from her sense of smell but in her mind too. A psychic revulsion that left a dirty impression on her life force that would need some meditative cleaning to wipe. Spokes’ office was literally a breath of fresh air as she swung in and closed the door behind her. The image of the smoke thing making its way towards her, was still sharp in her mind. As an after thought she quickly removed her back from the door and stood instead at the neatly cut entrance that had been fashioned into the wall and which led down into the crypt.
The door wouldn’t stop it.
Then what?
She felt the eddies of heat from the candles streaming up from the caves on her back and the smell of burning vegetation like the dry breath of ancient skeletons.
The door stood unbreached.
Suzy hoped this was the end and whatever it was outside had decided to move on. She needed to keep the girls protected from the rear.
Silence.
And the feeling that she had imagined it all was creeping up on her slowly.
A powerful knock at the door startled her.
“Jesas.”
Suzy scampered backwards and drew both suntetsu in her fists, heart pounding, mouth dry, ready for the inevitable.
“Open the door bitch, I haven’t got all day.” The voice demanded.
Whatever that was behind the door, sounded exactly like Patra’s irreverent tones. Suzy knew it couldn’t be her. An icy finger crawled up her spine and gripped her insides. Whatever it was on the other side of that door, whatever evil thing that was lurking outside, needed her permission to get in, that was a fact.
“Guh fuck yuh mumah,” Suzy spat. “Yuh tek me fi fool?”
“Is that anyway to talk to your sister?” The voice boomed, its true malevolent self revealed.
The laughter that issued after that outburst made the hairs all over her body stand on end. Suzy shivered, imagining if she could put a voice to insect infested excrement that would be it. The thing slammed and rattled at the door as if it wanted to tear the door off its hinges.
“Open the fucking door you bitch!” it bellowed.
The urge to flee into the crypt was intense but she kept her composure, every muscle tense.
We need you to cover our backs.
Suzy would hold her ground until such time as she couldn’t.
Absently she pushed the desk closer to the door and then wedged the executive chair under its handle. Returning to the desk Suzy swept the accoutrements to the floor and sat on the table cross-legged with both suntetsu in front of her. The pounding at the door had stopped but that itch inside her skull that she couldn’t scratch remained.
21.
The Labyrinth under the Crypt
00.10
Both women hurried down the slope and along the path cut by hands that probably suffered and died down here. The route felt like they were walking into their own graves, both ladies footfalls echoing off the damp walls, hollowly. Dusty rocks littered the crypt’s floor and they took care evading them and each other. Still, it was an ample space allowing them to stand upright - the ceiling was a good five feet above them and with enough breadth that three medium built women could stand shoulder to shoulder. They were amazed at how light it was aided by the torches and natural phosphorescence of the walls but beyond that portions sank into gloom, completely engulfed in darkness. The walls and large portions above them were covered with pictograms and ancient writing etched into the bare stone. Patra ran her fingers against the smooth slightly moist rock and watched the route ahead wind its way deeper into this place. They navigated the path easily, their breath pluming with condensation in front of them, the temperature having dipped ever since they had come down here. The torches were set at the appropriate distance, trying not to allow even an inch of footpath to be free from illumination. They kept close and alert, overwhelmed somewhat with what they were doing and with the alien surroundings. Y rotated the katana in her palm, the sword felt like an extension of herself while Patra feeling her own heartbeat, the stones crunching under her feet, the long drawn out silence and the smell of the ancient while she clinked the brass knuckle dusters together in time with her steps. Both concentrating in their own way and visually mapping all the features that stood out for them in case they could prove useful.
No breadcrumbs for them.
“One way in, one way out,” Patra said in a whisper.
“I noticed. No chance of confusion if we need to get out quickly, then.”
“None.”
“Why you whispering?”
“Not sure about any stray bad guys hanging around. Why the hell you whispering?”
“Does this place fill you with the need for girly chit chat?”
“You damn right it doesn’t, it gives me the heebie jeebies.”
Y shook her head as they pressed on with renewed respect for Spokes’ sense of adventure. Discovering this place by accident was one thing but exploring its confines, researching its origins was something completely different. Y wondered how a place like this had never been stumbled upon by civil engineers, archaeologists or exposed by a World War II doodlebug. How many other places like this existed, protected by its own kind of magic?
Y shrugged to herself.
They walked for some time without a word exchanged between them. They could both feel a pervading sense of foreboding descending on them with every step of the way. Instinct was tugging at the deepest fears they held and the evolutionary trigger designed to preserve life was trying to do just that. Turning back was not an option, so the relief they felt was palpable when a stone corridor opened up into a much larger chamber with three darkened passages ahead. They walked in cautiously, thankful that Spokes had lit six torches that ran the circumference of the chamber, saving them from the choice of which passage to take next.
The way was lit.
Then a blood curdling scream slashed the silence into ribbons and pinned them to the floor.
The harsh sound echoed off the walls followed by a barrage of Jamaican expletives with an equally nerve shredding shriek from something they dared not put a name to. The girls picked up the pace. They chose not to think about what was beyond the opening and sprinted towards the end of the stone corridor.
The Crypt
Dance floor
00.10
Shaft had a smile on his face when he sat back down at his table and took a sip from his brandy. The DJ had played a tune from soul balladeer Eric Benet that he hadn’t heard for so long that he had to get up and dance. Well not strictly dancing, that usually involved moving from the spot you came to rest in but he did look good doing the Lean Back though. That was a proper dance for a DI, masculine with a bad bwoy edge to it. He smiled at the thought of meeting one of his superiors here while he was shaking his thang.
Not in a million years.
Leaning back into the leather he looked across the dance-floor and up at the dancers in the torture cages above the heads of the clubbers. His gaze shifted back to the immediate
area around him and especially where people stood chatting or dancing. He wondered how the girls were getting on and was glad the conclusion of the night had been uneventful so far. That was before the scream.
His stomach twisted.
Short, sharp and shrill.
Shaft’s neck snapped to the direction of the commotion and saw a young lady flashing her limbs in disgust. You know the kind of reaction to vermin some women have.
Exactly that.
He relaxed for a second and the untrusting soul that he was, began to look deeper into the gloom beyond where she had stood.
Damn.
Shaft stood up leaned forward, squinted and looked against the darkened wall and floor again. Someone screamed, a man jumped away, someone shivered and another kicked out in revulsion.
There were hundreds of them. They were hard to distinguish and seemed to perfectly blend with the darkness, scurrying in the umbra between the floor and wall. A procession of rats so black they absorbed the scant light, rendering them almost invisible.
Shaft shivered and he was not squeamish. Something more was at work here. That niggling feeling persisted and the conclusion of a sudden vermin infestation on such an auspicious night did not wash well with him.
Darkman.
Partygoers were moving away from the walls in clumps looking down at it with puzzlement, knowing something was there but unable to see exactly what it was.
Human nature at its most inquisitive wanted to know more even if there was a risk to life or limb. And that need to know was approaching at a break-neck speed for everyone to witness. Some big dude was sitting on his ass against the wall, a human bottleneck. Obviously he had too much to drink and was resting from all that dancing. He was about to get the scare of his life as the rodents with an uncanny sense of purpose scurried all over him in their hundreds. Something else was disturbing him though but it scurried away from his enquiring mind like a cockroach. Why was Darkman summoning theses rodents like some dark pied piper?
Something else, was up, he could feel it.
Shaft jumped to his feet, took a swig from his glass and started to frantically make his way through partygoers to get to big bwoy‘s position on the floor. He felt odd and expectant at the same time, wanting to get over to him and yank him to his feet so the rats could be on their merry way without his reaction of surprise.
Through a haze of perfume, Shaft burst through the last picket of bone, gristle and breast. He leaned forward with outstretched hand to the man on the floor.
“Let me help you up,” Shaft said.
Big bwoy looked at him as if he had seen a ghost, broke into a smile and then started to shake his head as if it was going to fall off.
“Who died and made you scout leader?” he slurred.
“That honor goes to me. I’m a bit of an egotist you see. Now take your lard ass up, shit for brains.”
Shaft reached down and tried to drag him from the wall by grabbing two fistful of his shirt and pulling but his weight held him in position.
Shaft glanced to his right and saw the dark blur skirting the perimeter of the wall with urgency, their approach unchecked.
“Get the fuck up,” Shaft shouted at him but this was much too funny a moment for big bwoy not to laugh at.
And he did, heartily.
Soon he wasn’t laughing and neither was Shaft. Big bwoy’s eyes bulged and his body jerked to a grotesque merengue sending waves through him like gelatinous surf. Blood erupted through his mouth and nose explosively and trickled through his ear. All his organs were pulverized to make way for the rats burrowing through him. Chunks of flesh and body fluid erupted over his ample chest, his white shirt dark red with oxygenated blood, his mouth open and drooling. The wall was a spray of crimson.
“Jesus H!” Shaft jumped back, horrified, catching sight of something. A tail, rows of razor sharp chitin daggers for teeth in a wildly exaggerated mouth, stumpy ripping claws glinting white and the eyes.
Christ Almighty, no eye balls, no lids, more like an open wound, smoldering red, like a furnace from the pyres of hell itself.
Safe to say these fucking things were not rats.
Panic followed.
The Labyrinth under the Crypt
00.30
Y and Patra sprinted out of the passage into a cavern, skidding to a stop as they tried to make sense of the surroundings. Patra poised in Thai boxing stance, gold knuckle-dusters up and Y with the katana, an extension of herself, tense as a coiled spring. Zephyr winds were twirling about the interior with no obvious means of origin. The cavern was huge. Above them was a unique honeycomb structure of stalactites that made you think it had been secreted by a spider as a means to trap human sized prey. The interior was lit by an eerie phosphoresce from up above, casting pools of shadow on the ground as the light passed through the reef of stalactites above them.
Fifteen torches were set around the perimeter with Spokes close to the cave’s rough hewn walls, condensation trickling down to the right and disappearing further into the ground. He was on his knees in the middle of a hurriedly drawn circle with a crusty wooden box beside him. He was rocking to and fro, mumbling to himself as if he had suddenly contracted autism but could multi task at the same time. He ponderously sprinkled a white dust into the gaps left around the circle made by the swirling winds. With tilted heads and blank stares, it was obvious that this scene had not been processed at all. Patra maintained her stance and Y kept her sword raised, unmoving. Then ever so slowly a realization of what this was and who they were up against started to needle into their consciousness.
This was it. The final confrontation but what were they fighting against or what were they protecting themselves against?
The spell broken, fascination transformed into a cautious saunter to where Spokes was genuflecting, still the need for urgency not foremost in their minds. The twirling winds literally approached them screeching, miniature dust devils twirling between them with a playful flourish and then heading towards the make-do circle with malicious and considered intent, erasing Spokes’ hard work. They were acting like pack animals, letting out howls of excitement obscuring him in fine dust, frustrating him to insanity.
The girls picked up the pace.
“Slick!” Patra called out a warning to him, not sure what the hell she was alluding to. “They coming from behind you.”
Spokes, startled, spun on his reinforced knee pads to face them, his eyes wide with terror as the whirl-winds attacked the circle en masse. They were snarling, howling, threatening like ethereal wolves or the spirit of wolves. What they lacked in teeth and claw they made up for in the ferocity of wind.
“Don’t stop walking towards me. Keep coming. Keep coming, yuh hear mi?” His fear transmitted across to them like a jolt of electricity through a vacuum and that galvanized them into a sudden burst of movement his way.
“Dem will try to suffocate yuh, overcome you if they can, don’t let them,” Spokes barked.
Y saw two break off from the pack, gleefully screeching its way towards them. She spun to her knees and let the momentum bring her back to her feet before she could complete a full circle. Her blade slashed through the twirling winds, once the then twice and the dust devils shrieked like dying things, a red tinge coloring the whirlpool of their innards.
“Stay in the circle whatever yuh do. The circle is our protection, yuh understand?” Spokes shouted.
The girls stopped suddenly maintaining balance by grabbing onto each other so they didn’t fall out of the five foot diameter circle. Spokes unceremoniously dumped small handfuls of white dust into Patra’s hands.
“They are ancient Mesopotamian dust demons,” he pointed to the twirling winds. “Keep the circle whole, nuh matter what dem little rass try to duh. This hex should calm dem blouse an skirt!”
Now they knew that Spokes’ insane mumbling was him chanting, completely alien words to them, but they could feel the power as he repeated the mystical stanzas over and over. For every mi
ni tornado that dissipated into the darkness another one took its place, much weaker but still hell bent on obliterating the circle and the one thing that could keep them alive it seemed.
Patra and Y worked ceaselessly, looking over to Spokes who was sweating, his overalls dusted with debris and his mouth rapidly spitting words of power.
Suddenly the winds shrank back.
Dust devils were either reconsidering their next strategy or losing power from Spokes’ incantations.
The girls caught a breath and immediately spat out a frantic stream of questions.
“What the fuck is going on?” Patra let the words out like a machine gun splutter. “What is all this?”
“He’s here,” Spokes said with an attitude of inevitability.
“Darkman.” Spokes pouted and pointed his lips to the ceiling as if he could not bring himself to point.
Reluctantly they looked up.
At first it was a blanket of black velvet. Nothing could be made out until your eyes started to discern patterns then depth and tone. A pin-prick of red light at first and then more and more until there was a sea of red specks blinking off and on.
The connection wasn’t made immediately, not until Spokes whispered to them.
“Dem a watch you, an’ me a watch dem.”
“Eyes,” Y murmured.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” Patra whistled with what sounded like admiration.
Hundreds of eyes greedily looked down at them from perches in the ceiling.
“Bats,” Y said not sure if she was asking or stating, having no knowledge of bat habitats to call on.
Patra wiped condensation from her arms.
“They are like no bats me ever see.” He shook his head wildly.
“Dem ting deh aren’t designed by nature, sister. They are dark pickney summoned by Enoch from below. They are scavengers with a taste for human flesh, fully under his control. The only reason why we’re alive is because of the light in here. They thrive in darkness.” Spokes shrugged. “Oh, and baby girl, that dripping on you is not water, dem hungry.”
