Tunnel of Bones

by Victoria Schwab

  It is a very sad story,” begins Adele, drawing Grim into her lap.

  “My great-grandfather Richard was ten when it happened. He was three years older than Thomas, and he was Thomas’s hero. They were close. Like this—” She crosses her fingers. “Thomas used to follow Richard around. And Richard let him. All summer,” she continues, “Richard and a few other boys had been sneaking down into the Catacombs at night.”

  “How?” asks Lara.

  Adele shrugs. “Now there is only one entrance and one exit, but there used to be more. If you knew how to look for them. Richard did.” Adele flashes a small, mischievous smile. “So they would sneak down in the dark.”

  Jacob and I both shudder a little at the thought of the Catacombs at night. The tunnel of bones lit only by candles or flashlights, some pale illumination that leaves the skeletons buried in shadow.

  “And Thomas wanted to go, too. He begged and begged until one night, Richard finally agreed to take him.”

  I glance at Jacob as Adele talks. His face is clouded, all the expression gone, as if his mind has wandered off while listening. But he must feel me looking because he blinks and cuts his gaze toward me, one eyebrow raised.

  “And so they went,” continues Adele, stroking Grim. “Thomas, Richard, and two of Richard’s friends. Down into the dark.”

  The cat is a puddle of black fur in her lap, the happiest I’ve seen him since getting to Paris. Adele must have a gift for befriending cranky cats.

  “The boys were always playing games, and so that is what they did. They played cache-cache. Do you know what that is?”

  I shake my head.

  “You call it hide-and-seek.”

  I jerk upright. “The counting!” I say, and Lara nods on the screen.

  “Quoi?” asks Adele, looking between us. “What?”

  “Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq …” recites Lara in her flawless French. “I couldn’t understand why he’d be going up instead of down.”

  “But if they were playing hide-and-seek,” I say, “and he was the seeker …”

  Adele nods eagerly. “Thomas was too small, too good at hiding,” she says, “so they made him search instead. He closed his eyes to count, and the other boys all ran and hid.”

  I imagine playing such a game down there, hiding, pressed against skeletons or climbing over bones, and I shudder.

  “Thomas was very good at finding the other boys, no matter where they hid,” Adele goes on. “So on the third game, Richard agreed to let his little brother hide.”

  My stomach twists as I realize where this is going.

  “Richard was the seeker,” says Adele, “and he found one of his friends, and then the other, but no Thomas. Richard searched for almost an hour, before he finally gave up. The boys were tired. They wanted to go home. So Richard called out, ‘Thomas, c’est finit’—‘it’s over’—but there was no answer, except for his own voice, echoing in the tunnels.”

  A shiver runs through me. If it were any other story, I might delight in the nervous thrill. But I have seen this small boy in his dirt-scuffed clothes. And I can picture him lost down there, hidden among the bones or wandering the tunnels, turned around, alone.

  Adele goes on. “Richard stayed down there all night, searching for his brother. But he couldn’t find him. Finally, he had no choice. He went home and told his parents, who called the police, and they organized a search.”

  I swallow hard. “Did they find Thomas? Eventually?”

  Adele nods. “They did,” she says slowly. “But by then it was too late. He was already …” She trails off.

  My chest tightens around the next question. “Where did they find him?”

  Adele hesitates, petting Grim. “He was very good at hiding. He had climbed into one of the little …” She hesitates, searching for the word, then makes an arch with her hand. “Coin.”

  “Nook,” translates Lara. “Like an alcove.”

  Adele nods. “Oui. That. Anyway, he climbed in, nice and small. But the bones around him were old, and sometimes …” She makes a small, collapsing motion with her hands. “They slip. Sections fall.”

  On the phone, Lara puts a hand to her mouth.

  “They found him, in the end, beneath the bones.”

  Jacob shivers a little, and I tense at the thought of being buried down there in the dark.

  “And Richard?” I ask.

  Adele leans forward over Grim—he doesn’t seem to mind—and taps a photo of the older boy, standing alone. There’s a sliver of empty space beside him, his arm faintly outstretched, as if Richard doesn’t know where to rest his elbow without his little brother’s shoulder.

  “My mother said he was always sad. He never forgave himself for losing his brother down there.”

  We sit in silence for several long moments. The only sound is the steady rumble of Grim’s purring.

  And as I turn the story over in my head, I realize, with grim dread, exactly what I have to do.

  “Don’t say it, Cass,” interjects Jacob.

  “We have to go back to the Catacombs.”

  Adele looks up from the cat, her face going white. “What?”

  Jacob groans.

  “Think about it,” I press. “Just because Thomas isn’t bound to one place, that doesn’t mean that place isn’t important to him. The Catacombs are where he died.”

  “Sure,” counters Jacob, “but he doesn’t remember dying there.”

  “Maybe not consciously,” I say, “but when he saw us, he was counting.”

  “So?”

  “So some part of him remembers playing hide-and-seek down there,” says Lara from my phone, “even if he doesn’t remember remembering. His memory of the Catacombs would probably have been one of the last things to go. Which means it will be the first to come back. It makes sense. It will be the easiest place to remind him.”

  I turn to the phone again. “Okay, Lara,” I say. “I’ll take it from here.”

  “Good luck,” she says, right before I hang up.

  “Does it have to be the Catacombs?” Jacob asks me. “Why can’t we pick a level playing field? Like a garden. A garden seems nice. And aboveground.”

  I wish we could do that. I really do. But I’ve wasted too much time trying to lure Thomas out, make him come to me, avoiding the simple truth: The Catacombs are where it started. It’s where it has to end.

  “You know I’m right about this.”

  “No, I don’t,” says Jacob. “There’s, like, a fifty percent chance you’re right, and a ninety percent chance this is going to go really wrong.”

  I smirk. “Only ninety?” I ask.

  “What is your ghost saying?” asks Adele, rising to her feet, the cat clutched against her front like a shield.

  Jacob crosses his arms, ignoring Adele. “What if Thomas doesn’t show up?” he asks me.

  But he will.

  I can feel it.

  The way I feel the tapping when ghosts are near.

  The way I feel the Veil against my fingers.

  “Fine,” says Jacob, “but how are we supposed to get back into the Catacombs? Last time I checked, your parents are done filming, the place is probably closed, and we’re leaving tomorrow.”

  My heart sinks.

  It’s not that I don’t have an idea.

  I have one, and it’s really, really bad.

  Jacob grimaces as he reads my mind. “Oh no.”

  The footage is stored in the dark metal briefcase.

  I crouch in front of it, hands resting on the clasps.

  “Adele,” I say, “I need you to go into the hall and keep an eye out.”

  She frowns. “How do you keep an eye?”

  “It’s an expression,” I say. “It means I need to you to keep watch. Tell me when the coast is clear.”

  “The coast? As in the sea?”

  I fumble for words, exasperated. “Just go stand in the hall, and knock on the door if you see my parents coming.”

  She sets
Grim down and goes outside, and I take a deep breath and release the clasps.

  “Wait,” says Jacob. “Look, you know I’m always up for a bit of bad behavior—”

  “No, you’re not,” I say. “You are a total wuss.”

  “Okay, no need for names. Just listen. There’s bad, and then there’s bad. And what you’re about to do is bad.”

  “I know,” I hiss. “But there’s also ghosts, and then there’s poltergeists. And what we’re dealing with,” I say, gesturing at the muted TV, “is a poltergeist.”

  On the screen, emergency vehicles surround a building that definitely looks like it’s on fire. A second later, the shot cuts away to a busy street, all the traffic stopped as maintenance crews try to get near a sparking power line.

  Jacob sighs, defeated, as I ease the lid up.

  The case is divided in two. Compact film reels are set into the black foam on one side, and digital cards are slotted on the other. Of course. The crew films both ways. Lucky for me, everything is carefully labeled, broken down not only by day but by location.

  The first reel has been labeled CAT. Short for Catacombs.

  I brush my fingertips across the label. The Catacombs are one of the most famous sites in the world. No ghost trip to Paris is complete without it. So if I destroy the footage from that session, then we’ll have to go back.

  Jacob clears his throat. “You know, I thought you climbing into an open grave and hiding beneath a corpse was a bad idea, Cass, but this is making that look positively sensible.”

  “I have to do this, Jacob.”

  “No, you don’t.” He crouches beside me. “This isn’t like what happened in Scotland. You’re not trapped in the Veil. You have a choice here. And when you think about it, this poltergeist isn’t really our problem.”

  “He is, though. And even if he weren’t, we’re the only ones who can send him on, Jacob. If we don’t do something, people could get hurt.”

  “We could get hurt!” says Jacob. I give him a measuring look. “Well, you could,” he amends. “Which is bad enough.”

  I rock back on my heels. “Spider-Man’s Law.”

  “What?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. With great power …” I trail off, waiting for him to finish the line.

  Jacob mumbles in reply. “… mums ray resons …”

  “What was that?” I press.

  He scuffs his shoe along the floor. “… comes great responsibility.”

  “Exactly.”

  Jacob shifts, sighs. “I can’t believe you Spider-Man’ed me,” he grumbles as I reach for the film.

  Jacob covers his eyes, as if he can’t look.

  Unfortunately, I have to.

  I solemnly swear that I am up to no good, I think as I pluck Catacombs data card from its slot in the foam and slip it into my back pocket.

  “Some days I really wish you were Slythercore instead of Gryffindot,” mutters Jacob.

  “No, you don’t,” I say, freeing the reel of film marked CAT. “And one of these days I’m going to make you read Harry Potter.” I turn the plastic case over in my hands.

  “How exactly are you going to explain the sudden destruction?” asks Jacob. “Are you going to blame the poltergeist? Think your parents will believe that?”

  I look at the label again, considering.

  CAT.

  Nearby, Grim stretches and yawns.

  “No,” I say, pulling the tape from the reels. “But cats are fond of ribbons, aren’t they?”

  Five minutes later, the stage is set, the damage is done. Adele comes in and says she can hear my parents on the stairs. I grab her by the arm and race out into the hall, determined to meet them on the way.

  “Oh, there you are,” I say as we run into them on the stairs. “We were just coming to find you.”

  “Everything okay?” asks Mom.

  “Yeah,” I say, a little too fast. “We were just getting hungry and wanted to know if we could order food.”

  “Sure,” says Mom as we turn around and start back up.

  I hold my breath as we climb the stairs.

  The last part of my plan rests on Jacob, or rather, on his growing powers.

  “You’re sure you’re strong enough to do it?” I asked, balancing the case on the edge of the table.

  “I think so,” he said. He reached out, eyes narrowed in concentration, and pressed one finger to the corner of the case. It tipped, ever so slightly, before regaining its balance.

  Now, as we reach the hall, I sneeze once loudly, the agreed-upon signal, and a second later—

  CRASH.

  The sound of a metal film case toppling.

  Mom bursts into the room, Dad right behind her. Adele and I linger in the hallway, but judging by Mom’s gasp of horror and Dad’s cursing, it worked.

  The scene stretches before us, a picture of destruction.

  Grim, jolted upright by the sound of the case, stares down at the mess on the floor in front of him. Only a few of the digital cards fell out of the case. The rest stayed lodged in their foam slots. The film reels weren’t so lucky. They roll away, tip over, most of them unharmed, but one lies ruined in the center of the scene, a mess of knotted film.

  “Bad cat!” shouts Mom, rushing forward.

  Grim leaps up onto the back of the sofa and glowers at me with his green eyes as if to say, Low blow, human. I silently vow to buy him a whole tin of catnip when this is over.

  “Mon dieu!” says Adele. I have to hand it to her, her face is a picture of surprise, whereas I just feel like throwing up.

  Jacob perches on the back of the couch, arms crossed, clearly torn between feeling annoyed at me and smug about his accomplishment. He settles for watching as the four of us search on our hands and knees, recovering all the spilled reels and the fallen data cards, fitting them back into the briefcase.

  Dad tries to feed the ruined film back into the plastic shell, but it quickly becomes obvious it’s not going to work.

  “Good thing there’s a digital backup,” he grumbles, but Mom only shakes her head.

  “It’s missing.”

  “What?” demands Dad, looking inside the case to confirm what I already know.

  They won’t find the Catacombs data chip there. Or anywhere.

  Dad’s face is red with anger, Mom’s pale and blotchy with distress, and there’s a storm inside my stomach as I remind myself that people’s lives are in danger. That I have to do the right thing, even if the right thing in this instance has a dose of wrong mixed in.

  Still, it doesn’t feel good.

  And I must look as bad as I feel, because Jacob doesn’t give me a hard time. Instead, he appears at my side and rests his shoulder against the air right next to mine.

  “Spider-Man’s Law,” he says as tears threaten to spill down my cheeks.

  I nod, silently promising that if this doesn’t work, I will find a way to make it up to them.

  All of them.

  Including the cat.

  “Hey,” I say, as if the idea has just occurred to me. “We don’t leave until tomorrow afternoon, right? So why don’t we just go back and film it again in the morning?”

  “It’s not that simple, Cassidy,” says Dad, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  My heart trips over its beat. “Why not?”

  Dad sighs. “The Catacombs are a public site. Admission is tightly controlled. We can’t simply come and go as we please. Pauline arranged our visit weeks in advance.”

  I look to Mom, but she’s already a step ahead, her cell phone pressed to her ear. I can only assume she’s talking to Pauline.

  “I know,” Mom is saying over and over, leaving us with only patches of silence to wonder what Pauline is saying. “Is there any way? All right.”

  She lets the cell slip from her ear with a shuddering sigh.

  “Well?” asks Dad.

  “She’s going to see what she can do.”

  So we do the only thing we can.

&nbs
p; We wait.

  Five agonizing minutes later, the cell rings, and I hold my breath as Mom answers. I watch her face, the tension finally replaced by a flood of relief. I feel it like fresh air in my lungs as Mom says, “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She hangs up, explains that Pauline, blessed, wonderful Pauline, has arranged for us to go into the Catacombs after hours.

  Tonight.

  “That’s great!” I say.

  “Yeah, great,” echoes Jacob. “Because the only thing scarier than being a hundred feet underground during the day is being there at night.”

  And even though Adele can’t hear what he said, she looks similarly unsettled by the idea of a trip to the tombs in the dark.

  My parents get dressed again in their on-screen wear, smooth their hair, and try to recover a semblance of calm as they wait for Pauline to arrive. But when Dad sees me pulling on my shoes, he shakes his head.

  “No, Cass. You and Adele stay here.”

  My stomach drops. “If you’re going back, I want to come.”

  “There’s no reason,” says Mom. “It scared you enough the first time, and—”

  “I won’t get in the way,” I promise. “Please.”

  “It’s not about you getting in the way, honey,” says Mom.

  “But you couldn’t wait to get out of there last time,” cuts in Dad. “Why the change of heart?”

  Well, I think, there’s this poltergeist I need to lure out so I can remind him who he is and how he died, then send him on before anyone else gets hurt.

  But I can’t exactly say that, so I take a different tactic.

  “The Catacombs are the kind of place most people only see once,” I say. “I don’t want to lose the chance to see them again. Even if they’re kind of scary. Besides, you gave me a job, to take photos. I want to do it.”

  I can see them bending, but I throw in one last angle. “Plus, I want to show Adele.”

  Adele looks at me with something less than enthusiasm, but I silently will her not to say anything.

  Mom sighs, but Dad only shakes his head and checks his watch. “If you’re coming, you should put on a jacket. It’s colder at night.”