Devil's Island

by Mark Lukens

  Warren wasted no time; he started sawing at a link in the chain with the hacksaw, pulling and pushing with a rabid ferocity.

  It was just a hallucination, Nigel told himself again as he set the containers of salt down in the weedy pavers in front of the gate. He had leaned the piece of plywood against the bars already and it almost tipped over from a gust of wind.

  Warren didn’t seem to notice the gusts of wind or the rain, not letting it distract him from his task of sawing that chain apart, that one link that could free them. The physicist kept his eyes down on the chain—his point of focus. His mouth was a slash of concentration on his face, his forearm muscles standing out like cords underneath his dark skin, his movements like a machine … a piston rocking back and forth. He didn’t stop to take a break or cuss the toughness of the chain or waste time with despair … all of his energy was poured into this task. Nigel imagined that this was how Warren approached physics problems, with a singular focus like this.

  It’s just a hallucination from the toxic gasses, Nigel told himself as a bolt of lightning lit up the world for a moment and he saw the group of dead people waiting in the weeds and tall grasses—at least two dozen of them—all of them just standing there watching. Their heads and bodies were caked with mud that the rain was beginning to wash away. Their rotting clothing was torn apart, hanging off of them in strips of tattered cloth. Their eyes and teeth seemed almost luminous in the sudden light, their mouths hung open.

  It’s just a hallucination … just a hallucination … justahallucination …

  Snap! The link of chain Warren was sawing broke apart and the chain fell instantly slack, but it was still wrapped around the bars. Warren pulled it all the way free and slung it away into the darkness.

  Nigel stared at Warren as he looked beyond the gates at the group of standing dead men out there waiting for them.

  “You see them too?” Nigel asked.

  Warren just nodded. He reached out to pull the gates open, not wasting time with talk.

  “Wait!” Nigel said. “The piece of plywood. And the salt.”

  Warren nodded. “Oh yeah.” He grabbed one of the containers of salt and poured a large circle of the salt just off of the pavers. Once the gates were pulled open he would be behind the iron gate, protected slightly—although the dead would only have to come around the gate to get to him.

  Nigel poured a circle of salt for himself, going around the circle several times, using all of the salt in the container. He stared down at the circle as the rain washed it away. He looked at Warren at the other side of the gates standing next to his own circle and he could practically read the thoughts in the man’s eyes: What happens if the rain washes all of the salt away?

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Shane and Kristen ran through the kitchen towards the basement doorway which was now a black rectangle of darkness that looked like a mouth inviting them down into the beast’s throat. Shane shined his flashlight beam down the basement stairs. He went down first, moving as quickly as he could, yet not too fast—he didn’t want to fall down these steps.

  The wood creaked beneath his weight. The walls seemed to groan more as they ventured down into the manor’s depths.

  At the bottom of the steps Shane took a moment to shine his light around. To their left, the basement disappeared into the darkness, but Shane knew that Nick, Laura, and Billy had gone to the right … to the older part of the basement where the concrete and block walls gave way to stacked stone walls blackened by leaky mortar and mold over the years.

  They found Billy’s camera in the older section of the basement … and then his flashlight … and then a spray of blood across the stone floor.

  “Oh God,” Kristen whispered. “It got them.”

  “No,” Shane said. He couldn’t explain it to Kristen, but he could still feel Laura, he could tell that she was still alive. It was almost like she was a beacon reaching out to him; a weak beacon, but still a beacon.

  And if Laura was still alive, that had to mean that Nick was still alive.

  “I don’t think it got Nick and Laura,” Shane said.

  “But … the blood …”

  “I think it just got Billy. I don’t know how I know, I just do.”

  Kristen nodded as she stared at Shane. “I feel them too.”

  She understood, Shane thought. Kristen was having the same psychic feelings like he was. Maybe they all were psychically sensitive while they were here in the Thornhill Manor. Maybe everyone had these abilities hidden deep down inside of them, but it took a place like this to draw them out.

  Shane figured the reason that Kristen was down here with him was because she felt some degree of responsibility for her uncle’s behavior and the weight of correcting the wrongs fell on her shoulders. He wished he could tell her not to bear the burden of her uncle’s actions. He wished he could comfort her, but they didn’t have the time right now.

  “Come on,” Shane said and he moved past the smears of blood on the floor. Kristen was right behind him, huddled up close to him. They went into the oldest section of the basement that consisted of stacked stone walls that formed a dugout room.

  Then they saw it—the doorway. The wall of stones had crumbled away, piled up on the floor in front of what looked like the opening of a tunnel in the wall.

  Shane stared at the opening into the tunnel for a moment, shining his light inside. The light beam only penetrated the darkness so far, and the tunnel seemed to go on forever, descending down like a tunnel to hell. He had a vision of the earthquake finally happening while they were in that tunnel, trapping them in there. He saw himself crushed under rock, in unbearable agony as he cried out into total darkness, each inhalation of air sucking up the last of the precious oxygen that was left in the small pocket of air among the collapsed rock. The vision seemed so real, it felt so real … like he was actually there in that moment, trapped.

  “Shane,” Kristen said.

  Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts and realized that Kristen was standing right in front of him, right in front of the opening, one leg already through the ragged hole in the stone wall. She was waiting for him to follow her. He hadn’t even seen her walk in front of him, trapped inside the prison of his own mind for a moment.

  For a moment he had been paralyzed with fear and he almost told Kristen that he didn’t think he could do this. He thought he had overcome his fears long ago; he thought he had proven that to himself over and over again by locking himself inside haunted houses and buildings, forcing himself to stay the night alone in those places—he thought he had finally faced the panic-inducing fears from the Cranston House; he thought those fears were long behind him … but they had come back in full force while here inside the Thornhill Manor.

  But he didn’t tell Kristen any of that. She was worried about her uncle … the things her uncle had done didn’t matter to her; the fact that her uncle was losing his mind from whatever presence that lived on this island didn’t matter to her … she still loved him and wanted to save him. And they needed to help Laura. Maybe Nick wouldn’t hurt her or kill her, but in his state of mind right now who knew for sure.

  Shane pushed his fears away and he followed Kristen into the tunnel of rock.

  They had to walk single-file, Kristen leading the way now with her flashlight. The tunnel of rock grew more cramped the farther they walked. The silence was deafening and it felt to Shane like they were inside a soundproofed room. The air was cold and thick and it seemed to have a slight metallic taste. He prayed that the batteries in their flashlights wouldn’t die down here and leave them stuck in the dark. He could hear Kristen’s labored breathing in front of him, her hiking boots scuffing along the rock floor. He could hear her breaths … quick like his. Maybe she could feel the pressure pushing down on her chest like he could.

  They descended deeper into the earth, farther below the manor through the twisting and turning tunnel, the rock walls squeezing in close for a few feet, then widening again to
a more comfortable space.

  Shane realized that they were far underneath the manor now, down inside the island. The being was down here. Maybe the being was this manor … or the island itself. He felt like they were venturing down its throat and into its belly. He couldn’t help seeing the manor … and now the island underneath it … like it was alive, somehow animated by this godlike being that the Thornhills had awakened a hundred and fifty years ago.

  Panicked thoughts began to race through Shane’s mind. What if Nick and Laura weren’t down here? What if this opening to the tunnel had been a ruse to get them down inside the depths of rock so Nick and Billy could seal it up somehow? He could see the two of them in his mind as they worked feverishly to seal the opening in the wall back up with stones and mortar. After he and Kristen finally turned around after hours of aimless wandering, they would return to find the opening sealed shut.

  Shane’s breathing was quickening and he could feel a bout of pure panic wanting to take over … and when they came up to a wall of rock that blocked their way, he knew his worst fears had come true. It hadn’t been wild imaginings; it had been a premonition of his and Kristen’s bleak future. It had been a warning.

  “The tunnel ends,” Kristen said in panicky disbelief. She turned around and stared at Shane with wide eyes. This area was big enough for them to stand side by side.

  Shane moved closer to the rock wall, running his hand along it. “Shit,” he said. “We have to go back. Maybe we missed some kind of tunnel off of this tunnel.” But he didn’t really believe that. He was really beginning to think that they had been tricked into entering this tunnel.

  Yet he couldn’t help feeling that Laura was down here. He could feel that beacon reaching out to him, drawing him closer. It was stronger than ever down here.

  “Wait,” Kristen whispered. “I hear something.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Warren pulled the gates open.

  The horde of zombie things, of unearthed dead people, moved closer, but they hadn’t rushed them yet. They were still waiting.

  Warren wrestled with the large piece of plywood, fighting the wind to get it into position to drop it down over the threshold and break the line of iron. The dead would be able to cross then, if Shane was right. Warren’s plan was to let the plywood fall down across the threshold and then rush back to his circle of salt behind the open gate.

  He looked at Nigel as he held the plywood upright.

  Nigel nodded his head … he was ready.

  Warren glanced back at the group of beings gathered together beyond the open gates, silhouettes in the darkness, thin shoulders slumped, emaciated limbs hanging down, skeletal hands clenching into fists, mouths agape, yellowed and jagged teeth in their jaws, scraggily hair and tattered remnants of clothing fluttering around in the storm winds. Their eyes almost seemed to glow with a dull yellowish light, a sickly luminance from whatever demonic spirits animated them.

  Warren let the plywood fall down and it plopped down like a drawbridge. He ran back for his circle of salt but he couldn’t find it. Had it completely washed away already from the rain?

  He spotted the discarded carton and then he saw the faint outline of the circle of salt among the weeds and grass, but it was dissolving fast. He hopped inside the ring of salt and turned around to look at what was coming, holding onto the bars of the gate. He didn’t want to, but he had to see.

  The zombies rushed inside the open gates.

  Nigel stood on the other side of the stone path inside his own circle of salt; he stood tall and poised, his head held high with English dignity, ready to face whatever consequences were coming their way without complaint, without whimpering.

  And Warren fed off of Nigel’s bravery, even if it was an alcohol-induced mock-bravado—a concern about his appearance right up to the end. Warren suddenly found himself standing taller and straighter as the dead people rushed right up towards them.

  He had hoped that the zombies would rush right on past them towards the Thornhill Manor. But they didn’t. Instead, they ran right towards him.

  This was it, Warren thought. His death was coming in mere seconds. In a moment he would be eaten or torn apart … but he knew that after those moments of pain and terror were over he would move on to another plane of existence. The consciousness, the soul … it didn’t die—it was energy in its purest form, and energy couldn’t be destroyed any more than it could be created. These zombies brought back to life by whatever controlled them were just displacements of energy. Warren was comforted by the fact that his consciousness was going to a different dimension, somewhere where his daughter was. He would find her somehow.

  Warren had a smile on his face as he thought about Erin.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  “Do you hear it?” Kristen asked Shane.

  Shane’s mind was buzzing with panic, but somehow the calmness in Kristen’s voice rocketed him back down to earth. He was the one who was supposed to be the expert here, the leader of this expedition. He was supposed to be comforting Kristen, not her comforting him. He needed to gather himself and show some resolve, die with some dignity if it came to that.

  Shane did his best to clear his mind, to concentrate on this sound that Kristen was hearing. He felt most of the panic and fear drain out of him like water pouring out of a cracked vessel and he cocked his head a little, concentrating and listening.

  And then he heard it—there was a shout coming from somewhere. Faint, but it was a shout. And then another shout. A male voice. But it wasn’t a scream of fear or pain. No, it was more like excitement, a whoop of delight.

  It was Nick yelling something. It had to be. But Shane couldn’t make the words out.

  Could the echo of Nick’s voice be traveling to them from somewhere far off?

  Or could this be a trick? Another apparition created by the being that ruled this island and this manor? Could this being be mimicking Nick’s voice just like it had mimicked Warren’s daughter?

  Shane heard Nick yell again. He could almost make out the words. He turned towards the sound. It seemed to be coming from behind the dead end they stood in front of, yet it also seemed far beyond the rock.

  “Turn off your flashlight,” Shane told Kristen.

  Kristen hesitated a moment, staring at Shane, her eyes big and round in the scant light from their lantern and flashlights.

  “Keep your finger on the button,” he told her. “But just shut it off for thirty seconds.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m looking for something.”

  “In the dark?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Kristen let out a long breath and then clicked her flashlight off.

  Then Shane turned his flashlight off. “It’s okay,” he whispered to Kristen. “I’m right here.” As frightened as he had been, it was somewhat comforting to have someone to console—a distraction to take his mind off of his own fears. She needed him to be brave for her; she needed his strength.

  She didn’t respond to his words, but he could hear her rapid breaths. He concentrated in the darkness, letting Laura’s beacon pull him forward. And then he saw it.

  “There,” he whispered. “You see it?”

  “I see it,” Kristen said.

  A crack of light shined in the darkness around the dead end, drawing a ragged arch … another doorway.

  Shane turned his flashlight back on and Kristen turned hers back on a second later. They shined their lights right at the dead end of rock. Except it wasn’t a dead end, it was some kind of door … if they could just find a way to get it open.

  “Help me find some kind of button or lever,” Shane told her.

  Kristen felt along the edges, digging her fingers into a crease in the rock.

  Shane ran his fingers down along the other side, and then he felt a depression in the rock, stuck his fingers inside and he felt something like a rock handle. He pulled back on it and heard a loud click from inside the rock.

  The door pus
hed open, swinging slowly towards them on some kind of hidden hinge, a faint light glowed from beyond it, shining a little brighter now. After they pushed the rock door open all the way and jammed it open with a rock they found just inside the doorway, they saw a wide set of stone steps leading down into the caverns and curving around a rock wall.

  Nick’s voice was clearer now. He was talking excitedly, his voice carrying easily now and bouncing off the smooth rock, but his words were still a little garbled.

  “Uncle Nick,” Kristen said and hurried down the steps.

  Shane followed her down the curving stone steps. He heard Laura’s voice along the way, her words clear now. “Nick!” Laura shouted. “You need to get out of there! It’s dangerous!”

  And then Shane heard the sound of splashing water.

  A moment later Shane and Kristen saw what Laura was talking about. The bottom of the stone steps opened up into a gigantic cavern the size of a supermarket. The ceiling, thirty feet above them, curved over top of them. The walls were smooth rock, like they had been eroded away by water over millions of years. Across the cavern, in the middle of it, was a wide stream of water—an underground babbling brook that disappeared into the darkness in the distance. But the water was dark and Nick was standing in it up to his knees.

  Nick beamed at them, not at all surprised to see them in the cavern. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. His gun seemed to have been forgotten in his hand.

  “I found it!” Nick yelled at them. “I finally found it!”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  “You have to get out of there!” Laura told Nick. She stood halfway between the bottom of the stone steps and the edge of the water, her bound hands hanging down in front of her. “It’s not safe!”

  Shane looked at Laura.

  She turned and stared at him and Kristen—not surprised to see them.

  “Come on, Laura,” Shane told her. “We need to go.”