Pitch Green

by The Brothers Washburn

  “I wonder how that got stuck in there,” Camm said as she bent to take a closer look at the stones.

  Cal jerked repeatedly at the sheet until it finally came free, tossing it away. He squatted to examine the point where it had been stuck. Camm shone her flashlight briefly at the sheet on the floor before turning to follow what Cal was doing.

  Suddenly, she froze as a serious chill ran up and down her spine. Slowly, she turned her head, training her flashlight on the crumpled sheet. Goose bumps sprang up on her arms. She knew exactly what she was looking at.

  “Cal!” she whispered, hoarse urgency in her voice.

  He turned. “What?”

  She pointed at the sheet.

  He walked over and picked it up. “What?” he repeated, shrugging as he held out the sheet to Camm.

  She stepped closer, hesitated, and then pointed at two black spots at the edge of a big brown stain. Cal took a closer look, holding up the sheet, his flashlight shining on it. He gasped, his eyes went wide, staring at two black spots that weren’t spots at all, but holes. Two holes were cut into the sheet just far enough apart to fit over a small boy’s eyes.

  “Cal, that’s Hughie’s sheet, his costume, the one he was wearing when he disappeared!” Camm touched the rust colored stains. “I think these stains are dried spots of blood.”

  Cal’s eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed until his eyebrows almost met. He stared without responding, lips drawn into thin straight lines. Camm had not seen this expression often, but when she did, she knew Cal was extremely serious, or very angry. Or both.

  “Cal,” she said, “I think this is—”

  Cal waved his hand, cutting her off. Taking the sheet in both hands, he studied the rust-colored stains and the holes. His gaze slowly went from the sheet to Camm. All the amazement and fun he’d been having exploring the mansion had dissipated. He did not need to say a word; his face screamed seriousness.

  “This is evidence that links Hughie’s disappearance with the mansion,” Camm whispered, excitedly. “We need to call Agent Allen. She can come back now. Cal, this is a lead. Our first real lead in understanding what happened to Hughie!”

  Camm was pretty sure Agent Allen would be upset about them exploring the mansion on their own without permission. But the agent wouldn’t mind one bit once she knew about the evidence they had found. The answer to the missing children was here—it had to be!

  Cal ignored what Camm was saying and tossed the sheet down in disgust. Striding with purpose over to the wall where the sheet had been stuck, he bent down to examine the stones again, holding his light close to the wall.

  Most of the time, Camm took the role of leader in their partnership, but when Cal was in this mood, she knew no one could tell him what to do. Determined and focused, he was going to do whatever he was going to do, no matter what Camm thought or said.

  “Cal,” she asked tentatively, “what are you looking for?”

  “How did that sheet get stuck here between the stones? You can’t push it in. This has to be a panel or door of some kind.”

  Camm stooped to add her light to his. Cal pressed on the stones, but couldn’t get anything to move. Getting down on both knees, he pushed harder. Nothing moved. When Camm saw they weren’t having any success, she reached above her head to steady herself; she straightened up by grabbing one of the hand-shaped candleholders protruding from the wall.

  As she pulled herself up, the metal hand suddenly slipped downward, and the wall of stones Cal was examining started to move inward with a scraping, grinding sound. Camm immediately jumped away, but Cal leaned in for a closer look.

  Hesitantly, Camm stepped forward to pull the candleholder down some more with both hands as hard as she could. As the stones retreated further, Cal leaned in with his shoulder and pushed on the stony wall, which suddenly screeched all the way open. It was a stone door about five feet high and three feet wide, opening to reveal a stone stairway spiraling down at a steep angle.

  Camm and Cal looked at each other with wide eyes. “Where do you think that goes?” Cal whispered.

  Ginger sniffed the stale air coming up the stairway. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as a low growl emanated from her throat. Camm stepped back, alarmed. “Cal, look at Ginger. There is something down there.”

  Cal nodded and started down the steps, but Camm grabbed him by the shirt sleeve. “Cal, let’s wait for Agent Allen to go down there. She will want to know about this, too.”

  “I’m not waiting,” he said as he attempted to start down the steps again, trying to shake loose from Camm’s grip.

  Camm kept a tight hold on his shirt, feeling strongly they should not go down those steps. “Cal!” Her voice cracked with strain. “We don’t know what’s down there. It’s dangerous.”

  Standing on a lower step, Cal turned back, looking Camm directly in the face, their noses only inches apart. “Do you want to know what’s down there? I’ll tell you what’s down there: answers. What happened to Hughie? The answer is down these steps. I’m not waiting for Agent Allen to come back from L.A. to fight in court for another search warrant. The answer is down there right now, and I’m going down there right now!”

  With a violent twist of his arm, he broke free of Camm’s grip. As he descended the steps, he commanded over his shoulder, “You stay up here! You’ll be safer.” Cal disappeared down the first spiral with Ginger right behind him.

  Camm looked down the stairway. The steps were stone, jagged and unfinished. The walls to the stairway and the low slanting ceiling were of the same rough stones. The air washing over her from the opening was sour with a hint of decay.

  Camm admitted to herself she was just as afraid to stay in the wine cellar by herself as she was to go down the steps. And, truthfully, she was curious, too. Were there answers down there? Her flashlight made only a small dent in the darkness of the coiling, cold steps in front of her. Taking her first step down, she could not help but think that one day Cal was going to be the death of her.

  The ceiling was so low she had to hunch her shoulders and bow her head. The way was narrow with only enough room for one person to fit on each step, and each stair was at least twelve inches high, slanting down, making the way precarious. There was no banister or handhold of any kind, so Camm had to keep one hand on a sidewall to maintain her balance as she hurried to catch Cal.

  Counting each step, she lowered herself into the deep, dark bowels of the mansion, totally losing track of Cal and the light from his flashlight. She thought she would only be going down one story, but after counting twenty steps, the stairway continued to curl downward without an end in sight.

  She wanted to holler Cal’s name and ask him wait for her, but she was too afraid to make any noise. She counted thirty steps, then forty, fifty, sixty, seventy-five, and she was still spiraling down. She glanced back up the stairway, but the darkness and curve of the walls swallowed up the ascending stairs. Feeling a little claustrophobic, she breathed in shallow, rapid breaths.

  At step eighty-nine, she finally saw a hint of Cal’s flashlight beaming back up the stairway. Coming around the last bend, she saw Cal standing in a small room, stooping over at the waist, staring at something. Ginger stood alertly at his side. Camm finally reached the bottom of the stairs at ninety-nine.

  Entering the room, she sidled next to Cal, with Ginger between them. She put her hand on Cal’s shoulder, but he did not seem to notice. The air in the room was old and putrid, making it difficult to breathe.

  The room was like a stone dungeon, about ten feet wide by twenty feet long with a five-foot ceiling. Even Camm had to crouch. The walls and ceiling were made of the same unfinished, rough stones as the stairway. The floor was just hard-packed, crusted dirt. Their flashlights did little to eliminate the gloom—the walls seemed to absorb the light, reflecting nothing.

  Shining her flashlight about, Camm focused on a long shelf made of unfinished lumber. It ran along the wall to her right, about halfway between the floor
and ceiling, and was filled with both human and animal skulls lined up neatly, three or four deep, their eye sockets staring blindly out into the room. Most of the skulls were smaller in size, including the one closest to her, which was human and smelled of rancid meat.

  On the other side of the room on the floor near Cal’s feet was a long pile of bones, large enough to have been made of many different carcasses. The bones on the bottom had turned white with age. The ones on top still had pieces of tendon and ligament clinging to them, with gnaw marks where the meat had been scraped or chewed off.

  Bits of cloth—torn and shredded clothing—were mixed in with the bones. Camm saw a little girl’s pink barrette with a cracked yellow flower on it, lying on one end of the macabre pile.

  Camm directed her attention to the back of the room, across from where they stood. There she saw the object Cal was staring at. It was a painting, large enough to entirely fill the back wall. Hanging just inches off the dirt floor, it was framed in dark oak, ornately carved with the same baroque carvings and designs found throughout the rest of the mansion.

  The background in the painting consisted of swirls of black mist concealing indistinct figures, somehow writhing in agony. Camm thought it must be a painting, but its style was sharp, almost photographic. She could not see any brushstrokes and resisted the passing urge to step closer and touch it. She recognized the style as the same one used in all the artwork throughout the mansion.

  The subject of the painting gave Camm a shock—its paws blood-soaked, its sharp claws curled and ready to strike. A long, hairless tail stood straight out, almost quivering behind it. The matted fur was the color of a dark, rotted avocado skin. White vapor rose from its back.

  Its lips were pulled back into a snarl, revealing long, sharp emerald fangs, dripping with some kind of putrid puss. Its head was turned toward them as if it could see them. Each eye was a roadmap of bright red, bloodshot veins.

  Ginger now stood facing the painting, every muscle tense, the hair along her back propped up as a deep, rolling growl emanated from her whole body. “I can almost see it breathe,” Cal whispered, finally acknowledging Camm.

  Camm tightened her grip on his shoulder. She had stopped breathing and her heart was pounding in her ears. Those piercing eyes seemed to have a lock on her that she found difficult to break. They were looking directly at her, like they recognized her. Had she seen those eyes before?

  Pure hate radiated from the picture, washing over her. She felt that thing talking to her, like it was ready to pounce on her at her very next breath, ready to come flying out of the painting to tear her to shreds and devour her.

  That thing was alive. It was unclean.

  It was evil.

  It was a painting of a monstrous green rat.

  VI

  They were here in the stronghold! It smelled their familiar, offensive odors. Intense rage swelled up, burning within, engulfing it with an overwhelming hunger to rend and tear, to kill and feed. Soon, it would be released. It would fight on its own home ground tonight. There would be sweet death tonight.

  Camm and Cal climbed back up the spiral staircase and pulled the secret stone door closed behind them. Spreading the sheet over the barrels again, they hurried up the cellar steps to the main hall. They were both relieved to be away from the painting. Even Ginger seemed to finally relax. After being down in the grisly stone dungeon with the bones and the rat painting, the rest of the creepy house did not seem so bad.

  “Did you find any answers?” Camm asked. It was the first time either of them spoke since coming back upstairs.

  Cal stared at her with wide eyes and nodded, a look of disbelief etched on his pale face. “More than I bargained for. Do you think one of those human skulls is Hughie’s?”

  Camm shuddered. “I don’t want to think about it.”

  Cal’s expression hardened. “You’re the one who always says we have to confront our demons, that we can’t be afraid, that we can’t run away and hide from reality.”

  They stood in silence for a moment. Camm straightened as if finding her resolve. “We have to tell Agent Allen about this.”

  Cal gave her a “Duh!” look.

  “This is just too much. Let’s go home.” Camm sighed.

  “Wait.” Cal gazed upward. “There is another painting upstairs with a green rat in it. Let’s look at it again.”

  “We can look at it when we come back.”

  “They may not let us back, or at least not let me back.” With that, Cal took off jogging across the hall to the staircase leading to the next level. Up he went, his long legs taking three steps with each bound. Camm and Ginger could do nothing but follow. Cal led them all the way up to the third level and down the balcony to the back of the main hall.

  Joining Cal in front of a very large painting, Camm peered at it closely. “Looks more like a wolf than a rat to me. And it’s not very green.”

  Cal shrugged. “You’re right. Though it does have the same bright red, bloodshot eyes.”

  They studied it a few moments longer. “Now can we go home, please?” Camm asked. “I really need to get out of here.”

  Cal cleared his throat, but before he could speak, there was a loud “DONG!”

  It startled them both, rattling Camm to the bone.

  “What was that?” Camm asked in alarm.

  “The grandfather clock?” Cal wondered.

  “The clock was stopped, remember? It was stopped right exactly at twelve o’clock.”

  Cal was walking, but he shone his flashlight on his wrist. “By my watch, it is exactly midnight right now.”

  A second “DONG!” ruptured through the hall.

  Camm jumped again and hurried to catch up with Cal. It wasn’t that the clanging of the gong was so loud, but that it had been so quiet in the mansion—the gong sounded loud enough for the whole town to hear.

  DONG!

  Camm was prepared for the third chime and didn’t flinch. The sound was definitely coming from the direction of the grandfather clock downstairs. In the quiet after the gong, Camm heard something new—distant squealing sounds. Faint and muffled, the noise rose from somewhere far below them. Camm reached out to touch Cal’s arm as she stopped to listen more carefully. After a few moments, the sound of stone scraping against stone faintly crept into the big hall.

  “Cal, did you hear that?” she whispered hoarsely, her throat tightened.

  Both strained to listen.

  DONG!

  This time, they both jumped. “Come on, Camm! I don’t believe this. Are you really trying to scare me?” Cal raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes, giving Camm an exasperated look.

  Camm grabbed Cal’s arm and pulled him close. “No, Cal, not the clock, I heard that stone door opening in the wine cellar below. That secret door in the basement, someone just opened it.”

  “Are you sure? This is not a good time to be playing games.”

  DONG!

  Camm hugged herself closer to Cal. “I’m sure.”

  As they listened, the wooden door across the hall leading to the wine cellar squeaked open. There was no mistaking that sound. Their eyes met. “What do we do?” Camm mouthed.

  Something scurried across the slate floor below toward the staircase; an overpowering foul odor immediately filled the air. Cal and Camm looked at each other in surprise. “Cal . . .” Camm started.

  DONG!

  Camm wrapped both hands around Cal’s arm and pushed herself against him. Also backing up against Cal, Ginger faced the staircase and bared her teeth, growling deeply. The vile odor wafted through the mansion, like rotten eggs, only much worse.

  “Cal, something is down there!”

  Cal nodded in grim agreement. “I hear it, too. And I’ve smelled that smell before, when the guys left me at the graveyard, before you came to rescue me, the night little Joey disappeared.”

  DONG!

  Something began clicking up the first set of stairs, coming up toward them. It wasn’t hiding its p
resence. They stood huddled together, seeing nothing, hearing everything, overwhelmed with the stench. Ginger’s growl grew louder.

  DONG!

  It had reached the second floor landing, heading for the stairs leading up to their level. Camm and Cal leaned over the banister, trying to see what was climbing toward them. Darkness veiled the immensity of the main hall like a black fog. Cal’s flashlight beam did not reach the staircase rising up to their level. Something was approaching, but they could not see what it was.

  DONG!

  It started to ascend the final flight of stairs to their level. The sharp clicking sound of claws on wooden treads grew louder as it neared. It was now almost to the top of the stairs.

  DONG!

  Silence fell. Whatever it was had stopped right below the top of the stairs, just out of sight. Camm and Cal shined both flashlights in that direction. Ginger’s growl now vibrated from her whole body as she crouched in an attack stance. They waited, barely breathing.

  DONG!

  Both flashlights went out together. All was pitch black, but the clicking sound of each step was unmistakable as it came onto the third floor landing. Then, the clicking changed to a thud, thud, thud. It was now on the same floor with them, just yards away. Camm hid her face in Cal’s arm. Cal didn’t move.

  DONG!

  Thud . . . Thud . . . Thud . . . Thud. It was coming faster, breaking into a lope. Camm squeezed Cal’s arm as hard as she could. Without warning, Ginger jumped forward into the darkness, barking wildly, viciously, and growling a deep, menacing snarl. Whatever was there stopped with a skid of claws against the balcony’s wooden floor. A hiss, like brakes releasing in a semi-truck, emanated from the black void somewhere before them.

  Camm’s brain suddenly unfroze. She remembered that the balcony ran along the back of the main hall and around the other side of the hall to the opposite staircase, which went down along the wall leading to the dining room door.

  Holding tightly to Cal’s arm she pulled him along, hurrying away from the hissing and growling. It was too dark to run, and the flashlights still did not work. By keeping one hand on the banister and the other hand on Cal, she found her way around the balcony to the other side.