by Amy Cross
“Hey!” I yell. “Wait up! You don't know if it's safe in there!”
I wait for a reply, but all I hear is the sound of his tramping footsteps getting further and further away, echoing now that he's in some kind of passage.
“Dylan! Stop!”
I wait again, before realizing that I've got no choice. Even though I'm cold and tired, and despite the fact that I'm starting to think we should have stayed in town and played video games, I start picking my way carefully across the grass. I don't get how Dylan can go storming about with no trouble and never seems to stumble, whereas I almost trip with each step. Even now, with the flashlight pointed at the ground, I have trouble avoiding chunks of old stone that have been left in the long grass. I feel totally feeble, and by the time I reach the arch I can already hear that Dylan is way ahead. He hasn't even waited for me.
I lean down and shine my flashlight through the crumbled arch, and I quickly realize that we've found a part of the abbey that's still covered by the remains of a roof. It's basically a tunnel, and the last thing I want is to go blundering about in a pitch-black tunnel.
“Hey!” I call out, immediately hearing my own voice echoing back at me. “Are you crazy? You don't know if it's safe in there!”
I wait, but all I can hear is the sound of his footsteps far away. This is typical of Dylan. He always goes storming off into places, always expecting me to blindly follow. And to be fair, I do always follow.
“You don't know if it's safe,” I mutter under my breath, before setting off after him. “We so shouldn't be here.”
I have to crouch down a little to get through the archway, although once I'm inside there's a little more room and I'm able to stand up straight. The top of my head brushes against the uneven ceiling, however, and I swear my claustrophobia is going to kick in at any moment.
“Dylan?” I call out. “Can we please not go any further into this place?”
Never mind ghost monks. There could be hobos living here, and there could be unsafe floors, and rabid badgers or foxes or bats or even killer rats. That's probably the real reason no-one ever told ghost stories about Creele Abbey: everyone who came here ended up tripping and breaking their neck, or getting chased down by drug-crazed homeless people, or eaten by feral wildlife. In fact, as I continue to make my way along the pitch-black passage, with only the thin beam of my flashlight to help me see ahead, I'm starting to feel increasingly as if I'm the smart, rational person here, whereas Dylan's the impetuous thrill-seeker who's going to get us both killed. A moment later, bumping my head slightly against a particularly low-hanging piece of rock, I can't help thinking that if this passage narrows any more, I'm going to have to stop.
And then suddenly I stop and listen to the silence, and I realize that I can no longer hear Dylan's footsteps in the distance. I wait, convinced that he must be close and that he's simply hesitated for a few seconds, but finally I realize that there's no sound of him at all.
“Dylan?” I call out. “Where are you?”
Nothing.
No reply.
“Dylan!”
He's trying to scare me. This is so typical of Dylan, and it's hard to believe that he thinks it could actually work. After all, we've been friends for long enough now that he should know me, and he should know that I know him, and he should realize that this is never going to work. Standing in the low-ceilinged corridor that seems to run deeper into the abandoned abbey, I keep my flashlight aimed forward and watch for some hint that Dylan's coming back this way. As the seconds tick past, however, I realize that he's definitely trying to trick me, but I swear I don't feel scared at all.
I just feel bored and tired and annoyed.
“I'm so not falling for this!” I call out, hearing a faint echo of my own voice. “Are you coming out, or am I gonna have to leave you here?”
I wait, hoping against hope that he might cut it out and stop playing games. Deep down, I already know that I can't possibly leave him here. For one thing, it'd be the wrong thing to do. For another, his mum'd kill me and my nan'd be furious too.
“There's blatantly nothing here!” I continue. “Listen, I'm tired and I just wanna go home. Can we go home? This is a colossal waste of time.”
Again I wait, and again there's no reply.
“Okay, then,” I add loudly, “I'll be off now. Seeya, loser!”
With that, I start walking on the spot, trying to make each step seem a little less loud so that Dylan'll think I'm getting further away. Finally I stop and stay completely still, listening for the first sign of Dylan surrendering and coming out. He'll feel so dumb when he realizes I tricked him and then he'll run after me, but that'll just serve him right for playing games.
And yet, as I wait and wait, and as I realize that there's no sound at all of Dylan coming after me, I can't help feeling a flicker of worry in my chest. I mean, I know he's fine, and that there's no ghost monk here that might have grabbed him, but I'm also starting to wonder about the other dangers, and whether something more ordinary and mundane might have happened to him.
The badgers.
The loose floors.
The murderous hobo.
If there's something dangerous here, Dylan's totally the kind of person who'd be able to find it. 100% without fail.
“Dylan!” I call out finally. “This time I really will leave! I'm not joking now! It's late and cold and we should be going home! Dylan!”
Silence.
“You're being an idiot!” I continue. “You know that, right? You're being an idiot and it's not fair, and I know you think you're being funny but you're not! We have to go home right now or...”
Or what?
What can I possibly threaten Dylan with?
I know he's doing this to wind me up, but I also know that I can't just leave him here. He knows that too, which is why it's extra unfair that he's acting this way, because he knows that I'm too loyal to run away and leave him behind. I swear, if he makes me go fumbling about in this place trying to find him, I'll never, ever agree to go anywhere with him again. And this time, I'll stick to my decision. In fact, I've already made my mind up.
This is the last time I'm ever going ghost-hunting with Dylan.
I wait another half-minute or so, before realizing that I have no choice. I crouch down and start making my way forward. Aiming the flashlight's beam ahead, I mutter a few curses under my breath and a moment later I reach a junction, which is great since I don't have any idea which way Dylan might have gone. Standing up straight, I bump my head against the low rocky ceiling. I shine the flashlight in each direction, hoping that maybe I'll spot some kind of clue, but I guess I'm going to have to pick one at random.
“Can you not at least give me a clue?” I call out. “Just one clue? Come on, it's not fair if you don't give me a clue! How can that be fun for you?”
I wait again, listening for some hint as to which way Dylan might have gone. Even an involuntary giggle would be enough to give him away, but I guess he's really doubling down on this stupid prank. That's the problem with Dylan. He always takes things way too far.
“Dylan -”
“Shut up!” a voice hisses suddenly, from maybe just a few meters away. “Get down here!”
I turn and look over my shoulder.
“Keep your voice down!” he continues, and a moment later I see a faint light waving frantically. “Get over here right now!”
Filled with relief, I stomp toward the light and aim my flashlight down, and finally I see that Dylan is crouching down on the ground, having backed into a small alcove set into the stone wall.
“Stop shouting!” he whispers frantically. “Are you insane? Didn't you hear him?”
“Hear who?”
“There's someone here!”
I roll my eyes. “Dylan -”
“Get down!”
He grabs my sleeve and pulls me closer, and I reluctantly duck down and scramble into the alcove with him. I swear, I don't know why I let Dylan get me int
o these dumb situations.
“There's someone else here with us,” he continues, keeping his voice low as he holds his phone up and aims the camera along the next corridor. At the same time, he forcibly lowers my flashlight, as if he's worried that it might give our position away. A moment later, he flicks the switch on the side, and now the only light is coming from his phone's screen. “I was going to come back for you, but I think he was blocking the way. And then you were yelling my name, so thanks for that! You were gonna lead him right to me.”
“There's no-one else here,” I say with a sigh. “Come on, let's get going.”
“I heard him!”
“No, you didn't. You're trying to freak me out.”
“It was like these shuffling footsteps,” he continues. “Exactly the way a monk'd walk.”
“The way a monk would walk?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “What does that even mean?”
“You know.”
“Not really. It sounds like you're making this up as you go along.”
“Okay, then listen for one minute,” he continues. “I swear on my mum's life, there's someone else here.”
“But -”
“Just listen!”
I open my mouth to tell him I'm not falling for this, but then I figure I might as well just give him one minute. That way, I can prove to him that we're alone. Then again, knowing my luck, a mad badger'll probably come running along one of the corridors. In fact, as we sit in silence, I use the time to try to work out exactly how I'd defend myself if a rabid badger came at me. They're quite low creatures, so I guess I could try kicking it in the face, but what if it jumped at me? Can badgers jump? The idea seems stupid, but then again -
Suddenly I hear footsteps in the distance.
Dylan grips my arm tight.
“There!” he hisses.
I want to tell him that he's wrong, to call him out on all his BS, but as I look along the corridor I can't deny that I'm hearing a set of calm, steady footsteps. I try to tell myself that the sound must be some kind of trick, or a set-up, but my heart is already pounding and I can feel pinpricks of cold sweat breaking out all across my face and over my shoulders.
“If this is a joke,” I whisper to Dylan, unable to keep my voice from trembling slightly, “I swear I will beat you mercilessly when we get out of here.”
I pause for a moment, still listening to the footsteps.
“Please,” I continue, “tell me it's a joke.”
“We have to run,” he replies breathlessly. “We have to wait until the footsteps are far enough away, and then we have to run straight back the way we came. No stopping, no looking back. Just run.”
“Yeah, but it's not a ghost, is it?” I ask. “It can't be a ghost. It's probably some kind of murderer.”
“I don't care what it is,” he continues. “We can figure that out later. We just have to wait until it sounds like it's far enough away.”
We sit in silence for a moment longer, listening as the footsteps continue. If anything, they sound slightly closer than before, echoing along the stone corridor. Just as I'm about to ask Dylan if he's sure he's not trying to trick me, I see him raise his phone, and I look at the image on the screen. It's difficult to see much, since his hands are trembling so much, so I reach out and hold the phone steady. The night-vision app shows a view of the bare stone corridor, but there's no sign of anything moving.
“It's somewhere down there,” he whispers. “Isn't it?”
“I think so. Should we run now?”
“Just let it get a bit further away.”
“What if it comes closer instead?”
“I don't see it so far.”
“But what is it?”
“I don't know.”
“But what -”
“I don't know!” he hisses. “Alright? Whatever it is, alive or dead, I don't want to meet it. Do you?”
I swallow hard. “No.”
“Just wait for my word,” he continues, with his phone still trained on the corridor's far end, “and then run. You remember the way, don't you?”
“I think so.”
“No, you have to really know the way. You have to be ready to run for your...”
He hesitates for a moment.
“For your life,” he continues finally.
“I do.”
“You sure?”
“I'm sure. Should we go now?”
“Wait.” He pauses, still watching the screen as the footsteps continue. “They're coming closer,” he says suddenly, his voice sounding much more panicked than before. “Aren't they? It almost sounds like they're in this corridor, like we should be able to see the person by now. Why can't we see anyone?”
I want to tell him that he's wrong, but deep down I feel that maybe, just maybe, he's got a point. The footsteps are still very calm and steady, but I feel as if they're close enough now that we should definitely be able to see whoever's coming. Dylan turns and briefly aims the phone back the other way, before focusing it along the corridor again. He's usually calm and steady as a rock, so the fact that he seems to be panicking is – in turn – making me feel even worse.
Meanwhile the footsteps are so close now, it's hard to believe that we can't see whoever's causing them. It sounds as if the steps are coming from only about ten or twenty meters away, and getting closer all the time, but the fuzzy green view on Dylan's phone still shows nothing but an empty corridor.
“It's probably an echo,” I suggest cautiously. “Like, it sounds closer than it is.”
I wait for him to agree with me, but he doesn't say anything. Instead he's slowly moving his phone, as if he's trying to keep the viewfinder focused on the exact spot where he thinks the steps are coming from. The image is slightly pixelated and grainy, with thousands of green and white dots dancing all over the screen, but there's still nothing to see except the walls of the corridor. Dylan slowly pans with the phone, trying to follow the source of the sound, until finally he's aiming his phone directly up in front of us.
“Or maybe it's above us,” I whisper. “Like, there's an upstairs and someone's in a corridor above this one. Should I use my flashlight?”
“No.”
“But if -”
“You might give us away,” he continues, keeping his voice low. “Just hold tight.”
Figuring that he's probably right, I switch my flashlight off and slip it back into my pocket.
“This is nuts,” I whisper. “We should -”
Suddenly the footsteps stop.
Dylan keeps his phone pointed up at the corridor's opposite wall, as if he expects to see someone towering over us, but the screen shows nothing more than the rough stone surface with grainy green and white pixels dancing everywhere. I can't stop staring at the wall, terrified in case suddenly a figure steps into view. As the seconds pass, I try to tell myself that I'm overreacting, that the sound of steps might in fact have been caused by the wind, or by the old abbey settling in cold night air. More than anything, I want Dylan to suddenly start laughing and admit that this has all been another one of his wind-ups.
And then, slowly, I start to realize that I can see the faintest hint of a face in the night-vision's static.
I watch the screen, telling myself that I'm wrong, but I can just about make out the face of a shape and two dark patches where there should be eyes. It's as if something is standing right in front of us, looking straight down toward us from the darkness, but the face is barely visible and I try to tell myself that I'm imagining the whole thing, that it's just a weird product of the static and the rocky wall. Still, as the grainy pixels continue to dance all over the screen like green-and-white snow, the shape of the face remains constant, staring through the noise but never quite becoming too solid. Instead, it seems to be hovering between two states: too distinct to ignore, but not clear enough to be sure that it's really there.
“Dylan?” I whisper.
“What?”
“Can you see it?”
I wa
it for an answer, but he doesn't say anything.
“Dylan? Can you see it?”
He still doesn't reply.
“There's nothing, right?” I continue, unable to stop watching the screen. “You don't see anything, do you? There isn't anything there, it's all in my -”
Before I can finish, the face seems to move slightly, as if it's leaning toward us.
I open my mouth to ask once more whether Dylan sees anything, but now my throat feels impossibly dry.
And then, slowly, something else moves into the shot from the lower edge. It's very faint, as faint as the face, but it looks like a human hand, reaching this way.
“Run!” Dylan screams suddenly, pushing me forward out of the alcove and scrambling to his feet. “Get out of here! Move!”
I hurry after him, following the light of his phone as he races along the corridor. I've already lost track of exactly where we are, but a moment later we reach the junction and I watch as Dylan charges off in the wrong direction.
“This way!” I yell, frantically running back the way we came earlier as I take my flashlight back out and switch it on. The beam swings wildly, just about picking out my path ahead, and a moment later I glance over my shoulder and see that Dylan is running after me.
“Keep going!” he screams, pushing against my back. “Jake, move!”
Almost tripping over rocks and stones that have been left scattered across the ground, I slam against the wall but somehow keep running. Just as I'm starting to worry that I picked the wrong passage, I see the partially crumbled arch up ahead. I duck down and spill out into the main part of the abbey, bumping against the altar and then half-stumbling a couple of times as I race across the grass. I'm running so fast, every step sends a jolt through my body and I can hear my own breathlessness in my ears, but I keep going until I reach the main arch and finally I stumble out onto the grass at the far end of the abbey. I run for a few more paces, still filled with panic, before finally daring to stop and look back the way I just came.
I aim the flashlight, but there's no sign of anyone chasing me.
And there's no sign of Dylan, either.
