by Scott Reeves
He paused and looked up at them, his eyes haunted.
For the first time, Paula noticed the bloody scrapes all over Mike’s arms and face.
“It finally overtook us a few feet back up there,” he continued, pointing back up the sloping tunnel the way they’d come. “It barreled into us, knocked us down. Trampled over us, all sharp claws and scaly skin. But it didn’t attack us. It just kept on going.” He pointed into the dark tunnel ahead. “That way.” He pressed a hand to the small of his back. “I swear it stung me in the back as it passed. Hurts like a bugger.”
Mike shone his light down the tunnel. The beam only pushed the darkness back for about ten feet. But nothing was revealed. “Looks like it’s gone.”
Paula knelt down next to Stacy, began to examine her.
Mike cocked his head at Jason. “Are you sure you didn’t attack her and make this whole story up?”
“Why would I make up something like that?”
Mike shrugged. “You were pretty angry at her. You dragged her off willy-nilly into an ancient, abandoned mine. Maybe you slammed her head into the ground, tried to kill her. The story about being chased is a cover.”
Jason leapt to his feet, furious. “Mike, you know me! I’d never hurt her! I’d never hurt anyone!”
“You said you were screaming. I didn’t hear anything.” Mike tapped Paula on the shoulder. “Did you hear anything?”
Paula shook her head. Then she craned her head around and glared at Mike. “I was screaming at you to stop and wait on me. Did you hear me?”
Mike was shocked. “No! I didn’t hear a thing. Honest, sweetie, I would have stopped. I should have. I just wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think any of us were thinking,” Jason said. He turned back to Paula and the unconscious Stacy. “How is she?”
“She’s got a nasty gash on her forehead,” Paula said. “She may have a concussion, I don’t know.”
“Aaaaaagh!” Mike suddenly gave an ear-splitting yell, startling Paula and Jason.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Paula shouted.
“Shhh!” Mike said. “Listen.”
They fell silent and listened. After a moment, Jason said, “I don’t hear anything.”
Mike nodded. “Exactly. No echoes from my scream, or our voices. It’s like the sound just sort of dies out.”
Now that he’d mentioned it, they all noticed that things didn’t sound quite right. Sound didn’t seem to travel far before it abruptly faded away.
“Is it normal for sound to be this muffled in a mine?” Mike asked. “You’re the physics major, Jason. Is it normal?”
Jason tapped his lip as he thought. “Well, the tunnel’s pretty small. The walls were clay further up, but down here they’re bedrock. I’d say we wouldn’t expect echoes like you’d get in an open cavern...but not so muffled like this. Sound seems smothered, like the air won’t carry it more than a few feet. The acoustics seems all wrong.”
“Would you two quit being all rational and worrying about trivialities?” Paula hissed. “Help me with her!”
They moved Stacy into a sitting position and leaned her against a wall. Jason gently slapped her face and called her name, trying to rouse her.
As he did so, Paula commanded Mike to take off his shirt. He did so, baring his massively muscled chest. Paula fought the temptation to gaze lustfully at his rippling abs. She took the shirt and mopped at the blood oozing from the wound on Stacy’s forehead.
After a few moments of Jason’s coaxing, Stacy stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, and she gazed blearily at them.
“Hey, girl,” Paula said. She wrapped the bloodied shirt around Stacy’s forehead.
Mike poked Jason. “Let me have a look at your back.”
Jason lifted his shirt, revealing the small of his back. Mike’s eyes widened. There was a huge welt just above the waistband of Jason’s pants, a welt with a reddened center. It looked like a giant mosquito bite.
Jason scratched at it, but Mike caught his hand.
“I wouldn’t scratch that if I were you, dude,” Mike told him.
“Now do you believe something was chasing us?” Jason asked.
“I guess,” Mike said.
Stacy looked past them, searching the tunnel. “Is that thing gone?” Stacy asked in a weak voice.
“Apparently so,” Jason said. He brushed a stray lock of blood-slick hair from her eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” he said.
“Me too.” She laid a weak hand on Jason’s forearm. “I gave you good reason to be mad at me. I’m such a terrible flirt.”
“That’s one word for it,” Paula muttered.
Stacy put a hand to her forehead. Her hand came away slightly bloody, despite Paula’s having done a decent job of cleaning up the wound and stanching the flow of blood. “Is it bad?” Stacy asked.
Paula shook her head. “Not really. Not much more than a deep scratch. Head wounds just bleed worse than others, but I think it’s under control. You may have a concussion, though. Does your head hurt?”
Stacy shook her head. “I think I’m all right. I managed to get my hands in front of me before I fell, so I probably softened the impact.” She addressed Jason: “What was that thing chasing us, honey?”
Jason shrugged. “How would I know? Something at least as big as a large dog, I’d say, judging by the way it mowed us over. And it had scales.” He felt the small of his back. The large lump itched, and throbbed with each beat of his heart. “And it had a stinger.”
Paula shivered. “Big as a dog. With scales and a stinger. Nice.” She looked warily at the darkness around them. “I’ve never heard of any animal like that.”
“It was a demon.” Nigel stepped from the darkness.
Paula jumped, startled, and Stacy gave a little squeal of fright. No one had heard him approach. He hadn’t brought a flashlight with him; apparently he’d walked down here in utter darkness.
“A demon from the very bowels of hell,” Nigel continued.
“You’re really big on melodrama, aren’t you?” Jason said. He turned back to Stacy. “Let’s just get out of here. Do you think you can walk, sweetie, or should we carry you?”
He helped her stand, ready to catch her if she fainted. But she didn’t. She smiled at him and gave him a thumbs-up. “I’ll live. Let’s go.”
“We can’t leave,” Nigel said. “I shut the door and resealed it.”
“So unseal the door,” Mike said. “Open it back up. We’re leaving.”
Nigel shook his head. “We cannot leave. You sealed your fate the moment you crossed the door’s threshold, as did I. We’re doomed.”
“Oh my God,” Stacy said in a small voice.
Jason advanced toward Nigel. “Maybe you’re doomed, but we’re getting the fuck out of here.”
Nigel stood aside as Jason stalked past.
Mike followed. He looked at Nigel as he passed. “Funny thing about doors. They’re made to be opened.”
Paula hurried after the two men. Stacy followed last.
Nigel caught her arm as he passed. “I opened the door for you,” he said. “Will you do as you promised?”
Her eyes strayed down to his groin a moment, and then she looked away. The light from her friends had almost disappeared along the upward slope of the tunnel. She hurried after them, not wanting to be left alone in the dark.
Nigel looked after her with a hunger born of long years of denial, and then he followed.
Once back together, they returned through the tunnel, bunched together into a tight group. They trudged along in silence. They now felt the earth hanging oppressively above them, separating them from the light of day. The moldy air stuck in their lungs, and Paula imagined that she could feel spores taking root deep in her chest. The darkness before them and behind was thick with unseen menace, swallowing the meager light emanating from their two flashlights.
None of them realized they’d gone so far down the tunnel. Panic had masked the dis
tance earlier. Stacy and Jason had just wanted to escape whatever had been chasing them. Paula and Mike had just wanted to find their friends. Now, all of them just wanted to get out. So of course the return trip to the door seemed interminably long.
But finally they arrived. Nigel hadn’t lied. The immense bronze door once again plugged the tunnel, as intimidating as the door of a bank vault. Only this time they were on the wrong side of it.
“Are we trapped?” Paula asked in a trembling voice.
“Not if I can help it,” Mike said.
He stepped up to the door. And just stood there. This side of the door was completely smooth and featureless. There was no brass ring to serve as a doorknob, no etched symbols to grab hold of. In short, Mike could find no way to open the door.
He turned to Nigel. “Open the door.”
“I opened the door once against my better judgment and in betrayal of my sworn duty,” he said, glancing briefly at Stacy. “I shall not do so again.” He drew himself up proudly and clasped his hands behind his back.
Paula had been examining the door. Her attention was currently focused on the outer edges of it. “This red stuff is wet,” she said, indicating a glistening red ring that circled the door like a frame. “Is it fresh paint? Is this what you meant when you said you’d resealed it?” she asked Nigel. “Did you paint this while we were down there?”
“It’s not paint,” Nigel said. “It’s blood. My blood.” He held up his hand, which was bound with a white rag through which a pink stain was spreading. None of them had noticed it until that moment. “Because of it, the door cannot be opened. What’s inside must stay inside.”
“But now we’re inside,” Stacy protested. “And we don’t want to stay. Please, Nigel, sweetie. Open the door. For me?”
Jason clenched his fist.
Nigel shook his head, refusing.
“He scuffed it with his foot earlier,” Paula said. “And then he opened the door.”
“Oh, come on,” Jason said. “You honestly believe there’s some sort of magical spell holding the door closed just because this nut job smeared his blood around it?”
Paula scuffed her foot through the wet ring. The blood didn’t smudge. The dirt moved around, but the red wetness stayed in place, not even sticking to the bottom of her shoe. The seal remained unbroken. “That’s weird,” she muttered. She looked at Jason. “If that doesn’t seem a bit magical, what does?”
“Only someone of my bloodline may break the seal,” Nigel explained. “Only we may break the seal and open the door. But the door will remain closed. The seal must not be broken. What’s inside must not get out.”
“Goddamn it!” Jason shouted. He leapt to the bronze door and tried to wedge his fingers into the clay of the tunnel wall, trying to get a grip to yank the door open. But he couldn’t get his fingers between the door and the walls. He scraped them bloody against the rock and clay, but they wouldn’t wedge between.
He wheeled on Nigel. “You open that fucking door now, you lunatic!”
Nigel resolutely stood his ground.
“Mike!” Jason shouted. “Kick his ass!” He’d have done so himself, but he figured he and Nigel were an even match. Mike, however, was a beefy football player. Mike could kick anyone’s ass.
Mike moved up beside Jason and stared Nigel down.
Nigel resolutely stood his ground, as immovable as the bronze door.
Mike shoved Nigel. The skinny man stumbled backward and smacked into the wall, but wasn’t hurt. Mike turned his back.
“That’s it?” Jason shouted. “Kick his ass! Make him open that door the hell up!”
Mike shook his head. “I’m not the ass-kicking type, Jason. You know that.”
“Then what good is all that muscle?” Jason hissed.
Paula smirked. “Ask me when we have more time and I’ll tell you, Jason.”
Jason fumed.
“We’ll just wait here until his brother comes back at dark,” Mike said reasonably.
“That hulk?” Jason said. “Are you kidding?”
“David won’t open the door for you,” Nigel said. “He is not as weak-willed as I. His duty is everything to him.”
“But surely he’ll let you out,” Stacy said. “You’re his brother.”
Nigel shook his head. “I’m a lowly maggot, the first of our line to fail our sacred duty and break the seal. I chose my fate. These tunnels will be my tomb. And yours as well.”
Jason took a swing at Nigel, who adroitly sidestepped so that Jason’s fist struck the tunnel wall instead. Jason screamed and crumbled to the ground, clutching at his wounded fist. Stacy rushed to his side and whispered words of comfort to him.
Mike looked levelly at Nigel. “We’ll wait. And your brother will let us out. If he doesn’t, we will get out some way, and both of your faces will be plastered all over the evening news as they report on the insane British hillbillies that held four American citizens against their will.”
DAVID WALKED THROUGH the cool morning air. Early dawn painted the top of the hill toward which he was headed in rich golden light.
The last of his nightly duty was to check on each of the wards, to ensure that they held fast. If they were weakening, he would bleed himself to replenish them. He usually had to bleed himself after strong rains or other violent weather. And despite the golden light on the hill, the dark clouds on the horizon and the musty smell of the air spoke of an approaching storm. The wards would need to be checked often this day.
He reached the top of the hill. An ancient, weathered stone cross rose from the underbrush, patchy green with moss. A ring of red encircled the base of the cross where it met the ground.
According to tradition, six feet below the earth, the pointed tip of the cross’s base speared into the heart of one of his ancestors, ancestors who had sacrificed their lives to establish the wards. Their hearts powered the cross, linking it to the other six wards which formed a wide circle around this part of the country. Their hearts energized the wards, and the blood of he and his brother maintained them, sending a curtain of eldritch energy downward into the Earth.
It went against every fiber of his Christian being, dabbling in the dark art that made the wards possible. But sometimes men of conscience had to sacrifice their own morals and souls for the good of all, and to keep the world safe from evil.
He heard a rustle in the bushes behind him, but ignored it, assuming it was the wind.
Visually, the ward appeared to be intact. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind to confirm.
His eyes flew open and his stomach rose into his chest. The ward had been broken and then reestablished!
Something leapt out of the bushes with a snarl and knocked him to the ground. Teeth ripped into his neck with a wet crunch as they sank through bone and sinew, puncturing into blood. As the life faded from his eyes, his mind gibbered: the seal had been broken. What was inside had gotten out.
His last act was to beg God’s mercy for the world and for his traitorous brother. And then he died.
AFTER FLEEING THE LAKE of fire, she had been crawling through the darkness for hours. Or at least what felt like hours; in the pitch darkness, she had no way of measuring time. The Lord’s minions were after her. In the darkness, she could hear them as they skittered through the tunnels, seeking her. The sounds almost always came from a distance, carried to her as echoes on the cold stone.
But occasionally one came close. Those times, she would hide, cowering behind an outcropping rock or a cranny in the tunnel wall as they sniffed the air, tracking her. She trembled, praying to God to keep her from their acute senses.
Since they hadn’t caught her yet, she assumed He heard her prayers.
Slowly, as the mind-numbing pain from the lake of fire wore off, memories were coming back to her. How long had she been in that infernal lake, burning and yet not consumed by the flames? She recalled a time before the lake, when she’d lived a normal life. She’d been taught to read and write. She h
ad studied God and the Bible. And when she wasn’t studying God and the Bible, her sinful, rebellious flesh had been tortured. Her existence was an offense to God, and it was believed that torture would mitigate the offense. Only on the Sabbath was she allowed a reprieve from the torture. Yes, she’d lived a normal life.
But she’d been a little girl then. She had been tossed into the lake of fire on her naming day. From then on, she remembered only pain. Now, feeling her body in the darkness, she was astonished to discover massive breasts and an immense thicket of hair between her legs and bristling in her armpits.
Just how long had she been in that lake? Had it been long enough for the sin to burn from her flesh? Was she cleansed?
They had named her Siri. And then they’d tossed her into the lake of fire. That was her name. Siri. She latched onto it. Her name was the only thing she possessed.
I am Siri, she told herself, and I am cleansed.
But the Lord’s minions apparently did not believe so. They were searching for her. They wanted her back in the lake.
But I am cleansed! I will not go back!
Crawling slowly along the tunnel wall, groping in the darkness, she felt a small opening, a narrow crevice where the walls met the floor. She wormed her way inside. The crevice was narrow. She felt the rocks above and below biting into her flesh. But she continued, pulling herself deeper into the crevice. It smelled of disuse. It smelled of safety.
She dragged herself forward, ever deeper, into the painfully narrow, crushing space. Soon, she had gone so deep that she could no longer hear the skittering sounds of her pursuers.
CHAPTER THREE – Hell’s Kitchen
THE FIVE OF THEM WAITED at the bronze door all day. Mike and Paula had the only flashlights. Paula turned hers off in order to save the power, just in case they were trapped in the mine for an extended length of time. Nigel said the flashlights would each last about twenty hours before the batteries were depleted. So using only one flashlight at a time, they would theoretically have light for twenty hours.
